"When he attacked me with the bottle,—yes!" sighed Barnabas, "but surely that was only because he was drunk?"
"Y-e-s, perhaps so," said Mr. Smivvle, fumbling for his whisker again, "but this morning he—wasn't so drunk as usual."
"Well?"
"And yet he was more violent than ever—raved against you like a maniac."
"But—why?"
"It was just after he had received another of Jasper Gaunt's letters,—here it is!" and, stooping, Mr. Smivvle picked up a crumpled paper that had lain among the ashes, and smoothing it out, tendered it to Barnabas. "Read it, sir,—read it!" he said earnestly, "it will explain matters, I think,—and much better than I can. Yes indeed, read it, for it concerns you too!" So Barnabas took the letter, and this is what he read:
DEAR MR. BARRYMAINE,—In reply to your favor, re interest, requesting more time, I take occasion once more to remind you that I am no longer your creditor, being merely his agent, as Mr. Beverley himself could, and will, doubtless, inform you.
I am, therefore, compelled to demand payment within thirty days from date; otherwise the usual steps must be taken in lieu of same.
Yours obediently,