An old affair--ages ago--a stab in the
dark! Nothing very much, in fact a mere bagatelle, only, as luck
will have it, I am damnably short myself just now."
"How much is it?"
"Altogether exactly twenty-five pound ten. An absurd sum, but all my
odd cash is on the race. So I ventured here on my young friend's
behalf to ask for a trifling loan,--a pound--or say thirty shillings
would be something."
Barnabas crossed to a cabinet, unlocked a drawer, and taking thence
a smallish bag that jingled, began to count out a certain sum upon
the table.
"You said twenty-five pounds ten, I think?" said Barnabas, and
pushed that amount across the table. Mr. Smivvle stared from the
money to Barnabas and back again, and felt for his whisker with
fumbling fingers.
"Sir," he said, "you can't--you don't mean to--to--"
"Yes," said Barnabas, turning to re-lock the drawer. Mr. Smivvle's
hand dropped from his whiskers, indeed, for the moment he almost
seemed to have forgotten their existence.
"Sir," he stammered, "I cannot allow--no indeed, sir! Mr. Beverley,
you overwhelm me--"
"Debts are necessary evils," said Barnabas, "and must be paid.
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