"Well, they 'ave lots o' silly things in sometimes. Any'ow, once you've married this girl and got a big 'ouse you'll 'ave yer photo in once a day, an' twice on Sundays. 'Oo's this ole cock at the bottom o' the page? 'Sir Edward FitzPeter.' That's 'er pa. If I'd been you I'd 'ave 'ad a lord, but you never was proud, was you, Alf?"
"Bill," answered Higgins seriously, "it ain't no good."
"What ain't no good?"
"My marryin' 'er. It—it ain't right. She's too 'igh up for me. She—she ought to 'ave a gentleman."
"Lumme," said Bill scornfully, "you ain't goin' to get cold feet now, are you? 'Ere you are, the richest man in the 'ole world once you get 'ome, an' you go an' get the wind up because some bloomin' girl without even a Hon before 'er name is too 'igh for you."
"'Oo's the richest man in the world?"
"You are, o' course. Don't you ever sit down an' think out what you can do with that Button o' yours? Lumme, if I 'ad it.... 'Ere, just as a test like, tell Eustace to bring you a thousand quid!"
"Not me. We said we wouldn't...."
"Right you are—my mistake," conceded Bill. "Well, you can take it from me it'll be all right."