"Show me the receipt and take my last shilling, you ungrateful,
vindictive viper," groaned Mr. Hardie.
"Stuff and nonsense, said Skinner. "I'm not a viper; I'm a man of
business. Find me five hundred pounds; and I'll show you the receipt and
keep dark. But I can't afford to give it you for that, of course."
Skinner triumphed, and made the great man apologise, writhing all the
time, and wishing he was a day labourer with Peggy to wife, and fourteen
honest shillings a week for his income. Having eaten humble pie, he
agreed to meet Skinner next Wednesday at midnight, alone, under a certain
lamp on the North Kensington Road: the interval (four days) he required
to raise money upon his scrip. Skinner bowed himself out, fawning
triumphantly. Mr. Hardie stood in the middle of the room motionless,
scowling darkly. Peggy looked at him, and saw some dark and sinister
resolve forming in his mind: she divined it, as such women can divine.
She laid her hand on his arm, and said softly, "Richard, it's not worth
_that._" He started to find his soul read through his body so clearly.
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