“I am quite satisfied it is all right,” said Cashel, pushing the paper carelessly from him. “I have borrowed money once or twice in my life, and always thought anything liberal which did not exceed cent per cent.”
“We are content with much less, sir, as you will perceive,” said Hoare, smiling. “Six per cent interest, one-half commission—”
“Yes, yes; it is all perfectly correct,” broke in Cashel. “I sign my name here—and here?”
“And here, also, sir. There is also a policy of insurance on your life.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, a usual kind of security in these cases,” said Linton; “because if you were to die before the bills came due—”
“I see it all; whatever you please,” said Cashel, taking up his hat and gloves. “Now, will you pardon me for taking a very abrupt leave?”
“You are forgetting a very material point, sir,” said Hoare; “this is an order on Frend and Beggan for the money.”
“Very true. The fact is, gentlemen, my head is none of the clearest to-day. Good-bye—good-bye.”
“Ten to one all that haste is to keep some appointment with one of Kennyfeck's daughters,” said Hoare, as he shook the sand over the freshly-signed bills, when the heavy bang of the hall-door announced Cashel's departure.