“I hear that you have got some money to invest, Morgan,” said the Major.
“It’s Mr. Arthur has been telling, hang him,” thought the valet.
“I’m glad my place is such a good one.”
“Thank you, sir—I’ve no reason to complain of my place, nor of my master,” replied Morgan, demurely.
“You’re a good fellow: and I believe you are attached to me; and I’m glad you get on well. And I hope you’ll be prudent, and not be taking a public-house or that kind of thing.”
A public-house, thought Morgan—me in a public-house!—the old fool!—Dammy, if I was ten years younger I’d set in Parlyment before I died, that I would.—“No, thank you kindly, sir. I don’t think of the public line, sir. And I’ve got my little savings pretty well put out, sir.”
“You do a little in the discounting way, eh, Morgan?”
“Yes, sir, a very little—I—I beg your pardon, sir—might I be so free as to ask a question——”
“Speak on, my good fellow,” the elder said, graciously.
“About Sir Francis Clavering’s paper, sir? Do you think he’s any longer any good, sir? Will my Lady pay on ’em, any more, sir?”