“Two-ten,” Acherley repeated, as if the other had not spoken. “That’s my price. I suppose the bank will accommodate me by taking them?”
Ovington looked steadily at him. “Do you mean the shares you pledged with us? If so, I am afraid that in any event we shall have to put them on the market soon. The margin has nearly run off.”
“Oh, hang those!”—lightly. “You may as well account for them at the same price—two and a half. I’ll consider that settled. But I’ve a hundred more that I don’t want to keep, and it’s those I am talking about. You’ll take them, I suppose—for cash, of course? I’m a little pressed at present, and want the money.”
“I am afraid that I must say, no,” Ovington said. “We are not buying any more, even at thirty shillings. As to those we hold, if you wish us to sell them at once—and I am inclined to think that we ought to——”
“Steady, steady! Not so fast!” Acherley let the mask fall, and, drawing himself to his full height—and tall and lean, in his long riding coat shaped to the figure, he looked imposing and insolent enough—he tapped his teeth with the handle of his riding whip. “Not so fast, man! Think it over!”—with an ugly smile. “I’ve been of use to you. It is your turn to be of use to me. I want to be rid of these shares.”
“Naturally. But we don’t wish to take them, Mr. Acherley.”
Acherley glowered at him. “You mean,” he said, “that the bank can’t afford to take them? If that’s your meaning——”
“It does not suit us to take them.”
“But by G—d you’ve got to take them! D’you hear, sir? You’ve got to take them, or take the consequences! I went into this to oblige you.”
“Not at all,” Ovington said. “You came into it with your eyes open, and with a view to the improvement of your property, if the enterprise proved a success. No man came into it with eyes more open! To be frank with you——”