"Eh? what? does anything strike you, Gammon?—'Pon my life, what is it?" inquired Titmouse, pricking up his ears.
"Why, yes, certainly," replied Gammon, musingly—adding, as if he did not intend Titmouse to hear him, "to be sure, it would put ten thousand—nay, with the interest, nearly eleven"——
"The devil it would! What would? My stars, Mr. Gammon!" exclaimed Titmouse, eagerly—"Do let us know what it is!"
"Why, I was certainly thinking, at the moment," replied Gammon, with a sigh, "of that poor devil Aubrey's two notes for £5,000 a-piece and interest."
Titmouse's face suddenly fell. "Oh Lord! Is that all? Hang the fellow—he's a beggar—squeezed dry—nothing more to be got out of him!" he exclaimed with mingled chagrin and contempt. "A'n't worth powder and shot! Blood from a stone!—won't have anything worth taking this ten years to come!"
"Poor fellow!" quoth Gammon.
"'Pon my soul, Gammon, it's me you may say that of, I rather think!"
"Why," said Gammon, glancing rather keenly at Titmouse, "my first and greatest duty on earth, my dear Titmouse, is to you—to look after, to secure your interests; and candor compels me to say, that, whatever may be my feelings towards that unfortunate person, still, I think, you've only to squeeze him pretty hard, and blood would come from other people. Eh! you understand?"
"By Jove!—Indeed!—No! But would it really? How?—Squeeze away, then, and be——! Please bring an action against the fellow, the first thing in the morning! Put him in jail, and he'll get the money, I'll warrant him! Dem the fellow! why don't he pay his debts? It's devilish hard on me, a'n't it? Didn't I forgive him forty thousand pounds? By the way, I'd forgot there's the other ten thousand that Lord De la Zouch is surety for—when do we touch that?"
"Oh! we've taken a bond for that, which will not fall due before—let me see—the 24th of next January."