"And that was too much for the state of the bank," said the cashier drily, taking a pinch of snuff at the same time.
"Now of all things which combine to make me wretched at this moment," said Tomlinson, "your position is the most afflicting."
"Don't think of me: I'm not worth it," returned Michael. "What will you do yourself?"
"What shall we both do?" cried the banker. "But so long as I have a crust, you shall not want."
"Well—well, there's enough of that," almost growled the cashier, though his furrowed cheeks were still moist with tears. "I am an old man, and my wants are few. A bit of bread and a pinch of snuff are enough for me. But you—you, who have always lived like a gentleman,—how can you stand it?"
"And is it literally come to this? Is there no resource?"
"Do you see any? I do not. Will your father help you?"
"Not with another sixpence."
"Will Greenwood?"
"Here he comes to answer for himself."