“Mr Sawley! are you in your senses?”
“That depends on circumstances. Haven’t you been buying stock lately?”
“I am glad to say I have—two thousand Glenmutchkins, I think, and this is the day of delivery.”
“Well, then—can’t you see how the matter stands? It was I who sold them!”
“Well!”
“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?”