“You can?”
“I can.”
“And will?”
“If I am well paid for it.”
“How much does that mean—open your mouth?” exclaimed Nathan, with a grin.
“A hun—two—a—a thousand pounds,” cried Chewkle, with a sudden bound from the sum he purposed at first asking.
“And worth it, I should say,” returned Mr. Nathan
Gomer, with a contortion which was something between a yawn and a horrifying convulsion. “But there is Mr. Wilton’s consent to be obtained to the payment of this large sum,” he added, “and the terms upon which it is to be paid to be arranged.”
“That I admits,” returned Chewkle, with a cunning leer; “but I must have something in hand, you know, before I goes from here to-night, Mr. Gomer.”
“Not a farthing,” returned Nathan Gomer, coolly; I shall not be a shilling the richer, nor a penny-piece the poorer, whether the man is produced or kept perdu. All you have been telling me may be lies, you know, my Chewkle; I don’t mean to insinuate that such is the case, but when one is called to pay down for bare assertion, then it is necessary to be cautious.”