“Certainly, certainly,” replied Mr. Conway meekly. “You may depend upon being repaid, if I have to pawn the shirt off my back to get the money.”
I suppose that this kind of security (generally offered by men who have not the least idea of repaying a loan) must be figurative—a poetical figure of debt. How far would the shirt off a man’s back help the redemption of the debts borrowed on the strength of it?
Holdsworth gave Mr. Conway two five-pound notes. The man took them eagerly, and whilst he buried them in his trousers’ pocket, poured forth a profusion of thanks.
“Does Mrs. Conway know of this visit?” asked Holdsworth, stopping his noise.
“No, sir; but believe me, I shall not fail to acquaint her with your kindness,” he answered, taking his hat and rising.
Holdsworth’s impulse was to request him not to speak to her of this gift—for loan it would be ridiculous to call it. But he checked himself with the consideration that, were Mr. Conway to break his word, Dolly would find food for dangerous questioning in the request.
He said, instead, “You will not forget the purpose for which I have lent you this money?”
“Trust me, sir; trust me,” murmured Mr. Conway, pressing his hat to his heart. “If you will give me ink and paper I will make you out an I O U at once.”
“Never mind that. Nelly is a growing child, and requires nourishing food: devote the money to her and her mother, and you will make me grateful.”
He walked into the passage, and Mr. Conway, bowing humbly, passed into the porch, where he stood a moment or two peeping at his house; then, with another bow, hurried into the road, and vanished in the direction of the town.