“I fancy not,” said Linton, musing; “I believe I can guess the secret.”
“What am I to do with these, Mr. Linton?” said the other, not heeding the last observation, as he took two pieces of paper from the pocket of his book.
“What are they?” said Linton, stretching at full length on a sofa.
“Two bills, with the endorsement of Thomas Linton.”
“Then are two ten-shilling stamps spoiled and good for nothing,” replied Linton, “which, without that respectable signature, might have helped to ruin somebody worth ruining.”
“'One will be due on Saturday, the twelfth. The other—”
“Don't trouble yourself about the dates, Hoare. I 'll renew as often as you please—I 'll do anything but pay.”
“Come, sir, I'll make a generous proposition: I have made a good morning's work. You shall have them both for a hundred.”
“Thanks for the liberality,” said Linton, laughing. “You bought them for fifty.”
“I know that very well; but remember, you were a very depreciated stock at that time. Now, you are at a premium. I hear you have been a considerable winner from our friend here.”