Squire Luke only chuckled and smoked, and spilled the cigar-ash over the green cloth and played; but played more vilely than his brother, with the result that, in spite of all his efforts, Tom won game after game. It was very awkward, for Tom had a request to make, and unless he could get his brother in a good temper, the request would certainly be in vain. He made misses and his brother scored one each time. Then went straight into the pocket without touching a ball; and his opponent scored three; but directly afterwards, when his turn came round, the balls seemed as if they would make cannons and winning and losing hazards, so that his score kept rising, and Squire Luke raved. Tom won every game, and his brother grew more silent, till quite in despair at the failure of his plan to put the squire in a good temper, Tom blurted out his business. He wanted a hundred pounds. "I should think you do want a hundred pounds!" said the squire coolly; "say two." "Two!" cried Tom merrily. "Twopence!" cried his brother, driving his ball off the table with a tremendous clatter. "What for?" "Meet a couple of bills," said Tom, picking up the ball. "No! Your play again." "No business to accept them." "Couldn't help it, old fellow. Come, let's have a hundred." "Not a stiver." "Why?" "Because you've had your allowance for the year, and fifty over." "Nonsense, old man; I'm hard pushed, and if I don't meet the bills, they'll be dishonoured." "Well, what of that?" said Squire Luke coolly, as he made a stroke. "What of it! eh? Why, the glorious name of Candlish will be dragged in the mire." "Bah!" ejaculated the squire, playing again. "Why, Luke, that stroke was not emblematic, was it, of your turning into a screw?" "None of your hints. I put on no screw, and I am no screw. You have your five hundred a year to spend, and I keep you besides." "Oh, yes: and keep me well; but a man can't always keep just inside a certain line." "You always keep outside a certain line," retorted the squire. "You have your five hundred regularly." "And you have your five thousand regularly," said Tom, who was beginning to flush up. "Well, what of that?" "Why, it isn't fair that you should have all this big place and a large income, and I nearly nothing." "That's right," said the squire; "abuse your father." "I don't abuse my father!" retorted Tom hotly; "but I say it was an infernal shame!" "He knew what a blackguard you are, Tommy. Ah! that's a good stroke: six!" "Blackguard, eh? Come, I like that. Because I am open and above-board, and you are about the most underhanded ruffian that ever lived, I'm a blackguard, and you are only Squire Luke. Why, you sneaking--" "Don't call names, Tom," said the squire, laughing huskily, with his heavy face bloated and red from the wine he had taken. "Little boy, younger brother, if you are rude I may use the stick in the shape of a billiard cue."