“If you was a young man—­keeping company with a gal—­and ’er father wanted—­to borrow a couple of quid off o’ you—­what would you do?” repeated Mr. Tasker, mechanically, as he bustled to and fro.

Mr. Vickers nodded and smiled.  “What should I do?” he inquired again, hopefully.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” said the other, opening the oven door and peering in.  “How should I?”

At the imminent risk of something inside giving way under the strain, Mr. Vickers restrained himself.  He breathed hard, and glancing out of window sought to regain his equilibrium by becoming interested in a blackbird outside.

“What I mean to say is,” he said at length, in a trembling voice—­“what I mean to say is, without no round-aboutedness, will you lend a ’ard-working man, what’s going to be your future father-in-law, a couple o’ pounds?”

Mr. Tasker laughed.  It was not a loud laugh, nor yet a musical one.  It was merely a laugh designed to convey to the incensed Mr. Vickers a strong sense of the absurdity of his request.

“I asked you a question,” said the latter gentleman, glaring at him.

“I haven’t got a couple o’ pounds,” replied Mr. Tasker; “and if I ’ad, there’s nine hundred and ninety-nine things I would sooner do with it than lend it to you.”

Mr. Vickers rose and stood regarding the ignoble creature with profound contempt.  His features worked and a host of adjectives crowded to his lips.

[Illustration:  “Mr. Vickers rose and stood regarding the ignoble creature with profound contempt.”]

“Is that your last word, Joseph?” he inquired, with solemn dignity.

“I’ll say it all over again if you like,” said the obliging Mr. Tasker.  “If you want money, go and earn it, same as I have to; don’t come round ’ere cadging on me, because it’s no good.”

Mr. Vickers laughed; a dry, contemptuous laugh, terrible to hear.

“And that’s the man that’s going to marry my daughter,” he said, slowly; “that’s the man that’s going to marry into my family.  Don’t you expect me to take you up and point you out as my son-in-law, cos I won’t do it.  If there’s anything I can’t abide it’s stinginess.  And there’s my gal —­my pore gal don’t know your real character.  Wait till I’ve told ’er about this morning and opened ’er eyes!  Wait till—­”

He stopped abruptly as the door leading to the front room opened and revealed the inquiring face of Captain Bowers.

“What’s all this noise about, Joseph?” demanded the captain, harshly.

Mr. Tasker attempted to explain, but his explanation involving a character for Mr. Vickers which that gentleman declined to accept on any terms, he broke in and began to give his own version of the affair.  Much to Joseph’s surprise the captain listened patiently.

“Did you buy all those things, Joseph?” he inquired, carelessly, as Mr. Vickers paused for breath.