Mr Capes was foolish enough to say at this point, that he hoped there would be no unpleasantness.
“Count them,” said Cosmo.
Mr Capes took the notes and turned each carefully over as though he feared a trick. Then he ran through them again by the aid of his great thumb, which he put to his mouth from time to time as he counted half aloud. He was satisfied.
“You owe it us, sir,” said he slowly, “certain you do.”
Then he put the price of a comfortable life into his pocket-book, wagged his head sadly, and brought out from his tails a package wrapped up in a very dirty old newspaper. He unfolded it and produced an inner packet tied with a thick and greasy string, and Cosmo sighed slightly as he felt his own hand on the envelopes, and took back the letters and with them his peace of mind.
“I hope,”—began Mr Capes.
“I don’t want to have any more words with you, Capes,” said Cosmo, trying to set his mouth, and still speaking with depth and loudly.
“Oh! very well, sir,” said Mr Capes respectfully, “very well, sir,” and he moved slowly to the door and shut it after him very gently, as he had ever been taught was good manners. And Cosmo heard his shamble on the stone stairs, and felt as though peril had gone with him, and as though in some way his own manhood had returned.
He took the packet and had just untied the string, when his eye caught the clock, and he saw he had barely the time to meet Mr Harbury at the station. He put the letters into his desk, locked it, and went out free.