“You may as well be frank with me,” added Sir Richard Arden, pleased at having detected the coincidence, which was strengthened by his having, the day before, surprised his uncle in conference with Lady May.
“If you don't like the time, why don't you try shomwhere else? why don't you try Lonclushe? There'sh a shwell! Two millionsh, if he's worth a pig! A year, or a month, 'twouldn't matter a tizhy to him, and you and him'sh ash thick ash two pickpockets!”
“You're mistaken; I don't choose to have any transactions with Mr. Longcluse.”
There was a little pause.
“By-the-bye, I saw in some morning paper—I forget which—a day or two ago, a letter attacking Mr. Longcluse for an alleged share in the bank-breaking combination; and there was a short reply from him.”
“I know, in the Timesh,” interposed Levi.
“Yes,” said Arden, who, in spite of himself, was always drawn into talk with this fellow more than he intended; such was the force of the ambiguously confidential relations in which he found himself. “What is thought of that in the City?”
“There'sh lotsh of opinionsh about it; not a shafe chap to quar'l with. If you rub Lonclushe this year, he'll tear you for itsh the next. He'sh a bish—a bish—a bit—bit of a bully, is Lonclushe, and don't alwaysh treat 'ish people fair. If you've quar'led with him, look oush—I shay, look oush!”
“Give me the cheque,” said Sir Richard, extending his fingers.
“Pleashe, Shir Richard, accept them billsh,” replied Levi, pushing an ink-stand toward him, “and I'll get our cheque for you.”