‘Con-found it, no,’ rejoined Mr. Simmery, stopping for an instant to smash a fly with the ruler. ‘Say a week.’
‘Split the difference,’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. ‘Make it ten days.’
‘Well; ten days,’ rejoined Mr. Simmery.
So it was entered down on the little books that Boffer was to kill himself within ten days, or Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, was to hand over to Frank Simmery, Esquire, the sum of ten guineas; and that if Boffer did kill himself within that time, Frank Simmery, Esquire, would pay to Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, five guineas, instead.
‘I’m very sorry he has failed,’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. ‘Capital dinners he gave.’
‘Fine port he had too,’ remarked Mr. Simmery. ‘We are going to send our butler to the sale to-morrow, to pick up some of that sixty-four.’
‘The devil you are!’ said Wilkins Flasher, Esquire. ‘My man’s going too. Five guineas my man outbids your man.’
‘Done.’
Another entry was made in the little books, with the gold pencil-cases; and Mr. Simmery, having by this time killed all the flies and taken all the bets, strolled away to the Stock Exchange to see what was going forward.
Wilkins Flasher, Esquire, now condescended to receive Mr. Solomon Pell’s instructions, and having filled up some printed forms, requested the party to follow him to the bank, which they did: Mr. Weller and his three friends staring at all they beheld in unbounded astonishment, and Sam encountering everything with a coolness which nothing could disturb.