“Policeman!” cried the Major.
“You shall have the bill,” said Morgan. “You’re not going to take money of me, and you a gentleman?”
“I shall want you directly,” said the Major to X, who here entered, and who again withdrew.
“No, my good sir,” the old gentleman continued; “I have not any desire to have further pecuniary transactions with you; but we will draw out a little paper, which you will have the kindness to sign. No, stop!—you shall write it: you have improved immensely in writing of late, and have now a very good hand. You shall sit down and write, if you please—there, at that table—so—let me see—we may as well have the date. Write ‘Bury Street, St. James’s, October 21, 18—.’”
And Mr. Morgan wrote as he was instructed, and as the pitiless old Major continued:—
“‘I, James Morgan, having come in extreme poverty into the service of Arthur Pendennis, Esquire, of Bury Street, St. James’s, a Major in her Majesty’s service, acknowledge that I received liberal wages and board wages from my employer, during fifteen years.’—You can’t object to that, I am sure,” said the Major.
“During fifteen years,” wrote Morgan.
“‘In which time, by my own care and prudence,’” the dictator resumed, “‘I have managed to amass sufficient money to purchase the house in which my master resides, and, besides, to effect other savings. Amongst other persons from whom I have had money, I may mention my present tenant, Mrs. Brixham, who, in consideration of sixty pounds advanced by me five years since, has paid back to me the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds sterling, besides giving me a note of hand for one hundred and twenty pounds, which I restore to her at the desire of my late master, Major Arthur Pendennis, and therewith free her furniture, of which I had a bill of sale.’—Have you written?”
“I think if this pistol was loaded, I’d blow your brains out,” said Morgan.
“No, you wouldn’t. You have too great a respect for your valuable life, my good man,” the Major answered. “Let us go on and begin a new sentence.