“Of course you do, sir. Was I to wait till they were worth nothing?”
“Look here, Doctor: speak plainly. Are you all right?”
“Confound you, no: I’m all wrong.”
“But explain yourself. Those shares are worth double what you gave for them.”
“I tell you they’re hardly worth their weight as waste-paper,” roared the Doctor. “Don’t stare at me with that miserable assumption of innocency about your cursed bankrupt old mine.”
Clive burst out laughing.
“Why, what do you mean, Doctor? What precious mare’s nest have you been discovering in the dark?”
“Mare’s nest?” cried the Doctor, snatching up a heap of newspapers from a side table, and throwing them in the young man’s lap, “look at that, sir, and that, and that. Four days now has this been going on. I was down in the country at a consultation, and I came back to find myself a ruined man.”
“What!” roared Clive, as his eyes fell upon a notice with a full heading—”‘Collapse of the “White Virgin” scheme—bubble cleverly inflated—burst at last—serious loss.’ Good heavens!”
“Good other place!” growled the Doctor. “Oh, Clive Reed! You are a broken Reed indeed to lean on, and enter into a poor man’s hand. But there, don’t stop over those papers; they are alike, and the price has gone down to nothing. Tell me; can you sell my shares better than Jessop can? I must have a little back for my outlay.”