“It don't matter,” said the complaisant Mr. Price; “you say what you like. I sha'n't interfere with you.”
“But, you see, you don't look as though you've been making money,” said his sister, impatiently. “Look at your clothes.”
Mr. Price held up his hand. “That's easy got over,” he remarked; “while I'm having a bit of tea George can go out and buy me some new ones. You get what you think I should look richest in, George—a black tail-coat would be best, I should think, but I leave it to you. A bit of a fancy waistcoat, p'r'aps, lightish trousers, and a pair o' nice boots, easy sevens.”
He sat upright in his chair and, ignoring the look of consternation that passed between husband and wife, poured himself out a cup of tea and took a slice of cake.
“Have you got any money?” said Mr. Spriggs, after a long pause.
“I left it behind me—in Australia,” said Mr. Price, with ill-timed facetiousness.
“Getting better, ain't you?” said his brother-in-law, sharply. “How's that broken 'art getting on?”
“It'll go all right under a fancy waistcoat,” was the reply; “and while you're about it, George, you'd better get me a scarf-pin, and, if you could run to a gold watch and chain—”
He was interrupted by a frenzied outburst from Mr. Spriggs; a somewhat incoherent summary of Mr. Price's past, coupled with unlawful and heathenish hopes for his future.
“You're wasting time,” said Mr. Price, calmly, as he paused for breath. “Don't get 'em if you don't want to. I'm trying to help you, that's all. I don't mind anybody knowing where I've been. I was innercent. If you will give way to sinful pride you must pay for it.”