"Will you be ready with that money to-morrow?" said he, fixing his small, keen eyes upon the merchant, and bending his brows.
"No!" was the decisive answer.
"Then I shall foreclose the mortgage."
"You will not do that, certainly," returned Tompkins, in a quiet tone, something like a smile playing about his lips.
"Won't I? Don't trust to that, my friend. I always keep contracts to the letter, and exact them from others, when made to me, as rigidly. You borrowed my money for a year, on a mortgage of your property. That year is up to-morrow. If the money does not come, I will immediately have your property sold."
"I have been ahead of you," coolly replied Tompkins.
"What do you mean?"
"I have already sold the property."
The miser seemed stunned by the intelligence.
"Sold it?" he asked, after a moment—"why have you sold it?"