"Look here, old girl." And he removed his hat, and sat down on the other side of the dinner-table. Perhaps he had hoped that she would give him a cheque and let him go out again in two or three minutes; but now he saw it would take longer. "I must have the money by Monday morning—or I shall be in a devil of a hole. More or less a matter of honour.... Don't be nasty. Help a pal. It's not like you to refuse—when I tell you I'm in earnest."
"But, Dick, I am in earnest, too. Truly I can't do it."
"Rot. You can do it without feeling it." And he assumed a facetious air. "Just your autograph—that's all I ask for. I'll write out the cheque myself—save you all trouble. Just sign your name."
"No, I'm very sorry; but it's impossible."
He got up, and began to walk about the room, fuming angrily.
"Then I shall draw on the firm."
"Then I shall have to call in Mr. Prentice, and ask him to protect the firm—to go to the law courts if necessary."
"Oh, that's all my aunt. I've had enough of Mr. Prentice—Mr. Prentice isn't my wet nurse."
"Dick, be reasonable. Be kind to me. Don't you see, yourself, that—"
"I'm not going to have you and old Prentice treating me as if I was a baby in arms—lecturing, and preaching to me about the firm. You and Prentice aren't the firm. I'm just as much the firm as you are."