"I am earning a living, and my business is increasing. But I feel hanging like a mill-stone round my neck the thousand pounds which you lent me at twenty per cent.—"
"Yes—only twenty per cent."
"Only at twenty per cent.," continued Tomlinson with a sigh: "and I am unable to return you more than one hundred at present, although I agreed to pay you two hundred every four months."
"The hundred will do," said Greenwood; and he wrote out a receipt for that amount.
Tomlinson handed him over a number of notes, which Greenwood counted and then consigned to his pocket.
"There is a pretty business to be done in the City now," said the capitalist, after a pause. "I contrive to snatch an hour or two now and then from the time which I am compelled to devote to the enlightened and independent body that returned me to Parliament; and I seldom come into the City on those occasions without lending a few hundreds to some poor devil who has over-bought himself in shares."
"I have no doubt that you thrive, Greenwood," said the stock-broker. "Every man who takes advantage of the miseries of others must get on."
"To be sure—to be sure," cried the Member of Parliament. "I hope that you will act upon that principle."
"I have no reason to complain of the business that I am now doing: I act as honestly as I can—and that principle deprives me of many advantageous affairs. Then I experience annoyance from a constant reminiscence of that poor old man who so nobly sacrificed himself for me."
"The eternal cry!" ejaculated Greenwood. "If you are so very anxious to find him out, put an advertisement in the Times—"