“Don't raishe your voishe, but lishten. Your friend”—and at the phrase Mr. Levi winked mysteriously—“has enough to do it twishe over; and upon my shoul, I'll shwear on the book, azh I hope to be shaved, it will never shee the light; he'll never raishe a pig on it, sho' 'elp me, nor let it out of hish 'ands, till he givesh it back to you. He can't ma-ake no ushe of it; I knowshe him well, and he'll pay you the ten thoushand to-morrow morning, and he wantsh to shake handsh with you, and make himself known to you, and talk a bit.”
“But—but my signature wouldn't satisfy him,” began Sir Richard bewildered.
“Oh! no—no, no?” murmured Mr. Levi, fiddling with the corner of the bank's reminder which lay on the table.
“Mr. Longcluse won't sign it,” said Sir Richard.
Mr. Levi threw himself back in his chair, and looked with a roguish expression still upon the table, and gave the corner of the note a little fillip.
“Well,” said Levi, after both had been some time silent, “it ain't much, only to write his name on the penshil line, there, you see, and there—he shouldn't make no bonesh about it. Why, it's done every day. Do you think I'd help in a thing of the short if there was any danger? The Sheneral's come to town, is he? What are you afraid of? Don't you be a shild—ba-ah!”
All this Mr. Levi said so low that it was as if he were whispering to the table, and he kept looking down as he put the parchment over to Sir Richard, who took it in his hand, and the bond trembled so much that he set it down again.
“Leave it with me,” he said faintly.
Levi got up with an unusual hectic in each cheek, and his eyes very brilliant.
“I'll meet you what time you shay to-night; you had besht take a little time. It'sh ten now. Three hoursh will do it. I'll go on to my offish by one o'clock, and you come any time from one to two.”