“If I allowed money to influence me,” responded Eliphalet, “I would never be able to hold up my head again.”
“But—Well! I mean—I hardly know what to say next, old man.”
“Say nothing. We have so many topics in common, it is a pity to pursue one in which we are at variance.”
Bulmore ran his fingers through his thin hair.
“It’s this way, old man,” he said. “You—you’d be doing me a real favour by accepting this shop—a real favour to me.”
“Forgive me asking, but how can that be?”
This was clearly a moment for invention, and Bulmore wrestled with his ingenuity before answering, and finally produced:
“Because I want to make a favourable impression with the firm. If they saw I was a friend of yours, it’ud do me a piece of good.”
“But why not ask for the part yourself?” suggested Eliphalet, by no means displeased with the compliment.
“I did, but they won’t have me. They are dead-set on you, and no one else will do. Now, as a pal——”