And I
_know_ he has nothing more than a wet-weather tummy if he could only
keep a hand on himself.
BLAYNE. That's bad. That's very bad. Poor little Miggy. Good little
chap, too. I say--
ANTHONY. What do you say?
BLAYNE. Well, look here--anyhow. If it's like that--as you say--I say
fifty.
CURTISS. I say fifty.
MACKESY. I go twenty better.
DOONE. Bloated Croesus of the Bar! I say fifty. Jervoise, what do
you say? Hi! Wake up!
JERVOISE. Eh? What's that? What's that?
CURTISS. We want a hundred rupees from you. You're a bachelor drawing
a gigantic income, and there's a man in a hole.
JERVOISE. What man? Any one dead?
BLAYNE. No, but he'll die if you don't give the hundred. Here! Here's
a peg-voucher. You can see what we've signed for, and Anthony's man
will come round to-morrow to collect it. So there will be no trouble.
JERVOISE. (Signing.) One hundred, E. M. J. There you are (feebly). It
isn't one of your jokes, is it?
BLAYNE. No, it really _is_ wanted. Anthony, you were the biggest
poker-winner last week, and you've defrauded the tax-collector too
long. Sign!
ANTHONY.
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