"I know I might, Gammon—I know it. I thank my God I'm not so keen after business that I can't feel for this poor soul—really, his state's quite deplorable."
"Then, my dear sir, put your hand into your pocket at once, as I was suggesting last night, and allow him a weekly sum."
"A—hem! hem! Gammon"—said Quirk, sitting down, thrusting his hands into his waistcoat pockets, and looking very earnestly at Gammon.
"Well, then," replied that gentleman, shrugging his shoulders, in answer to the mute appeal—"write and say you won't—'tis soon done, and so the matter ends."
"Why, Gammon, you see, if he goes abroad," said Quirk, after a long pause—"we lose him forever."
"Pho!—go abroad! He's too much for you, Mr. Quirk—he is indeed, ha, ha!"
"You're fond of a laugh at my expense, Gammon; it's quite pleasant—you can't think how I like that laugh of yours!"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Quirk—but you really misunderstand me; I was laughing only at the absurd inconsistency of the fellow: he's a most transparent little fool, and takes us for such. Go abroad! Ridiculous pretence!—In his precious postscript he undoes all—he says he is only often thinking of going—- pshaw!—That the wretch is in great distress, is very probable; but it must go hard with him before he either commits suicide or goes abroad, I warrant him: I've no fears on that score—but there is a point in the letter that may be worth considering—I mean the fellow's hint about borrowing money on his prospects."
"Yes, to be sure—the very thing that struck me." [Gammon faintly smiled.] "I never thought much about the other part of the letter—all stuff about going abroad—pho!—But to be sure, if he's trying to raise money, he may get into keen hands.—Do you really think he has been trying on anything of the sort?"
"Oh no—of course it's only a little lie of his—or he must have found out some greater fool than himself, which I had not supposed possible. But however that may be, I really think, Mr. Quirk, it's high time that we should take some decided step."