"Why, how many," he rejoined, "are making as much as you? A good many are doing twenty thousand a year, I dare say, but—"
Here I checked his curiosity by asking if he had ever considered what twenty thousand a year meant.
He never had.
"Then I will tell you, Lewis. You may make it in a day, but to us it means five hundred golden sovereigns every week in the working year!"
It somewhat startled him, I could see, and it effected my object without giving offence. What did it matter to Sam Lewis what my income was?
"There are men who make it," he answered.
"Some men have made it," I said; "and I know some who make more, but will never own to it, ask who may."
I may say I liked Sam Lewis, and having told the story of the Queen's Counsel who borrowed my money in so dishonest a manner, I will tell one of Sam, the professional money-lender.
He never was known to take advantage of a man in difficulties, and he never did, nor to charge any one exorbitant interest. I have known him lend to men and allow them to fix their own time of payment, their own rate of interest, and their own security. He often lent without any at all. He knew his men, and was not fool enough to trust a rogue at any amount of interest. He was known and respected by all ranks, and never more esteemed than by those who had had pecuniary transactions with him. He was the soul of honour, and his transactions were world-wide; business passed through his hands that would have been entrusted nowhere else; so that he was rich, and no one was more deservedly so.
Here is an incident in Lewis's business life that will show one phase of his character.