"Supposing what you say is true, I admit that my chance isn't worth two
penn'orth o' cold gin, though it's every bit as good, and probably
better, than yours, all things considered. You are certainly a fine
figure of a man."
I was furious, mad, keen to provoke him to an outburst. The calculated
insult was patent enough.
I thought he was about to go for me, and I stood ready, when "What about
me?" came in a dry crackling voice from Arthur.
"Oh, I should put you and me about level," I said, "with the courtesy
title as a little extra weight. It is a pity you should be the second
son."
"Damn you, Kirby!" he burst out, blazing with anger.