“Hullo, where’s Morkum?” he asked, disappointedly.
“He is out for de day, sair,” replied the occupant of the room, a hook-nosed son of Benjamin, rising from the table at which he was seated, and washing his hands with invisible soap, a process they greatly needed with the material article. “Can I not do anydings for you?”
“Yes, you can, Schultz,” said the other, in a conciliatory tone. “The fact is, I want to renew.”
The Jew looked keenly at him, and his little eyes twinkled maliciously.
“I can’t do it, sair. De monish, you see, must be paid. It is over-due—over-due.”
“What’s the amount now?”
“Fifteen hundred and twenty-fife—six,” answered Schultz, having duly consulted a ponderous tome bound in leather.
“The devil! Now look here, Schultz. We’ll renew, say for three months, and you shall let me have the odd five hundred on your own terms.”
“No, sair. Mishter Morkum he said he cood not renew. I was haf de monish or—” and the speaker shrugged his shoulders in a way that was highly suggestive.
“But don’t you see, Schultz, I must renew, at any rate,” said the other, angrily. “Don’t be a damned fool now. I’m on a good thing, I tell you, and you shall be paid in full in a few months’ time. Don’t you see?”