"I've only got to hold up my little finger and they'd jump."
"That's because they've got sense," said Mr. Culpepper. "They've got the
sense to prefer steadiness and humdrumness to good looks and dash. A
young fellow like you earning thirty-two-and-six a week can do without
good looks, and if I've told Florrie so once I have told her fifty
times."
"Looks are a matter of taste," said Mr. Sharp, morosely. "Some of them
girls I was speaking about just now--"
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Culpepper, hastily. "Now, look here; you go on a
different tack. Take a glass of ale like a man or a couple o' glasses;
smoke a cigarette or a pipe. Be like other young men. Cut a dash, and
don't be a namby-pamby. After you're married you can be as miserable as
you like."
Mr. Sharp, after a somewhat lengthy interval, thanked him.
"It's my birthday next Wednesday," continued Mr. Culpepper, regarding him
benevolently; "come round about seven, and I'll ask you to stay to
supper. That'll give you a chance. Anybody's allowed to step a bit over
the mark on birthdays, and you might take a glass or two and make a
speech, and be so happy and bright that they'd 'ardly know you. If you
want an excuse for calling, you could bring me a box of cigars for my
birthday.
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