“Had you money in his hands, Palmerby?”
“Every shilling I possess in the world.”
Mr. Brandon opened his lips to blow him up for foolishness: but something in the poor old face stopped him. Palmerby elbowed his way into the Bank. Duffham came out of his house, a gallipot of ointment in his hand.
“Well, this is a pretty go!”
The Squire took him by the buttonhole. “Where’s the villainous swindler off to, Duffham?”
“I should like to know,” answered the surgeon. “I’d be pretty soon on his trail and ask him to refund my money.”
“But surely he has none of yours?”
“Pretty nigh half the savings of my years.”
“Mercy be good to us!” cried the Pater. “He got two hundred pounds out of me last week. What’s to become of us all?”