Then you were able to lay your hand on forty-two shillings.
Judging from your conversational style, I should think you must spend
at least a shilling a week on romantic literature.
THE MAN. Where would I get a shilling a week to spend on books when I
can hardly keep myself decent? I get books at the Free Library.
TARLETON _[springing to his feet]_ What!!!
THE MAN. _[recoiling before his vehemence]_ The Free Library.
Theres no harm in that.
TARLETON. Ingrate! I supply you with free books; and the use you
make of them is to persuade yourself that it's a fine thing to shoot
me. _[He throws himself doggedly back into his chair]._ I'll never
give another penny to a Free Library.
THE MAN. Youll never give another penny to anything. This is the
end: for you and me.
TARLETON. Pooh! Come, come, man! talk business. Whats wrong? Are
you out of employment?
THE MAN. No. This is my Saturday afternoon. Dont flatter yourself
that I'm a loafer or a criminal. I'm a cashier; and I defy you to say
that my cash has ever been a farthing wrong. Ive a right to call you
to account because my hands are clean.
TARLETON. Well, call away. What have I to account for? Had you a
hard time with your mother? Why didnt she ask me for money?
THE MAN. She'd have died first.
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