"Mother of Moses, sir! don't you see I'm ruined?
"By no means—but you must not swear. I pay over the money for your scrip, and you pocket a premium. It seems to me a very simple transaction."
"But I tell you I haven't got the scrip!" cried Sawley, gnashing his teeth, whilst the cold beads of perspiration gathered largely on his brow.
"That is very unfortunate! Have you lost it?"
"No!—the devil tempted me, and I oversold!"
There was a very long pause, during which I assumed an aspect of serious and dignified rebuke.
"Is it possible?" said I in a low tone, after the manner of Kean's offended fathers. "What! you, Mr Sawley—the stoker's friend—the enemy of gambling—the father of Selina—condescend to so equivocal a transaction? You amaze me! But I never was the man to press heavily on a friend"—here Sawley brightened up—"your secret is safe with me, and it shall be your own fault if it reaches the ears of the Session. Pay me over the difference at the present market price, and I release you of your obligation."
"Then I'm in the Gazette, that's all," said Sawley doggedly, "and a wife and nine beautiful babes upon the parish! I had hoped other things from you, Mr Dunshunner—I thought you and Selina"——
"Nonsense, man! Nobody goes into the Gazette just now—it will be time enough when the general crash comes. Out with your checque-book, and write me an order for four-and-twenty thousand. Confound fractions! in these days one can afford to be liberal."
"I haven't got it," said Sawley. "You have no idea how bad our trade has been of late, for nobody seems to think of dying. I have not sold a gross of coffins this fortnight. But I'll tell what—I'll give you five thousand down in cash, and ten thousand in shares—further I can't go."