A day or two later, he took advantage of a sober and quasi-friendly moment, to announce his intention to Wilson, who listened to him stolidly.
“I hope my sudden withdrawal won’t cause you inconvenience,” said he, politely. “If it does—”
“My good friend,” replied Wilson, “I am only too damn glad to get rid of you.”
“Then if you ’ll give me a lump sum down for my share, and lend me a team, I ’ll leave the infernal place this afternoon,” said Joyce, nettled.
Wilson went into the house and came out with a roll of greasy notes.
“There,” he said, “will that satisfy you? I ’ve been wanting to part company for a long time, and I ’ve kept ’em by me.”
Joyce counted the notes, and to his surprise found the sum exceeded that which he himself calculated to be his due. After half an hour’s joint examination of their roughly-kept accounts, he found that Wilson was right.
“You are an honest man,” he said with a smile. “It is a pity you have so many other failings.”
“I can keep myself out of quod, at any rate,” replied Wilson, “which is more than some people can say.”
The retort was like a blow in the face. Joyce staggered under it.