'
'What?' cried Morris, 'and lose my seven thousand eight hundred pounds,
and the leather business, and the contingent interest, and get nothing?
Thank you.'
'It's like you to feel gratitude, Morris,' began Michael.
'O, I know it's no good appealing to you, you sneering devil!' cried
Morris. 'But there's a stranger present, I can't think why, and I appeal
to him. I was robbed of that money when I was an orphan, a mere child,
at a commercial academy. Since then, I've never had a wish but to get
back my own. You may hear a lot of stuff about me; and there's no doubt
at times I have been ill-advised. But it's the pathos of my situation;
that's what I want to show you.'
'Morris,' interrupted Michael, 'I do wish you would let me add one
point, for I think it will affect your judgement. It's pathetic too
since that's your taste in literature.'
'Well, what is it?' said Morris.
'It's only the name of one of the persons who's to witness your
signature, Morris,' replied Michael. 'His name's Moss, my dear.'
There was a long silence. 'I might have been sure it was you!' cried
Morris.
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