“Don’t flurry yourself about his name,” returned Chewkle; “it’s the man you want. Let me see, Thursday, Friday, Saturday--in ten days from this I can do it.” “You can?” “I can.” “And will?” “If I am well paid for it.” “How much does that mean--open your mouth?” exclaimed Nathan, with a grin. “A hun--two--a--a thousand pounds,” cried Chewkle, with a sudden bound from the sum he purposed at first asking. “And worth it, I should say,” returned Mr. Nathan Gomer, with a contortion which was something between a yawn and a horrifying convulsion. “But there is Mr. Wilton’s consent to be obtained to the payment of this large sum,” he added, “and the terms upon which it is to be paid to be arranged.” “That I admits,” returned Chewkle, with a cunning leer; “but I must have something in hand, you know, before I goes from here to-night, Mr. Gomer.” “Not a farthing,” returned Nathan Gomer, coolly; I shall not be a shilling the richer, nor a penny-piece the poorer, whether the man is produced or kept perdu. All you have been telling me may be lies, you know, my Chewkle; I don’t mean to insinuate that such is the case, but when one is called to pay down for bare assertion, then it is necessary to be cautious.” “I’ve told you truth, sir,” replied Chewkle, with earnestness, and then, thoughtlessly, as the forged deed flashed through his mind, he said, “And I could tell you some information about Mr. Grahame as you’d like to have.” “Not you,” said Nathan Gomer, coolly. “You have lent him a heap of money, haven’t you?” inquired Chewkle, with a tone as much as to say, “I know you have.” “I am well secured,” said Gomer, apathetically; “and, therefore, Chewkle, it is of no use your trying it on with me in that quarter.” “Ain’t it?” “No.” “You’re sure o’ that?” “Quite. Mr. Grahame has borrowed money. Many a prouder man than he has done the same thing, but he has given security for it. There is nothing out of the ordinary routine of worldly circumstances in that. He may be in difficulties now--perhaps he is----” “No, he ain’t.” “Well, he might be. There is nothing, however, that Mr. Grahame has done, or is likely to do, but what would be strictly honorable; and, therefore, nothing you can say about him can affect me.” “Nor Mr. Wilton?” “Nor Mr. Wilton.” “There you’re wrong. I could tell you a trifle about a forged deed, as would uncurl your ’air, and make it quiver like that of a ’lectrified cat, if I liked.” “Pshaw! What could you tell me?” All! What? That question restored Mr. Chewkle to his equilibrium, which Nathan Gomer’s taunts were fast pulling him out of. He bit his lips, and mentally called himself a fool of great magnitude for having permitted himself to be so far drawn out. So, to prevent further trips of speech, he rose up, and prepared to go. “If you will not give me anything down, Mr. Gomer,” he said, “the thing’s off. I shan’t come agen. It won’t be worth my while.”