A thunder-cloud of a man.
CHAPTER XVII
JAMES MAXLEY came out of the bank that morning with nine hundred and four
pounds buttoned up tight in the pocket of his leather breeches, a joyful
man; and so to his work, and home at one o'clock to dinner.
At 2 P.M. he was thoughtful; uneasy at 3; wretched at 3.30. He was
gardener as well as capitalist, and Mr. Hardie owed him 30s. for work.
Such is human nature in general, and Maxley's in particular, that the L.
900 in pocket seemed small, and the 30s. in jeopardy large.
"I can't afford to go with the creditors," argued Maxley: "Dividend on
30s.! Why, that will be about thirty pence: the change for a hard*
half-crown.
*_I.e._ a half-crown in one piece.
He stuck his spade in the soil and made for his debtor's house. As he
came up the street, Dodd shot out of the bank radiant, and was about to
pass him without notice, full of his wife and children; but Maxley
stopped him with a right cordial welcome, and told him he had given them
all a fright this time.
"What, is it over the town already that my ship has been wrecked?" And
Dodd looked annoyed.
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