"We shall then have to consider a fresh agreement. I was thinking, Mr. Bunker, that, seeing how good a man you are, and how generous, you would like to make your rent, like the wages of the girls, depend upon the profits of the business."
"What?" he asked.
Angela repeated her proposition.
He rose, buttoned his coat, and put on his hat.
"Rent depend on profits? Is the girl mad? Rent comes first and before anything else. Rent is even before taxes; and as for rates—but you're mad. My rent depend on profits! Rent, miss, is sacred. Remember that."
"Oh!" said Angela.
"And what is more," he added, "people who don't pay up get sold up. It's a Christian duty to sell 'em up. I couldn't let off my own nephews."
"As for one of them, you would like to sell him up, would you not, Mr. Bunker?"
"I would," he replied truthfully. "I should like to see him out of the place. You know what I told you when you came. Have nothing to do, I said, with that chap. Keep him at arm's length, for he is a bad lot. Now you see what he has brought you to. Singin', dancin', playin', laughin', every night; respectable ladies driven away from your shop; many actually kept out of the place; expenses doubled; all through him. What's more—bankruptcy ahead! Don't I know that not a lady in Stepney or Mile End comes here? Don't I know that you depend upon your West End connection? When that goes, where are you? And all for the sake of that pink and white chap! Well, when one goes, the other'll go too, I suppose. Rent out of profits, indeed! No, no, Miss; it'll do you good to learn a little business, even if you do get sold up."
"Thank you, Mr. Bunker. Do you know, I do not think you will ever have the pleasure of selling me up?"