“Of course,” observed the gray-haired one, gathering himself together, “you will be ready with the money on the nail?”
“Now you’re talking sense!” cried Neighbor warmly. “Now you’re getting down to facts.” He threw back his head and sang with great heartiness and zest:
“That day of wrath, that dreadful day;
Maryland, my Maryland!
When heaven and earth shall pass away;
Maryland, my Maryland!”
Clerks beyond the glass partition turned startled faces that way. In that gloomy, haunted counting room, used only to the tones of meekness or despair, the echoes rolled thunderous:
“When, shriveling like a parchèd scroll,
The flaming heavens together roll——”
“Will I have the money? Quien sabe? If I don’t the brand is yours—party of the first part, his heirs, executors and assigns forever—nary a whimper from this corner. If I knew for certain I’d tell you, for you have a plain right to know that; but that first line of talk was just sickening drivel. If you held a mortgage on a man’s stuff, would that give you any right to go snoopin’ round and compel him to get in a poker game—hey? Would that look nice? Whaddy you mean, then—how dast you, then—try to tell me not to play poker—meddling in my private affairs? How dare you? Shame-y! Shame-y! S-s-h!”