"Ah, drat it!" quoth the old gentleman, briskly—"the heaviest, you know, is—eh?—I suppose, however," he added apprehensively, and scratching his head, "I mustn't name that—I mean that fellow Aubrey's account—without our coming to words."
"Why—stay! stay," said Mr. Gammon, with a gravely thoughtful air—"I don't see that, either, Mr. Quirk. Forbearance has its limits. It may be abused, Mr. Quirk."
"Ecod! I should think so!" quoth Mr. Quirk, eagerly—"and I know who's abused somebody's forbearance—eh, Gammon?"
"I understand you, my dear sir," replied Gammon, with a sigh—"I fear I must plead no longer for him—I have gone already, perhaps, much farther than my duty to the firm warranted."
"It's a heavy balance, Gammon—a very heavy balance, £1,446 odd, to be outstanding so long—he agreed to pay interest on't—didn't he, eh?—But really something ought to be done in it; and—come, Gammon, as you have had your turn so long, now comes mine!—Tip him over to me."
"I should be very sorry to distress him, poor devil!"
"Distress him? Our bill must be paid. D—n him! why don't he pay his debts? I pay mine—you pay yours—he must pay his."
"Certainly. By the way," said Gammon, suddenly, "if you were to take bold and decided steps, his friends would undoubtedly come forward and relieve him."
"Ay! ay!—What think you of three days—give him three days to turn about in?—There he's living all the while in a d—d fine house at the West End, like a gentleman—looks down, I'll be sworn, on us poor attorneys already, beggar as he is, because he's coming to the bar. Now mind, Gammon, no nonsense! I won't stand your coming in again as you did before—if I write—honor between thieves! eh?"
"I pledge my honor to you, my dear sir, that I will interfere no more; the law must take its course."