Wingrave glanced up as they entered. He motioned Nesbitt to a chair by his side, but the young man remained standing.
“My secretary tells me,” Wingrave said curtly, “that you cannot pay me what you owe.”
“It’s more than I possess in the world, sir,” Nesbitt answered.
“It is not a large amount,” Wingrave said. “I do not see how you can carry on business unless you can command such a sum as this.”
Nesbitt moistened his dry lips with his tongue.
“I have only been doing a very small business, sir,” he answered, “but quite enough to make a living. I don’t speculate as a rule. Hardwells seemed perfectly safe, or I wouldn’t have touched them. I sold at four. They are not worth one. I could have bought thousands last week for two dollars.”
“That is beside the question,” Wingrave answered. “If you do not pay this, you have cheated me out of my profits for I should have placed the commission with brokers who could. Why did you wish to see me again?”
“I thought that you might give me time,” Nesbitt answered, raising his head and looking Wingrave straight in the face. “It seems rather a low down thing to come begging. I’d rather cut my right hand off than do it for myself, but I’ve—someone else to think about, and if I’m hammered, I’m done for. Give me a chance, Mr. Wingrave! I’ll pay you in time.”
“What do you ask for?” Wingrave said.
“I thought that you might give me time,” Nesbitt said, “and I’ll pay you the rest off with the whole of my profits every year.”