"I know--Tin-tax Office. Do you belong to it? Thought so. Wretched office; lost a mint of money in that office. What salary do you get?"
Mr. Pringle mentioned that he was in the receipt of ninety pounds a-year.
"Ah! twenty-one eighteen and nine on the 5th of every third month--I know all about it! Now" mopping his head, "how much do you want?"
"Twenty pounds."
"Lor' bless me! and when do you want it?"
"At once!"
"Can't be done, sir! can't be done!" Violent mopping. "Haven't got any money in the house. Can't you look in next week, and I might let you have ten?"
Mr. Pringle roundly asserted that this would not do at all, and turned round towards the door.
"Stop, sir!" shouted Mr. Scadgers, making tremendous play with the red-silk handkerchief. "What a hasty young man you are! Look here,"--taking out his purse,--"here's a ten-pound note that I promised to young Stephens of the Wafer Office; he was to have been here by two; now its getting on for three, and he's not come. I might let you have that!"
"But that's only ten!" said Mr. Pringle.