"Very well; but had not my uncle better write an acknowledgment? We shall be puzzled about the money when we come to reckon up at the end of the month, if he does not."
Katherine had been taught by severe experience the necessity of saving herself harmless when handling Mr. Liddell's money.
"An acknowledgment," repeated the old man, with a slight, sobbing, inward laugh. "That is well thought. Yes, by all means write it out, Mr. Newton, and I will sign. Oh yes; I will sign!"
Newton turned to the writing-table and traced a few lines, bringing it on the blotting-pad for his client's signature.
"I can sign steadily enough still," said Mr. Liddell, slowly, "and my name is good for a few thousands. Hey?"
"That it certainly is, Mr. Liddell."
"Do you think old Fergusson could sign as steadily as that?" asked Mr. Liddell, with a slight, exulting smile.
"I should say not. What writing of his I have seen was a terrible scrawl."
"Hum! he wasn't a gentleman, you know. He drank too; not to be intoxicated, but too much—too much! For he will find the temperance man too many for him. I'll win the race, the waiting race;" and he laughed again in a distressing, hysterical fashion, that quite exhausted him.
Katherine flew to fetch cold water, while the old man leaning back panting and breathless, and Mr. Newton, much alarmed, fanned him with a folded newspaper.