"You are quite mistaken," said the other, with the greatest composure. "I was one of his creditors myself, and on making an inventory of his effects I feel satisfied that he has done a very foolish and a very childish thing; he might have lived on comfortably, and not killed himself for fully six months."
At any other time this calculation would have made me laugh, and, as it was, I felt as if the incident had done me good.
I left the coffee-house without having said a word or spent a penny, and I went towards the Exchange to get some money. Bosanquet gave me what I wanted directly, and as I walked out with him I noticed a curious-looking individual, whose name I asked.
"He's worth a hundred thousand," said the banker.
"And who is that other man over there?"
"He's not worth a ten-pound note."
"But I don't want to hear what they are worth; it's their names I want."
"I really don't know."
"How can you tell how much they are worth, not knowing their names?"
"Names don't go for anything here. What we want to know about a man is how much he has got? Besides; what's in a name? Ask me for a thousand pounds and give me a proper receipt, and you can do it under the name of Socrates or Attila, for all I care. You will pay me back my money as Socrates or Attila, and not as Seingalt; that is all."