ADAM CHERRY.
(Taking it from him.) You don't mind my counting them?
MR. BEN DIXON.
(Wounded.) Do you mistrust me?
ADAM CHERRY.
(Counting.) Merely a matter of form. £3,995 here, Mr. Wheedles.
MR. BEN DIXON.
(He has collected his baggage, and is on the point of slipping off. He now draws forth and hands Cherry another note.) I look upon you as a common thief, sir, and if I was a young man, I'd——
ADAM CHERRY.
There's nothing further that need detain you, Mr. Wheedles.