“Yes, twenty-five pounds, Zekle; I’ll give you twenty-five,” he cried.
“It ain’t no use to try and tempt me, Mas’r Mark—it ain’t indeed. I didn’t ought to hold my tongue about it. No, I’ll go and do my duty.”
“But it will nearly drive my father mad,” said Penelly imploringly; while Zekle’s little sharp eyes twinkled as their owner wondered whether his victim could muster twenty-five pounds.
“I’m very sorry, of course,” said Zekle; “but you see a man must do his duty. No, no, Mas’r Mark, you mustn’t tempt me.”
“I’ll get you the money at once, Zekle,” said Penelly, who saw that his visitor was trembling in the balance—that is, he appeared to be; but Zekle had make up his mind to have twenty-five pounds down before he entered the house.
“I didn’t ought to take it, you know,” said Zekle, hesitating.
“But you will, Zekle, and I’ll never forget your goodness,” said Penelly imploringly; and then hastily locking the door to make sure that his visitor did not go, he went out of the room straight to a desk in his father’s office, which he opened with a key of his own, and returned directly with four five-pound notes and five sovereigns.
“I oughtn’t to take this, Mas’r Mark,” Zekle grumbled; “it ar’n’t my duty, you know; and I wish you’d give me sov’rins instead of them notes.”
“I cannot,” said Penelly sharply. “It has been hard work to get that.”
“Then I s’pose I must take them,” said Zekle, “but it don’t seem like my duty to;” and as he spoke he carefully wrapped up the notes and placed them with the gold in his pocket.