“‘Well?’
“‘It is possible.’
“‘My word, we must be quick about it, or I shall have some one buying over my head.’
“‘Bring your certificate of birth round to-morrow morning, and we will talk. I will think it over.’
“‘Next morning, at eight o’clock, I stood in the old man’s room. He took the document, put on his spectacles, coughed, spat, wrapped himself up in his black greatcoat, and read the whole certificate through from beginning to end. Then he turned it over and over, looked at me, coughed again, fidgeted about in his chair, and said, ‘We will try to arrange this bit of business.’
“I trembled.
“‘I make fifty per cent on my capital,’ he continued, ‘sometimes I make a hundred, two hundred, five hundred per cent.’
“I turned pale at the words.
“‘But as we are acquaintances, I shall be satisfied to take twelve and a half per cent per—(he hesitated)—‘well, yes, from you I would be content to take thirteen per cent per annum. Will that suit you?’
“‘Yes,’ I answered.