“Do you—do you think that I could get fifty pounds lent me on those shares now?” said the doctor, hesitatingly.
Chynoweth shook his head.
“But I paid down five hundred for them—my wife’s money.”
“My dear Rumsey,” said Chynoweth, “you couldn’t raise fifty shillings upon them.”
The doctor raised the lid of his basket now, and gazed in at the unfortunate trout.
“It’s very hard,” he said, as if addressing the fish. “My expenses are so large.”
“Ten times mine,” said Chynoweth, “I dessay.”
“Do you—do you think Mr Penwynn would make me an advance, Chynoweth? I’ll deposit the shares with him.”
“Spades and aces, no!” cried Chynoweth. “The very name of Wheal Carnac would send him into a passion. I’ll ask him to make you an advance, Rumsey—that I will,” he continued, busily writing away upon his slate.
“Yes, do please.”