"No." For a few seconds 'Bias appeared to be musing. "In fact you might call it a—a sort o' flutter. That's the word—ain't it?—when you take a bit o' money and play venturesome with it, against your usual habits."
"Ay?" Mr Rogers looked at him sharply. "When I say venturesome," continued 'Bias, "you'll understand I don't mean foolhardy. . . . Nothin' o' the sort. I want to hear o' something tolerably safe, into which a man might put a small sum he happened to have lyin' about."
"What sort of investment?"
"Ay, that's just what I want you to tell me. Ten per cent, we'll say, an' no more'n a moderate risk. . . . I reckoned as a man like you might know, maybe, o' half a dozen things o' the sort."
"What's the amount?" Mr Rogers's eyes, that had opened wide for a moment, narrowed themselves upon him in a curiosity that hid some humour.
"Put it at a hundred pound."
"Oh!—er—I mean, is that all?"
"You see," exclaimed 'Bias. "You mustn' run away wi' the notion that I ain't satisfied as things are. Four and five per cent—and that's what you get for me—does best in the main. I can live within the income and sleep o' nights. But once in a way—"
"Ay," interrupted Mr Rogers, "and more especially when it's to oblige a friend."
'Bias withdrew the pipe from his mouth and stared. "You're a clever one, too! . . . Well, and I don't mind you're knowin'. 'Tis a relief, in a way: for now you know I'm pleased enough with your dealins' on my own account."