"I can't explain, uncle, if you don't give me a chance."

Another grunt.

"Jimmie--I mean Staples--wanted to give his girl a ring before he went
back. He hadn't enough money--so I lent him fifty pounds."

Mr. Reiss drops his glasses, gets up from his chair, and stands before
the fire, facing his nephew.

"So you lent him fifty pounds, did you? A third of your annual allowance.
You had no business to--and if Captain Whatever's-his-name were a
respectable man, he would have saved the money to pay for the ring.
Instead of that _I_ have to pay for it."

"Oh no, uncle."

"How d'you mean--'no, uncle'? Aren't you asking me for money? It's
always the same story with the lot of you. You like to be generous
at other people's expense. I've told you I'm a ruined man. The fortune
which was the result of my hard work all my life has disappeared. I'm
a poor man. I spend nothing on myself. I've given up my car. I've put
down everything. I'm trying to dispose of my pictures and to sell the
lease of this place. You don't seem to understand what this infernal
war means to people like myself. _You_ don't have to pay for it.
Do you realize that one-third of my entire income goes for income
tax? I've paid your bills over and over again, but I can't do it any
more. For this once I'll--" The boy holds up his hand.