“Brother, I thank you a million times for your more than brotherly welcome, and a million times more to that for your more than brotherly intentions. But my plans are made. Before I say a word as to them, I wish to consult you upon one family point. How,” says the trooper, folding his arms and looking with indomitable firmness at his brother, “how is my mother to be got to scratch me?”

“I am not sure that I understand you, George,” replies the ironmaster.

“I say, brother, how is my mother to be got to scratch me? She must be got to do it somehow.”

“Scratch you out of her will, I think you mean?”

“Of course I do. In short,” says the trooper, folding his arms more resolutely yet, “I mean⁠— to ⁠—scratch me!”

“My dear George,” returns his brother, “is it so indispensable that you should undergo that process?”