“Mr. Wingrave,” he said, “you will give me my receipt for those shares for fifty-seven thousand six hundred dollars.”
Wingrave turned to a paper by his side, and ran his forefinger down the list of names.
“Mr. Nesbitt,” he said. “Yes! sixty thousand dollars.”
The young man laid a slip of paper upon the table.
“That is a certified check for the amount,” he said. “Mr. Malcolmson, please give me my receipt.”
“Ah!” Mr. Wingrave remarked. “I thought that you would find the money.”
Nesbitt bit his lip, but he said nothing till he had the receipt and had fastened it up in his pocket. Then he turned suddenly round upon Wingrave.
“Look here!” he said. “You’ve got your money. I don’t owe you a cent. Now I’m going to tell you what I think of you.”
Wingrave rose slowly to his feet. He was as tall as the boy, long, lean, and hard. His face expressed neither anger nor excitement, but there was a slight, dangerous glitter in his deep-set eyes.
“If you mean,” he said, “that you are going to be impertinent, I would recommend you to change your mind.”