“No,” said the pawnbroker, shutting his lips illustratively.
“Suppose,” said the sailor, leaning forward intently—“suppose a man came to you an’ ses— there’s that confounded assistant of yours peeping through the door.”
The pawnbroker got up almost as exasperated as the seaman, and, after rating his assistant through the half-open door, closed it with a bang, and pulled down a small blind over the glass.
“Suppose a man came to you,” resumed the sailor, after the pawnbroker had seated himself again, “and asked you for five hundred pounds for something. Have you got it?”
“Not here,” said the pawnbroker suspiciously. “I don’t keep any money on the premises.”
“You could get it, though?” suggested the other.
“We’ll see,” said the pawnbroker; “five hundred pounds is a fortune—five hundred pounds, why it takes years of work—five hundred pounds—”
“I don’t want no blessed psalms,” said the seaman abruptly; “but, look here, suppose I wanted five hundred pounds for something, and you wouldn’t give it. How am I to know you wouldn’t give information to the police if I didn’t take what you offered me for it?”
The pawnbroker threw up his huge palms in virtuous horror.
“I’d mark you for it if you did,” said the seaman menacingly, through his teeth. “It ’ud be the worst day’s work you ever did. Will you take it or leave it at my price, an’ if you won’t give it, leave me to go as I came?”