“Those Biglows have not paid their rent yet. I think you had better go up to St. John’s Wood and see about it.”
“I will go if you think so, Fred, but it will be of no use.”
“Give them to the end of the week, and if they don’t pay on Saturday, put a man in the first thing on Monday morning.”
“You see, Fred, they said last week when I saw them,” Mr. Bingham said hesitatingly, “that Biglow had been ill for months, and had been too weak to touch a brush.”
“That is their business,” the son said harshly, “not ours. Let them go into a smaller house. There will be enough furniture left, after paying us our half-year’s rent to furnish that. The furniture is very good. I took particular notice myself last time I saw them. Anyhow, the dining-room alone is worth fifty pounds at a sale. You can tell them that you don’t want to do anything unhandsome, but that you must have the forty pounds they owe; and that rather than sell them up, if they like to leave the dining-room and drawing-room furniture, we will let them take the rest out and cry quits. That will suit both of us; it will save them being sold up, and it is worth a good hundred pounds to us.”
“But, Fred, he might easily borrow the means to pay the half-year’s rent on the furniture by merely giving a bill of sale.”
“Nonsense, father; the man’s an artist, and knows no more of business than a child. Do as I advise you, and you will see he will jump at the offer, and be grateful besides.”
“Well, Fred, you will never die a pauper, that’s pretty certain,” his father said, admiringly.
“I have no intention of doing so,” Fred said drily. “That is settled then. I don’t know that there is anything else to arrange. Call round at the office if you have time; but I shall leave early myself. I suppose we shall dine at five, to give us plenty of time for the theatre business”
Fred then went to the door, and shouted for his mother, who came with the information that they had decided upon the Princess’s.