The half-choking Mr. Vickers explained.

"Yes, o' course it is," assented Mr. Tasker.

"People what's got money," said the offended Mr. Vickers, regarding him
fiercely, "stick to it like leeches. Now, suppose I was a young man
keeping company with a gal and her father wanted to borrow a couple o'
quid--a paltry couple o' thick'uns--what d'ye think I should do?"

"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.