"It is all very well to say you will not pay," Mr. Swanland was beginning, when the other interrupted him with,
"Pay, sir! I will never pay. You may carry the case to the House of Lords if you like,—you may leave the goods at the Docks till the charges amount to treble their original value, and still whistle for your money. All I trust is this may prove a lesson to you not to meddle in affairs of which you evidently understand a little less than my five-year-old grandson."
And having made this statement, he walked out of the office, and in the mental books of Miller, Lennox, and Co. there stands at the present moment a black cross against Mr. Swanland's name. A black cross quite undeserved as regarded the matter of the blue. In his soul Mr. Swanland did believe the order had been executed as given; he had trusted to the integrity of Hankins in making the blue, and to the honour of Messrs. Miller and Lennox about paying for it, and his soul sank within him at sound of Mr. Miller's parting words.
To make matters easier, Mr. Asherill, who had been an interested auditor, remarked in a Commination-service sort of tone, "I advised you to have nothing to do with Mortomley's affairs, but, as usual, you disregarded my advice."
Hearing that, Mr. Swanland turned from the window where in a make-believe convivial fashion he had been conversing with himself and his liver, and said, "Shut up."
"I beg your pardon," remarked Mr. Asherill all in italics, "what did you observe?"
He really thought his ears must have deceived him.
"I did not observe anything; I asked you to shut up unless you could find something pleasanter to say to a fellow worried as I am than 'I told you so.'"