‘“Has Jacob booked up?” asked Crotty.
‘“Yes,” said I, pointing to the notes on the bed, that now looked like a brood of rattlesnakes to my eyes.
‘“All right,” continued he, “Jacob is a most punctilious fellow—foolishly so, indeed, among friends. Well, what are we to say about this—are you strong in cash just now?”
‘“No,” stammered I, with a sigh.
‘“Well, never mind—a short bill for the balance; I’ll take what’s here in part payment, and don’t let the thing give you any inconvenience.”
‘This was done in a good off-hand way. I signed the bill which he drew up in due form. He had a dozen stamps ready in his pocket-book. He rolled up the banknotes carelessly, stuffed them into his coat-pocket, and with a most affectionate hope of seeing me next day at Wiesbaden, left the room.
‘The bill is paid—I released it in less than a week. My trip to Kreuznach just cost me seven hundred pounds, and I may be pardoned if I never like “bishop” for the rest of my life after.’
‘I should not wonder if you became a Presbyterian to-morrow,’ said I, endeavouring to encourage his own effort at good-humour: ‘but here we are at the Rhine. Good-bye; I needn’t warn you about——’
‘Not a word, I beseech you; I’ll never close my eyes as long as I live without a double lock on the door of my bedroom.’