"You understand, I see."
"I think I ought. Papyrus, only yesterday, was asking if anything could be done for him,—about fifteen hundred; offers Sandbag's note with only thirty days to run. The note was of no use to him, because the banks require two names, and his own isn't worth a straw. But Sandbag is good."
"We'll take it. About a hundred off?"
Fletcher nodded.
"I've plenty more to invest, Fletcher. Let me know if you see any paper worth buying."
Fletcher nodded again, but looked expectant, much like a dog (not wishing to degrade him by the comparison) waiting with longing eyes while his master eats his morning mutton-chop.
"Fletcher," said Sandford, "I'll make this an object to you. I don't mind giving you five dollars, as soon as we have Papyrus's indorsement on the note. And, speaking of the indorsement, let him sign his name, and then bring me the note. I wish to put on the name of the person to whose order it is to be payable."
"Then it is on the account"—
"Of whom it may concern," broke in Sandford. "Don't stand with your mouth open. That is my affair."
"But if you pay me only five dollars"—