Litizki was sufficiently master of himself to repress the tremor that threatened him.
"Do you desert me, Vargovitch?" he asked, turning his dull eyes apathetically on his comrade.
"I'll accept no responsibility for what you may have done," returned Vargovitch, "I will neither harbor you nor inform upon you."
"I do not ask the one, and I know you would not do the other. I shall remain but a short time. Come! will you take my business and dispose of it for me?"
"Money cannot be raised among our people to-night."
"I know it, but you can send me some when you have collected. Let me sit down and write a moment."
Vargovitch silently placed writing materials before him, and Litizki wrote rapidly. When he had done, he handed the paper to his friend. It was a surrender of all his business property to Vargovitch, as complete a bill of sale as he could draw.
"Take it or destroy it," said Litizki; "I go now, and by and by I shall send you my address. If you have accepted the trust I impose upon you, you will send me money; if not—" The tailor shrugged his shoulders and went to the door. "It is the last time you look upon me, Vargovitch," he concluded.
"It is a wild scheme," muttered Vargovitch, looking at the document, "but we will see."