“Here it is,—here's the note,” said Joe, who had all the while been prosecuting his search. “It's in your own hand, and mentions that this sum forms a portion of the debt now satisfied by his bond.”
“Cancel the bill, and tell him so. What's that letter yonder?”
“It is marked 'strictly private and confidential,' sir; but comes from Walter Carew, Esq.”
“Then why not give it to me at once? Why keep pottering about every trifle of no moment, sir?” said Fagan, as he broke the seal, and drew near to the window to read. It was very brief, and ran thus:—
Dear Fagan,—Shylock could n't hold a candle to you; such
an infernal mess of interest, compound interest, costs, and
commission as you have sent me I never beheld! However, for
the present I must endure all your exactions, even to the
tune of fifty per cent. Let me have cash for the enclosed
three bills, for one thousand each, drawn at the old dates,
and, of course, to be 'done' at the old discount.
I have just taken a wife, and am in want of ready money to
buy some of the customary tomfooleries of the occasion.
Regards to Polly and her fat terrier.
Yours, in haste,
Walter Carew.
“Read that,” said Fagan, handing the letter to his clerk, while the veins in his forehead swelled out with passion, and his utterance grew hoarse and thick.
Raper carefully perused the note, and then proceeded to examine the bills, when Fagan snatched them rudely from his hand.
“It was his letter I bade you read,—the gross insolence of his manner of addressing me. Where's his account, Raper? How does he stand with us?”
“That's a long affair to make out,” said Joe, untying a thick roll of papers.
“I don't want details. Can you never understand that? Tell me in three words how he stands.”