ARTH. I can't tell! (_Suddenly._) Yes, I can, of course! It can only mean one thing (_enthusiastically_)--that she _will_ let me hand her up the hammer-- SIR F. (_shouting_). Confound it, drop that hammer! You've been hammering that hammer into my ears for the last ten minutes! Now! (_turning VALLANCE round to him face to face_) speak like a man of sense--if you've got any left in you! ARTH. Well, then, I ventured to speak to my uncle-- SIR F. Old Cosey? ARTH. Yes, old Cosey--about Myrtle, and he coolly told me I mustn't think of getting married for the next ten or fifteen years! SIR F. Come, I like that! ARTH. Do you? It's more than I do--unless, he said, he saw some urgent necessity for it; but that if I married without his consent he'd disinherit me. SIR F. Is that all? ARTH. All! It strikes me as being quite enough. No, it isn't all--it's only half, for Myrtle-- SIR F. (_cutting him short_). Never mind Myrtle; I know all about her. She thinks you a bit of a milksop--s--so do I; that you've no energy--not an atom! no will of your own--never had! and that in order to reinstate yourself in her good opinion you must do something _desperate!_ So you shall! Now what do you mean to do? ARTH. Show a proper spirit, and--run away! SIR F. Run away! Certainly not--fling yourself into my arms and I'll pull you through! So cheer up! ARTH. It's very easy to say "cheer up" to a fellow who feels himself between two stools, with the certainty of coming down a cropper! SIR F. But what's the use of giving you advice? You'd never follow it! You haven't the pluck to do anything desperate! ARTH. I told uncle I would! But I'm not going to make away with myself merely to prove that I'm a man of my word! SIR F. Pshaw! Now let's understand each other. Myrtle insists on your giving her a convincing proof of energy--pluck--determination--and all that sort of thing! You're not limited as to the direction they may take? ARTH. Not at all! SIR F. Good--and your uncle refuses his consent to your marriage unless he sees some urgent necessity for it? ARTH. Exactly! SIR F. Then the same medicine will do for both! Old Cosey has a great regard for propriety and morality, and all that sort of thing--hasn't he? ARTH. Intense! SIR F. Then we'll give him such a shock on that score, he'll think that his opposition to your wishes has driven you frantic with despair! ARTH. But Myrtle? SIR F. Has only to imagine there's a chance of your turning out a "naughty, good-for-nothing reprobate," and she'll be only too glad to reclaim her lost sheep at once! ARTH. What then? SIR F. Oh, then we must borrow a wrinkle from the French! As your uncle won't hear of your taking a wife of your own, take somebody else's!--no matter whose. Take _mine;_ she's the handiest! ARTH. Don't be absurd! SIR F. I'm perfectly serious! All your uncle wants is to snooze away his existence. We must wake the old boy up!! ARTH. How?