Vizard, for the first time, wore a supercilious smile at being so misunderstood, and did not deign a reply. Severne went on mistaking his man: “I can give you bills for the money, and for the three hundred you did lend me.” Vizard did not receive this as expected. “Bills?” said he, gravely. “What, do you do that sort of thing as well?” “Why not, pray? So long as I'm the holder, not the drawer, nor the acceptor. Besides, they are not accommodation bills, but good commercial paper.” “You are a merchant, then; are you?” “Yes; in a small way. If you will allow me, I will explain.” He did so; and, to save comments, yet enable the reader to appreciate his explanation, the true part of it is printed in italics, the mendacious portion in ordinary type. _“My estate in Huntingdonshire is not very large; and there are mortgages on it,_ for the benefit of other members of my family. I was always desirous to pay off these mortgages; and took the best advice I could. _I have got an uncle:_ he lives in the city. He put me on to a good thing. I bought a share in a trading vessel; she makes short trips, and turns her cargo often. She will take out paper to America, and bring back raw cotton: she will land that at Liverpool, and ship English hardware and cotton fabrics for the Mediterranean and Greece, and bring back currants from Zante and lemons from Portugal. She goes for the nimble shilling. Well, you know ships wear out: _and if you varnish them rotten, and insure them high, and they go to glory, Mr. Plimsoll is down on you like a hammer._ So, when she had paid my purchase-money three times over, some fellows in the city made an offer for _The Rover_--that was her name. My share came to twelve hundred, and my uncle said I was to take it. _Now I always feel bound by what he decides._ They gave me four bills, for four hundred, three hundred, three hundred, and two hundred. The four hundred was paid at maturity. _The others are not due yet._ I have only to send them to London, and I can get the money back by Thursday: but you want me to start on Tuesday.” “That is enough,” said Vizard, wearily, “I will be your banker, and--” “You are a good fellow!” said Severne warmly. “No, no; I am a weak fellow, and an injudicious one. But it is the old story: when a friend asks you what he thinks a favor, the right thing is to grant it at once. He doesn't want your advice; he wants the one thing he asks for. There, get me the bills, and I'll draw a check on Muller: Herries advised him by Saturday's post; so we can draw on Monday.” “All right, old man,” said Severne, and went away briskly for the bills. When he got from the balcony into the room, his steps flagged a little; it struck him that ink takes time to dry, and more time to darken.