"Look 'ere," said Mr. Tasker, putting the saucepan down with a bang, "if you can't talk plain, common English you'd better get out. I don't want you 'ere at all as a matter o' fact, but to have you sitting there shaking your silly 'ead and talking a pack o' nonsense is more than I can stand." Mr. Vickers gazed at him in perplexity. "Do you mean to tell me you haven't been giving my Selina money to buy new clothes for the young 'uns?" he demanded, sharply. "Do you mean to tell me that Selina didn't get money out of you to buy herself and 'er mother and all of 'em--except me--a new rig-out from top to toe?" "D'ye think I've gone mad, or what?" inquired the amazed Mr. Tasker. "What d'ye think I should want to buy clothes for your young 'uns for? That's your duty. And Selina, too; I haven't given 'er anything except a ring, and she lent me the money for that. D'ye think I'm made o' money?" "All right, Joseph," said Mr. Vickers, secretly incensed at this unforeseen display of caution on Mr. Tasker's part. "I s'pose the fairies come and put 'em on while they was asleep. But it's dry work walking; 'ave you got such a thing as a glass o' water you could give me?" The other took a glass from the dresser and, ignoring the eye of his prospective father-in-law, which was glued to a comfortable-looking barrel in the corner, filled it to the brim with fair water and handed it to him. Mr. Vickers, giving him a surly nod, took a couple of dainty sips and placed it on the table. "It's very nice water," he said, sarcastically. "Is it?" said Mr. Tasker. "We don't drink it ourselves, except in tea or coffee; the cap'n says it ain't safe." Mr. Vickers brought his eye from the barrel and glared at him. "I s'pose, Joseph," he said, after a long pause, during which Mr. Tasker was busy making up the fire--"I s'pose Selina didn't tell you you wasn't to tell me about the money?" "I don't know what you're driving at," said the other, confronting him angrily. "I haven't got no money." Mr. Vickers coughed. "Don't say that, Joseph," he urged, softly; "don't say that, my lad. As a matter o' fact, I come round to you, interrupting of you in your work, and I'm sorry for it--knowing how fond of it you are--to see whether I--I couldn't borrow a trifle for a day or two." "Ho, did you?" commented Mr. Tasker, who had opened the oven door and was using his hand as a thermometer. His visitor hesitated. It was no use asking for too much; on the other hand, to ask for less than he could get would be unpardonable folly. "If I could lay my hand on a couple o' quid," he said, in a mysterious whisper, "I could make it five in a week." "Well, why don't you?" inquired Mr. Tasker, who was tenderly sucking the bulb of the thermometer after contact with the side of the oven.