Sir P. (aside). And so the one error of an otherwise blameless boyhood has found me out—at last. (To Spiker.) I fear you not; my crime—if crime indeed it was—is surely condoned by twenty-seven long years of unimpeachable integrity!
Sp. Bye-laws are bye-laws, old buck! there's no time limit in criminal offences that ever I heard of! Nothing can alter the fact that you, being turned thirteen, obtained a half-ticket by a false representation that you were under age. A line from me, even now, denouncing you to the Traffic Superintendent, and I'm very much afraid——
Sir P. (writhing). Spiker, my—my dear friend, you won't do that—you won't expose me? Think of my age, my position, my daughter!
Sp. Ah, now you've touched the right chord! I was thinking of your daughter—a nice lady-like gal—I don't mind telling you she fetched me, Sir, at the first glance. Give me her hand, and I burn the compromising half-ticket before your eyes on our return from church after the wedding. Come, that's a fair offer!
Sir P. (indignantly). My child, the ripening apple of my failing eye, to be sacrificed to a blackmailing blackguard like you! Never while I live!
Sp. Just as you please; and, if you will kindly oblige me with writing materials, I will just drop a line to the Traffic Superintendent——
Sir P. (hoarsely). No, no; not that.... Wait, listen; I—I will speak to my daughter. I promise nothing; but if her heart is still her own to give, she may (mind, I do not say she will) be induced to link her lot to yours, though I shall not attempt to influence her in any way—in any way.
Sp. Well, you know your own business best, old Cockalorum. Here comes the young lady, so I'll leave you to manage this delicate affair alone. Ta-ta. I shan't be far off.
[Swaggers insolently out as Verb. enters.
Sir P. My child, I have just received an offer for your hand. I know not if you will consent?