“No, thank ye, Colonel; rather have the ducats. I say, though, I wish you wouldn’t call me Shylock. I’m not one of the chosen, you know.”
“That I’ll take oath you’re not, Barclay,” said the Colonel, looking at his visitor with a very amused smile. “Your future is thoroughly assured. I’m sorry for you, Barclay, for I don’t think you’re the worst scoundrel that ever breathed.”
“I say, you know, Colonel, this is too bad, you know. Come, come, come.”
“Oh, I always speak plainly to you, Barclay. Let me see; can you let me have a hundred?”
“A hundred, Colonel?” said the other, looking up sharply; “well, yes, I think I can.”
“Ah, well, I don’t want it, Barclay. I know you’d be only too glad to get a good hold of me.”
“Wrong, Colonel, wrong,” said Barclay, chuckling as he glanced at the cards. “You do me too much good for that.”
“Do I?” said the Colonel, smiling in a peculiarly cynical way. “Well, perhaps I do influence your market a little. There,” he said, taking some notes from his little pocket-book, and handing them to his visitor, “now we are free once more.”
“Thankye, Colonel, thankye. You’re a capital tenant. I say, by the way, after all these years, I shouldn’t like to do anything to annoy you: I hope you don’t mind the actors upstairs.”
“No,” said the Colonel, staring at him.