The man bowed stiffly, his aspect about as pleasing as if I had robbed him, and turned away. I was standing near the door of the counting-room, inside of which were his two partners, with whom he had retired to confer.
"Jones can't pay his note," I heard him say, in tones most unpleasant to my ear.
"What!" was replied; "Jones?"
"Yes, Jones."
"What does he want?"
"A renewal."
"Nonsense! He can pay, if he finds he must."
"It is nearly half-past two," one of them remarked.
"No matter. It's of too much importance to him to keep his good name; he'll find somebody to help him. Threaten him with a protest; shake that over his head, and the money'll be raised."
With a Siberian aspect, the man returned to me.