SIR WILLIAM. [Drily] We will put it that way. [A pause] At the
present moment you owe, as I understand it, eleven hundred pounds.
BILL. About that.
SIR WILLIAM. Mere flea-bite. [A pause] I've a proposition to make.
BILL. Won't it do to-morrow, sir?
SIR WILLIAM. "To-morrow" appears to be your motto in life.
BILL. Thanks!
SIR WILLIAM. I'm anxious to change it to-day. [BILL looks at him in
silence] It's time you took your position seriously, instead of
hanging about town, racing, and playing polo, and what not.
BILL. Go ahead!
At something dangerous in his voice, SIR WILLIAM modifies his
attitude.
SIR, WILLIAM. The proposition's very simple. I can't suppose
anything so rational and to your advantage will appeal to you, but
[drily] I mention it. Marry a nice girl, settle down, and stand for
the division; you can have the Dower House and fifteen hundred a
year, and I'll pay your debts into the bargain. If you're elected
I'll make it two thousand. Plenty of time to work up the
constituency before we kick out these infernal Rads. Carpetbagger
against you; if you go hard at it in the summer, it'll be odd if you
don't manage to get in your three days a week, next season.
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