“He has been dunning me to borrow a couple of thousand dollars of him,—the improvident old fool. He needs every cent of his money in his business. He knows it. He merely wants to put me under an obligation, knowing I may never pay him back. He can’t dupe me.”
“If ’ would gratify poor Maloney, why not humor him?” said Angelica. “He feels eternally grateful to you for having made a man of him. You helped him to a fortune. He has often said he owed it to you that he wasn’t a sot about the streets.”
“If I helped him to a fortune, I showed him how to lose it, Jelly. So there we’re just even. I tell you I won’t get in debt again, if I can help it. You, Jelly, are the only one I’ve borrowed from since the last great crash.”
“And in borrowing from me, you merely take back your own,” interposed Angelica.
“I’ve paid everything in the way of a debt, principal and interest,” said Pompilard. “And I don’t want to break the charm again at my time of life. Debt is the Devil’s own snare. I know it from sad experience. I’ve two good schemes on foot for retrieving my affairs, without having to risk much money in the operation. If you can let me have five hundred dollars, I think ’ will be the only nest-egg I shall need.”
“Certainly, father,” said Angelica; and going down-stairs into the basement, she found the persevering Maloney waiting her coming.
“Mr. Maloney,” said she, “let me propose a compromise. My father wants five hundred dollars of me. I haven’t it to give him. But if you’ll lend it on my receipt, I’ll take it and be very thankful.”
“Make it a thousand, and I’ll say yes,” said Pat.
“Well, I’ll not haggle with you, Mr. Maloney,” replied Angelica.
Maloney handed her the money, and, refusing to take a receipt, seized his hat, and quitted the house by the back area, looking round suspiciously, and snuffing contemptuously at the surroundings, as he emerged into the alley-way which conducted him to one of the streets leading into the Bowery.