TARLETON. No: thats what you call it. Come, my lad! Whats the
matter with you? You dont look starved; and youve a decent suit of
clothes.

THE MAN. Forty-two shillings.

TARLETON. They can do you a very decent suit for forty-two shillings.
Have you paid for it?

THE MAN. Do you take me for a thief? And do you suppose I can get
credit like you?

TARLETON. 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.