“Ay, sir, an’ I’ve seen you before,” returned the latter with an extremely simple look. “I saw ye whan I was comin’ oot o’ the hoose o’ Mr Speevin, whar I’m lodgin’.”
“Oh, exactly!” returned the lawyer with a bland smile; “pray be seated, gentlemen, and let me know your business.”
They obeyed,—Sam Blake with an expression of stolid stupidity on his countenance, which was powerfully suggestive of a ship’s figurehead—Tommy with an air of meekness that was almost too perfect.
It would be tedious to detail the conversation that ensued. Suffice it to say that David said he was a Scotch farmer on a visit to London; that he possessed a good lot of spare cash, for which, at the time being, he got very small interest; that he did not understand business matters very well, but what he wanted to know was, how he should go about investing funds—in foreign railways, for instance, such as the Washab and Roria line.
At this point he was interrupted by Mr Lockhart who asked what had put that particular railway into his head, and was informed that the newspapers had done so by showing it to be the line whose shares produced very high dividends at that time.
“I’m richt I fancy?” said David.
“Yes, you are right, and I could easily put you in the way of investing in that railway.”
“Have the shares been lang at this high figure?” asked Laidlaw.
“Yes; they have improved steadily for several years back.”
“What say ye to that freend?” demanded David, turning to Sam with a triumphant look.