'O, Finsbury,' said he, not without embarrassment, 'it's of course only
fair to let you know--the fact is, money is a trifle tight--I have some
paper out--for that matter, every one's complaining--and in short--'
'It has never been our habit, Rodgerson,' said Morris, turning pale.
'But give me time to turn round, and I'll see what I can do; I daresay
we can let you have something to account.'
'Well, that's just where is,' replied Rodgerson. 'I was tempted; I've
let the credit out of MY hands.'
'Out of your hands?' repeated Morris. 'That's playing rather fast and
loose with us, Mr Rodgerson.'
'Well, I got cent. for cent. for it,' said the other, 'on the nail, in a
certified cheque.'
'Cent. for cent.!' cried Morris. 'Why, that's something like thirty per
cent. bonus; a singular thing! Who's the party?'
'Don't know the man,' was the reply. 'Name of Moss.'
'A Jew,' Morris reflected, when his visitor was gone. And what could a
Jew want with a claim of--he verified the amount in the books--a claim
of three five eight, nineteen, ten, against the house of Finsbury? And
why should he pay cent.
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