“You are speaking foolishly!” Schleifmann protested. “To end it!... Why should you?... What a lazy rent-holder you are!... Devil take it, you could work!”
“Work!” grunted Cyprien.... “I would work if I were given work to do!... A man of my age, who has been hammered on ‘Change.... You know, that is not precisely a good recommendation!”
Schleifmann scratched his thick gray hair, thinking fast. At length, he asked:
“Come, my dear Cyprien!... I have an idea.... Supposing you were allowed to carry over, would you be able to re-establish your finances?”
“I can promise nothing!” Cyprien replied. “But there would be a chance.... This crash will not last.... People affirm on all sides that it is due to a maneuver of the Black Band.... Before the end of this fortnight, everything may be changed.... At all events, if one has to blow up, it would be finer to have fought to the end....”
“And, of course, you would gamble again?”
“No, Schleifmann! I would not gamble again.... I would maintain my position, as they say ... my splendid position, and I would wait for things to turn up!”
“Will you swear it to me on the head of your niece, Mlle. Thérèse?”
“I do like this oath idea very much!... Well, let it be so!... I swear it, upon the head of my nephew.... But why all these preambles and questions?”
“Well, here is my idea!” Schleifmann said solemnly. “Where is M. Pums at this hour?”