“Well, I heard him.  The sturdy cur refused to be bribed, so there was only one way of quieting him; and you see what a thrashing does for that sort of beast.  I, Algy, never abandon a friend; mark that.  Take the five pounds to Sedgett.”

Algernon strode about the room.  “First of all, you stick me up in a theatre, so that I’m seen with a girl; and then you get behind me, and let me be pelted,” he began grumbling.  “And ask a fellow for money, who hasn’t a farthing!  I shan’t literally have a farthing till that horse ‘Templemore’ runs; and then, by George!  I’ll pay my debts.  Jews are awful things!”

“How much do you require at present?” said Edward, provoking his appetite for a loan.

“Oh, fifty—­that is, just now.  More like a thousand when I get to town.  And where it’s to come from! but never mind.  ’Pon my soul, I pity the fox I run down here.  I feel I’m exactly in his case in London.  However, if I can do you any service, Ned—­”

Edward laughed.  “You might have done me the service of not excusing yourself to the squire when he came here, in such a way as to implicate me.”

“But I was so tremendously badgered, Ned.”

“You had a sort of gratification in letting the squire crow over his brother.  And he did crow for a time.”

“On my honour, Ned, as to crowing! he went away cursing at me.  Peggy Lovell managed it somehow for you.  I was really awfully badgered.”

“Yes; but you know what a man my father is.  He hasn’t the squire’s philosophy in those affairs.”

“’Pon my soul, Mr. Ned, I never guessed it before; but I rather fancy you got clear with Sir Billy the banker by washing in my basin—­eh, did you?”

Edward looked straight at his cousin, saying, “You deserved worse than that.  You were treacherous.  You proved you were not to be trusted; and yet, you see, I trust you.  Call it my folly.  Of course (and I don’t mind telling you) I used my wits to turn the point of the attack.  I may be what they call unscrupulous when I’m surprised.  I have to look to money as well as you; and if my father thought it went in a—­what he considers—­wrong direction, the source would be choked by paternal morality.  You betrayed me.  Listen.”

“I tell you, Ned, I merely said to my governor—­”

“Listen to me.  You betrayed me.  I defended myself; that is, I’ve managed so that I may still be of service to you.  It was a near shave; but you now see the value of having a character with one’s father.  Just open my writing-desk there, and toss out the cheque-book.  I confess I can’t see why you should have objected—­but let that pass.  How much do you want?  Fifty?  Say forty-five, and five I’ll give you to pay to Sedgett—­making fifty.  Eighty before, and fifty—­one hundred and thirty.  Write that you owe me that sum, on a piece of paper.  I can’t see why you should wish to appear so uncommonly virtuous.”