“Couldn’t help. We’ve been to the theatre, haven’t we, Pillans?” said Blandford, who appeared already to be rather the worse for drink.
“I have. You’ve been in the bar most of the time,” said Pillans.
“Ha! ha! I was told Bland was studying for the Bar. I do like application,” said Mr Medlock.
Blandford seemed to regard this as a compliment, and sitting down at the table, told the waiter to bring a bottle of champagne and some more glasses.
“Well,” he said, with a simper, “what I say I’ll do, I’ll do. I said I’d turn up here and pay you that bill, Shanklin, and I have turned up, haven’t I?”
“Upon my honour, I’d almost forgotten that bill,” said Mr Shanklin, who had thought of little else for the last week. “It’s not inconvenient, I hope?”
Blandford laughed stupidly.
“Sorry if a trifle like that was inconvenient,” said he, with all the languor of a millionaire. “Forget what it was about. Some take in, I’ll swear. Never mind, a debt’s a debt, and here goes. How much is it?”
“Fifty,” said Mr Shanklin.
Blandford produced a pocket-book with a flourish, and took from it a handful of notes that made Durfy’s eyes, as he sat at the distant table, gleam. The half-tipsy spendthrift was almost too muddled to count them correctly, but finally he succeeded in extracting five ten-pound notes from the bundle, which he tossed to Shanklin.