“Who they are? Oh, yes! Such greenness belongs to us. Young in the business, you know. Haven’t cut our eye-teeth. You’re likely to get at them articles without me, very; but how are you going to do it, that’s the figure? How are you going to do it?”
“Then you will not help me?”
“Why that is just what you and I are bargaining about. Say three thousand, and I’m on hand.”
“Three thousand for articles not worth more, by your own showing, than a third of the amount, and for which you only advanced fifty dollars. Surely, you cannot be in earnest.”
“In earnest? Well, you will find that I shall not abate one dollar. A thing is worth what one can get for it. You want this shawl and coral for something more than their worth, and so make fancy stock of them. You understand they are my fancy stock, and for any good they will be to you, I am the holder.”
“But they are sold, you admitted that.”
“Yes; but my books are not sold—and without them, how can these things be traced? Oh, never mind! you will come to my terms, people generally do!”
Ross took his hat from the counter, and turned to leave the box, in which he had stood while conversing with this man. The pawnbroker eyed him furtively, with a crafty smile on his lips. He was not disheartened, for the anxiety in those deep-set eyes was too apparent for doubt. The man would make any sacrifice rather than lose the articles he sought.
“You will think better of it, sir,” he said, leaning over the counter, and following the retreating man with an oily smile. “Remember, I am always to be found here.”
Ross lifted his hat and disappeared, making no other reply. For a moment, disgust of the man overpowered even the strong wish that had brought him to that miserable place.