"Custom!" retorted the stranger, "no such thing--damn'd bad custom, if it is one--don't tell me of customs--'Sbodikins, man, I know the rate of exchange all over the world, and have drawn bills from Timbuctoo--My friends in the Strand filed it along with Bruce's from Gondar--talk to me of premium on a Bank of England post-bill!--What d'ye look at the bill for?--D'ye think it doubtful--I can change it." "By no means necessary," answered Bindloose, "the bill is quite right; but it is usual to indorse, sir." "Certainly--reach me a pen--d'ye think I can write with my rattan?--What sort of ink is this?--yellow as curry sauce--never mind--there is my name--Peregrine Touchwood--I got it from the Willoughbies, my Christian name--Have I my full change here?" "Your full change, sir," answered Bindloose. "Why, you should give _me_ a premium, friend, instead of me giving you one." "It is out of our way, I assure you, sir," said the Banker, "quite out of our way--but if you would step into the parlour and take a cup of tea"---- "Why, ay," said the stranger, his voice sounding more distinctly as (talking all the while, and ushered along by Mr. Bindloose) he left the office and moved towards the parlour, "a cup of tea were no such bad thing, if one could come by it genuine--but as for your premium"----So saying, he entered the parlour and made his bow to Mrs. Dods, who, seeing what she called a decent, purpose-like body, and aware that his pocket was replenished with English and Scottish paper currency, returned the compliment with her best curtsy.