“’Tisn’t a debt: it’s only a money-lending affair,” growled his lordship.
“Well—well, we won’t argue upon that point, my lord. The Sheriff of Middlesex has his ideas upon these matters—ideas in which I have implicit confidence.”
“Here, Braham; I say; come, no nonsense. Don’t be a fool, you know. Don’t be hard on a fellow because he’s bilious and put out!” exclaimed his lordship, who, with the immediate prospect of a sponging-house before him, displayed an unwonted degree of perturbation. “But, I say, you can’t—you know you can’t do any thing yet;” and his lordship’s face brightened.
The Jew laughed.
“Your lordship forgets. Hyman has a little affair out against you, which will just work in well with mine. I shouldn’t be surprised if some one is already waiting for you!”
“Oh! come, I say—you know; I can’t stand this. You mustn’t do anything, Braham; and you must stop Hyman, because I’ve come home—come over—come on purpose—that is, I have something good on my book.”
The money-lender watched him narrowly.
“Have indeed—matter of great importance—case of thousands, in fact—clear me of all my little unpleasantries.”
“Pooh!” ejaculated the money-lender, dropping the servile now that his client began to implore. “Something on the Heath, or the Derby, or Oaks. I never knew one of your family yet with nous enough to do anything but lose. Now, look here, my lord: are you prepared to pay me four thousand three hun—”
“No; not a penny!” exclaimed his lordship, earnestly; “but, look here, Braham,” he cried, catching his visitor by the button; “I’ve got something in hand—I have indeed: not betting. Something safe and paying; but you must give me time, and let me have a few hundreds to carry on with.”