Lemuel hesitated, but obeyed. He hated and feared this old man of anger, whose voice had become powerful with passion. Somehow the armoury of texts seemed insufficient. "I athked you jutht now if you believed in the fairieth, and you thaid ’No.’ Well, I do believe in ’em, and it ith well for you I do. I meant to punish you for worryin’ us with them billth. I meant to crush you, to end you. There’th nothin’ tho easy in bithness life ath for a finanthier to crush a poor man, if ’e likes. I meant to crush you and your people because of your cruelty to uth. I’d ’ave lent you moneys at such a rate of interest, on such artful terms, that you couldn’t ’ave paid it back; and I’d ’ave bought you up and broke you, body and soul. But the other night I wath dinin’ at the Mansion ’Ouse with the Right Honourable the Lord Mayor and my friend the Venerable Reverend Archdeacon Pryde, who’s athked me to tea with him. You read what appeared in the papers, ’aven’t you? Everyone there made resolutions, and, like the others, I made promises, which I’m goin’ to keep. Lucky for you, Mr. Buthkin, that I did. Now I’ll begin by makin’ you a prethent. I give you back them billth. Here they are. What common paper you do use for ’em! I could put you in the way of buying much better quality at the price you pay, I bet! Burn ’em! Take ’em ’ome and burn ’em! And now, if you like, we’ll talk bithness. Mithter Buthkin, I was glad you wrote to me. Ha, ha!" His laugh was not musical. "You must ’ave been agreeably surprithed when you found Jabez Gordon was me! ’Annah would laugh, too, if I were to tell ’er ’ow you looked. But bithness now!" Lemuel, who had just been feeling limp, made an effort to rouse himself. The genial note in Oldstein’s voice was to him as balm in Gilead.