“I say, I can’t begin to tell you how—how grateful I am,” said Hugh. “It’s perfectly ripping of you, Mr. Crump, and I’m no end obliged! I’ll pay it back to you just as soon as ever I can, by Saturday surely. Thanks awfully!”
“You’re welcome, sir, you’re quite welcome. If it comes to that, I guess the losing of it wouldn’t cripple me none. There’s—hm—I got a bit more put away in the bank.”
Hugh found Mr. Fallow standing in front of the photograph of Lockley Manor, his derby hat clasped behind him and an unlighted cigar protruding from under one end of that enormous mustache.
“Get it?” he asked as Hugh closed the door behind him.
“Yes.” Hugh pulled the money from his pocket and laid it on the table. Then he went into his room and returned with his own contribution of six dollars. “There it is, Mr. Fallow. Twenty dollars. You might count it, eh? And I dare say you’d better give me some sort of a receipt if you don’t mind.”
“Quite a business man, you are,” chuckled Mr. Fallow, seemingly restored to good humor by the money. “I’ll credit the amount on the bill here. There you are. Balance due, fourteen and sixty. Sorry to have to seem a bit pushing, Mr. Winslow, but in my business——”
“By the way, what is your business?” asked Hugh.
“Eh? My business? Well, don’t you know what you bought from me?”
Hugh shook his head. “I buy so much, you see,” he replied carelessly. “Boots, wasn’t it?”