“Is this true, or is it that you have changed your mind about me?”
“True,” said I,—“strictly true.”
“Will this loan—I mean it to be a loan—inconvenience you much?”
“No, no; I make you the offer freely.”
“I take it, then. Let me have ten pounds; and write down there an address where I am to remit it some day or other, though I can't say when.”
“There may be some difficulty about that,” said I. “Stay. I mean to be at Rome some time in the winter; send it to me there.”
“To what banker?”
“I have no banker; I never had a banker. There's my name, and let the post-office be the address.”
“Whichever way you 're bent on going, you 're not on the road to be a rich man,” said Harpar, as he deposited my gold in his leather purse; “but I hope you 'll not lose by me. Good-bye.” He gave me his hand, not very warmly or cordially, either, and was gone ere I well knew it.