“At the apartments, sir, but we shall move the goods to-morrow, for sale by the sheriff, and then they must go out you know, sir.”
“Into the streets.”
“Into the streets, sir, or the work’us. They’ve no resources, as I sees.”
“Well, then, of course he has signed the undertaking?”
“A—a—not yet, sir.”
“But he will?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
Mr. Grahame had seated himself with the air of a Mogul emperor giving audience to a Hindoo slave. He rose to his feet as if a pistol-shot had been discharged at him.
“Not! Nonsense!” he cried with fierce astonishment; “under such pressure, the man cannot possibly refuse.”
“But he does, sir, and swears he will not sign if he has to starve and rot in prison.”