“Yes, you have; and therefore I can't—”
“If I were a bally Russian I'd have made you name a price twice the usual figure and I'd have taken the difference as a commission. It's what you Americans call graft, I believe. What?”
“Of course,” said Boon, coldly, disgusted with the venal aristocracy, “we'd never have done such a—”
“Tut, tut! It's done everywhere; but not to me!” Colonel Lowther said, so sternly that Mr. Boon considered himself accused of unnamed crimes. He resented this, but, being unable to fix the exact accusation, contented himself with remarking, diplomatically:
“Of course not! But at the same time—”
“Yes, yes,” rudely broke in the colonel, with a silencing wave of his gloved hand. “Now I can myself pay you in cash for whatever the duke buys—say, up to twenty thousand or twenty-five thousand pounds. For advancing this money, which will not be paid to me for months, I ask you to allow me a half-year's interest. That,” finished Colonel Lowther, impressively, “is banking. What?”
“At what rate?”
“Oh, eight or ten per cent.”
“Impossible!”
“Then, Mr. Welch, Boon, or whatever your name is, I wish you a very good morning!”