"You are wrong. The bond says twelve o'clock by my watch. It does not stipulate that my watch shall keep right time. Read the words for yourself. You stand by the bond, you know, to the letter--the exact words you spoke to me. Another minute gone; three minutes to twelve. I demand my money, my three thousand florins!"
"But, Pretzel," I implored, "you cannot mean it. You will surely not cast me into the streets--you will not make a beggar of me!"
"Oh no," he cried, "I will not make a beggar of you--I will not cast you into the streets! I have so much reason to love you, have I not? As for your ruin, you have brought it on yourself. This is your signature, not mine. It is your honesty that is at stake, not mine. The villainous old usurer, the devil that is not so black as he is painted, wants only his rights--nothing more. Two minutes to twelve; another minute gone. I demand my money, my three thousand florins!"
"Bring me writing materials," I said to my friend, in a despairing tone, "and I will write Miser Pretzel an order on the bank for three thousand florins."
"I will accept no order on the bank," said, Pretzel, "for two reasons. One is, because I should find it was not worth the paper it was written on; and the other, because it is stated in the bond that the money is to be repaid to me in hard coin."
"You insist upon it, Pretzel?"
"Yes, I insist upon it. Another minute gone; one minute to twelve."
I tapped him gently on his breast, within which I verily believe beat the cunningest heart that mortal was ever cursed with; I made him a low bow I smiled benignly; and saying, "What must be, must be," I took from a drawer the bag with the three thousand florins in it, and put it into his bands.
"There is your money," I said, "the exact sum, in hard coin, which I drew from the State Bank yesterday. Give me my bond, that I may cancel it."
He turned white, then yellow, then green; he trembled with rage; he gasped for breath.