“Then perhaps you will wait till our governor comes in?”
“I have no objection.”
“He won't be long. Fine weather for the gardens, Mr. Maxley.”
“Moderate, sir. I'll take my money if you please. Counting it out, that will help pass the time till Muster Hardie comes. You han't made away with it?”
“What d'ye mean, sir?”
“Hardies bain't turned thieves, be they?”
“Are you mad or intoxicated, Mr. Maxley?”
'Neither, sir; but I wants my own, and I wool have it too: so count out on this here counter, or I'll cry the town round that there door.”
“Henry, score James Maxley's name off the books,” said Skinner with cool dignity. But when he had said this, he was at his wits' end: there were not nine hundred pounds of hard cash in the bank, nor anything like it.