“Then, by G—d, it’s not I will be the only one to be ruined!” the man exclaimed, and he struck the table with his fist. The veins on his forehead swelled, his coarse mottled face became disfigured with rage. He glared at the banker. But even as Ovington met his gaze, there came a change. The perspiration sprang out on his forehead, his face turned pale and flabby, he seemed to shrink and wilt. The ruin, which recklessness and improvidence had hidden from him, rose before him, certain and imminent. He saw his mill, his house, his all gone from him, saw himself a drunken, ruined, shiftless loafer, cadging about public-houses! “For God’s sake!” he pleaded, “do it this once, Mr. Ovington. Meet just these two, and I’ll swear they’ll be the last. Meet these.”
“No,” the banker said. “We go no farther.”
Perhaps the thought that he and Ovington had risen from the ranks together, that for years they had been equals, and that now the one refused his help to the other, rose and mocked the unhappy man. At any rate, his rage flared up anew. He swore violently. “Well, there’s more than I will go down, then!” he said. “And more than will suit your book, banker! Wise as you think yourself, there’s more bills out than you know of!”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“Ay, and you’ll be more sorry by and by!” viciously. “Sorry for yourself and sorry that you did not give me a little more help, d—n you! Are you going to? Best think twice about it before you say no!”
“Not a penny,” Ovington rejoined sternly. “After what you have admitted I should be foolish indeed to do so. You’ve had my last word, Mr. Wolley.”
“Then damn your last word and you too!” the clothier retorted, and went out, cursing, into the bank, shouting aloud as he passed through it, that they were a set of bloodsuckers and that he’d have the law of them! Clement from his desk eyed him steadily. Rodd and the clerks looked startled. The customers—there were but two, but they were two too many for such a scene—eyed each other uneasily. A moment, and Clement, after shifting his papers uncertainly, left his desk and went into the parlor.
Ovington and Arthur had not moved. “What’s the matter?” Clement asked. The occurrence had roused him from his apathy. He looked from the one to the other, a challenge in his eyes.
“Only what we’ve been expecting for some time,” his father answered. “Wolley has asked for further credit and I’ve had to say, no. I’ve given him too much rope as it is, and we shall lose by him. He’s an ill-conditioned fellow, and he is taking it ill.”
“He wants a drubbing,” said Clement.