“Give me full particulars of this amount, and I will pay it.”
“You, Harry—you!” exclaimed my uncle.
“You!—you vile impostor! You beggar and vagabond! You do not possess an onza of gold,” roared Garcia, bursting forth into a fit of vituperation. “Don’t listen to him; don’t heed him; it’s a trick—a plan. I take possession. The money was to be paid this morning, and it is not paid, so I seize the plantation.”
“You are the business man,” I said coolly to the notary—with that coolness that the possession of money gives—“this is a mining country, and gold in ounces should be current.”
“The best of currency, señor,” said the notary with a smile and a bow.
“Tell me the amount, then, in ounces,” I said, “and I will pay you.”
“Don Xeres,” gasped Garcia, almost beside himself with rage, “I will take no promises to pay.”
The old notary shrugged his shoulders.
“But, Señor Garcia, there are no promises to pay. I understand the English señor to say that he will pay—at once! Am I not right, señor?”
“Quite,” I said. “Uncle, I will lend you this amount.”