Whi. Will five and twenty pounds do it?
Tom. Five and twenty pounds will just do it.
Whi. Then come along at once to my house, and take leave of this life.
Tom. But you’ll let me take a last farewell of Matilda?
Whi. No, no; bother Matilda! (Taking his arm.)
Tom. Oh, but you mustn’t bother Matilda!
Whi. Now, now, do come along.
Tom. Hang it all, let me see her before the tomb closes over me for three months!
Whi. No, you can write to her; now, come at once, or I won’t help you.