"Wouldn't it be better, Sir Richard, to say no more about it?" said the tailor. "Money is money, sir; gold's gold; and, as for silver, why it's quicksilver, ain't it, now? Of course, I know what young gents is, as I said before; and I don't want to make any trouble about it." "But listen," said Richard, trying to be quite calm and cool. "Do I understand you aright?" "Oh, yes, sir; I'm right about money." "That I shared the borrowed money?" "Why, sir," said the man with a smile, "you don't suppose I should have lent it to Mr Mark Frayne, whose father's only a poor parson? Not me!" "Then you lent it to him because you believed I was to have part?" "I lent it to you, sir, because I knew you was a barrynet, and would come in for your money in three or four years' time, and, of course, to oblige you--being short." "But--" "For I says to myself, `There's the money a-doing nothing in the bank, and it's obliging a gent who won't be above orderin' a few garments to make up for you obliging him, and--'" "Confound you! will you let me speak?" cried Richard angrily. "Of course, sir. Glad to hear you speak, and sorry I come at an inconvenient time, when you were busy with your music; and--let me see-- didn't Mr Mark say something about your wanting the cash to buy a new pianner? Or was it an old fiddle? I quite forget, sir; that I do." "Will you be silent a minute? Did my cousin say that money was for me?" "Oh, yes, sir; or I shouldn't have--" "Then it was a lie--an abominable lie!" cried Richard, in a rage. "Sign those papers and acknowledge that I had the money? No! So you can be off, and tell him so." Mr Isaac Simpson screwed up his face, bent over the table, and carefully spread the three oblongs of blue paper out, one above the other, holding the ends down, and smoothing them out slowly. "Well," cried Richard, hotly, "do you hear what I say?" "Oh, yes, Sir Richard Frayne, Baronet, I hear what you say," replied the tailor: "but I was a-thinking, sir." "Then go and think somewhere else." "No, sir; I can't do that, because, you see, I'm thinking about you. Here's 'undred and eighty-odd pound of a poor man's hard-earned money, most part of which you owe me." "It is false! I don't owe you a penny." The tailor shook his head. "I can't afford to lose it, Sir Richard; and you can't say but what I want to make it easy for you with them bills." "I do not want anything made easy for me," cried the young man; "I can pay my just debts." "And, don't you see, sir, it wouldn't be pleasant for you if I was to write to your parents and guardians--leastwise, as you have no parents, your guardians--and ask them?" "Write to them, and so will I." "But I don't want to do such a shabby thing about a gent as I've tried to oblige." "I tell you I never authorised anyone to borrow money for me, sir."