“Take that machinery,” said Blunt, in a tone of command, “and carry it down stairs.”
“Stay!” said Mr. Ford, in alarm; “what do you intend to do?”
“I am only acting in self-defence,” said Blunt, doggedly. “You cannot pay your money. If I can’t get my pay in one way, I must in another; therefore, I take this machinery of yours in execution.”
The thought of this calamity nearly overcame Mr. Ford. He did not pause to consider whether the seizure was legal or illegal, but, in an agitated voice, urged, “Take everything else, but spare me this. It is to me of inestimable value,—greater than you can possibly imagine.”
“That’s the very reason I take it,” said Blunt. “All the rest of your trumpery,” glancing contemptuously at the plain furniture, “wouldn’t be worth carrying away.”
“At least,” implored the inventor, “wait till to-morrow, till I can see Mr. Sharp.”
“And where would you be?” sneered Blunt. “Don’t think to catch me with such chaff; I’m too old a bird. I will take it while it is here.”
“But,” urged Mr. Ford, “it can be of little value to you. You cannot sell it for one quarter of the debt.”
“Perhaps not. But that isn’t what I take it for.”
“What then?”