“Par!” snapped Enoch. “It’s at zero, and you know it. Below zero, I should say, judging from all reports.” And before Ford could reply: “Let us come to the point. You are in arrears for your rent, sir.”
Ford gaped at him in amazement.
“I refer, sir, to your apartment in Waverly Place; with the exception of your first month’s payment, you have not paid a dollar’s worth of rent since you moved in, not a penny, sir; rents are made to be paid, sir, not avoided. You have not even made the slightest excuse or apology to your landlord over the delay. Any other landlord would have ousted you from the premises.”
Ford laid his dusty derby on the desk, planting his long hands over his bony knees, his small eyes regarding Enoch with a curious expression.
“Oh, I haven’t, have I?” he exclaimed. “Wouldn’t like to take a bet on it, would you?”
“No, sir!” cried Enoch, squaring back in his seat. “You have not, not a penny of it. Can you deny it?”
“What’s my rent got to do with you?” returned Ford. “You seem to be almighty interested in other folks’ rents.”
“I’ve let you run on,” continued Enoch firmly, “so far without troubling you.”
“Oh, you have, have you? Well, say, you take the cake! Talk as if you owned the place.”
Enoch sprang out of his chair, his under lip shot forward.