“This is a statement,” he said.
“Of what?”
“Of the various loans you have made me, with interest to date.”
“Yes?” said the Doctor, frigidly.
“And here,” persisted the happy man, straightening out a leg as he had done the first time they ever met, and drawing a roll of notes from his pocket, “is the total amount.”
“Yes?” The Doctor regarded them with cold contempt. “That’s all very pleasant for you, I suppose, Richling,—shows you’re the right kind of man, I suppose, and so on. I know that already, however. Now just put all that back into your pocket; the sight of it isn’t pleasant. You certainly don’t imagine I’m going to take it, do you?”
“You promised to take it when you lent it.”
“Humph! Well, I didn’t say when.”
“As soon as I could pay it,” said Richling.
“I don’t remember,” replied the Doctor, picking up a newspaper. “I release myself from that promise.”