“No, no: he is, to go and blab.”
“Blab?”
“Yes, to let it out to you.”
“I say! What do you mean?” said Mr Grimstone again.
“Mean? Why, you as good as said he told you I had let him have 500 pounds at seven-and-a-half and a bonus. Lent on the strength of his going to marry a woman with 50,000 pounds and more to come.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“Whew!” whistled Mr Grimstone, snatching the snuff-box out of Mr Jabez Rowle’s hand, taking a vigorous pinch, and scattering so much of the fine brown dust in the air that I should have had a violent fit of sneezing if I had not become hardened to its effects.
The two stared at one another for a minute, and Mr Jabez now snatched the box back and took a hearty pinch, some of which went on to his shirt-front—and some upon his sleeve.
“Why, you don’t mean to say that he has borrowed 500 pounds of you?” said Mr Grimstone, in a whisper.