"Oh," said Mr. Kybird, with indifference.

"Big news," repeated Mr. Smith, sinking thoughtlessly into the broken
cane-chair and slowly extricating himself. "Something that'll make your
eyes start out of your 'ed."

The small black eyes in question were turned shrewdly in his direction.
"I've 'ad news of you afore, Nat," remarked Mr. Kybird, with simple
severity.

The philanthropist was chilled; he fixed his eyes in a stony stare on the
opposite wall. Mr. Kybird, who had ever a wholesome dread of falling a
victim to his friend's cuteness, regarded him with some uncertainty, and
reminded him of one or two pieces of information which had seriously
depleted his till.

"Banns up yet for the wedding?" inquired Mr. Smith, still gazing in front
of him with fathomless eyes.

"They'll be put up next week," said Mr. Kybird.

"Ah!" said his friend, with great emphasis. "Well, well!"

"Wot d'ye mean by 'well, well'?" demanded the other, with some heat.

"I was on'y thinking," replied Mr. Smith, mildly. "P'r'aps it's all for
the best, and I'd better 'old my tongue. True love is better than money.
After all it ain't my bisness, and I shouldn't get much out of it."