"Ah, Boxall! glad to see you. What a man you are to make an appointment with! Are you aware, sir, of the value of time in London, not to say in this life generally? Are you aware that bills are due at certain dates, and that the man who has not money at his banker's to meet them is dishonored—euphemistically shifted to the bill?"
Thus jocosely did Mr. Worboise play upon the well-known business habits of his friend, who would rather, or at least believed he would rather, go to the scaffold than allow a bill of his to be dishonored. But Mr. Boxall was in a good humor, too, this morning.
"At least, Worboise," he answered, "I trust when the said bill is dishonored, you may not be the holder."
"Thank you. I hope not. I don't like losing money."
"Oh, don't mistake me! I meant for my sake, not yours."
"Why?"
"Because you would skin the place before you took the pound of flesh. I know you!"
Mr. Worboise winced. Mr. Boxall thought he had gone too far, that is, had been rude. But Mr. Worboise laughed aloud.
"You flatter me, Boxall," he said. "I had no idea I was such a sharp practitioner. But you ought to know best. We'll take care, at all events, to have this will of yours right."
So saying, he went to a drawer to get it out. But Mr. Boxall still feared that his friend had thought him rude.