“Hakkabut,” said the captain, plunging without further preface into business, “we want some coffee, some tobacco, and other things. I have come to-day to order them, to settle the price, and to-morrow Ben Zoof shall fetch the goods away.”
“Merciful, heavens!” the Jew began to whine; but Servadac cut him short.
“None of that miserable howling! Business! I am come to buy your goods. I shall pay for them.”
“Ah yes, your Excellency,” whispered the Jew, his voice trembling like a street beggar. “Don’t impose on me. I am poor; I am nearly ruined already.”
“Cease your wretched whining!” cried Servadac. “I have told you once, I shall pay for all I buy.”
“Ready money?” asked Hakkabut.
“Yes, ready money. What makes you ask?” said the captain, curious to hear what the Jew would say.
“Well, you see—you see, your Excellency,” stammered out the Jew, “to give credit to one wouldn’t do, unless I gave credit to another. You are solvent—I mean honorable, and his lordship the count is honorable; but maybe—maybe—”
“Well?” said Servadac, waiting, but inclined to kick the old rascal out of his sight.
“I shouldn’t like to give credit,” he repeated.