"I'm sure, I can't tell. Stranger things have happened."
"I wonder if he suspects my connection with old Bullion?" thought
Fletcher.
"I'll make you a fair proposition, Fletcher. I need some money, for a few days. Get me thirty thousand dollars for a week, say; I'll pay a liberal interest and give up the paper."
"I can't do it. The figure is altogether above me. You don't want me to rob my employers?"
"'Rob' is a hard word, Fletcher. No, I counsel no crime. You don't want anything more to think of. But you may know some chance to borrow that sum?"
Fletcher mused. "If Sandford comes to a man like me for such a sum, it must be because he is devilish hard up; and if I get him the money, it would likely be sunk. I can't do it."
"No, Mr. Sandford, it's out of the question. Everybody that has money has twenty applications for every dollar."
"Then you'd rather see this paper in an officer's hands?"
Fletcher's face blanched and his knees shook, but he kept his resolution in spite of his bodily tremor.
"I have been like a mouse cuffed between a cat's paws so long that I don't care to run. If you mean to pounce up on me and finish me, go ahead. I may as well die as to be always dreading it. But you'll please remember what I said about overhauling your accounts."