“Well, wot's to be done, then?” inquired the staring Mr. Kybird.
“Send 'em up to London and 'ave 'em married by special license,” said Mr. Smith, speaking rapidly—“to-morrow, if possible; if not, the day after. Go and pitch a tale to Teddy tonight, and make 'im understand it's to be done on the strict q.t.”
“Special licenses cost money,” said Mr. Kybird. “I 'ave 'eard it's a matter o' thirty pounds or thereabouts.”
Mr. Nathan Smith rose, and his eyes were almost expressive. He nodded good-night to the ladies and crossed to the door. Mrs. Kybird suddenly seized him by the coat and held him.
“Don't be in a 'urry, Nat,” she pleaded. “We ain't all as clever as you are.”
“Talk about looking a gift-'orse in the mouth—” began the indignant Mr. Smith.
“Sit down,” urged Mr. Kybird. “You can't expect us to be as quick in seeing things as wot you are.”