"
"I have it, though. The law calls it a confession of theft."
Fletcher winced.
"You have told me that often enough before. You needn't touch me on the
raw to make me remember it."
He waited, but Sandford made no reply. Fletcher continued:--
"Well, what is it? You've something on hand, or you wouldn't have sent
for me."
"You propose to pay sometime, I believe?"
"Of course, I do. I've offered to pay times enough, you know. I can get
the money in ten minutes."
"Can you! How much?"
"Why, the five hundred and interest."
"I rather think the document is worth more money."
"You'd take my heart's blood for it, I know. But you can't get any more
money than I have got."
"You were very ready in promising five hundred in ten minutes. It seems
to me that in an hour you might raise a larger sum."
"Do you suppose I am a capitalist?--that I own Fogarty, Danforth, and
Dot?"
"I'm sure, I can't tell. Stranger things have happened."
"I wonder if he suspects my connection with old Bullion?" thought
Fletcher.
"I'll make you a fair proposition, Fletcher. I need some money, for a
few days. Get me thirty thousand dollars for a week, say; I'll pay a
liberal interest and give up the paper."
"I can't do it. The figure is altogether above me. You don't want me to
rob my employers?"
"'Rob' is a hard word, Fletcher. No, I counsel no crime. You don't want
anything more to think of. But you may know some chance to borrow that
sum?"
Fletcher mused.
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