Sitting in his lonely, dirty office, without fire, or comfort of any kind, he gathered himself into a heap in a large, old arm-chair, and looked like some wild animal in wait for its prey.
Hour after hour he there sat, thinking of the past, and cursing every one in any way connected with his losses.
He cursed both the living and the dead, with an earnestness and an enthusiasm which greatly relieved his pent-up feelings.
To such an extent had his loss preyed upon him, that his face had become like a livid corpse.
He stalked through his dusty, dingy offices like one possessed by the devil, and when an unfortunate servant poked in her head from the back room, to ask a question, Moss raised a heavy ledger with great energy, and threw it at her.
“So Sir Andrew has returned to town again, has he? Ha, ha! Oh, he’s a nice gentleman—the intended father-in-law of that young vagabond, Redgill, eh? I see the scheme! No wonder the insurance office couldn’t pay its lawful debts! I know what their plans are. I’ll go and see him. I will see him; he can’t fool me, old as I am. I’ll tell him what I think of him. I’ll have my money, or I’ll see why!” cursed old Moss, walking about like a maniac.
The furious old Jew put on his tattered overcoat, buttoned it up to the throat, and with a good thick stick in his hand, trudged off towards Sir Andrew’s residence.
The servant said his master was engaged, and could not be seen.
Mr. Moss would take no denial.
He would see him, and without further ceremony flourished his stick at the footman’s head, and made his way upstairs to the library.