“But, come now, let’s hear more about this business, Tom. I suppose you want a little sum to make a venture with. But where’s all your own money? You don’t spend it all—eh?” “No, sir,” said Tom, colouring; “but my father is unwilling to risk it, and I don’t like to press him. If I could get twenty or thirty pounds to begin with, I could pay five per cent for it, and then I could gradually make a little capital of my own, and do without a loan.” “Ay—ay,” said Mr Glegg, in an approving tone; “that’s not a bad notion, and I won’t say as I wouldn’t be your man. But it ’ull be as well for me to see this Salt, as you talk on. And then—here’s this friend o’ yours offers to buy the goods for you. Perhaps you’ve got somebody to stand surety for you if the money’s put into your hands?” added the cautious old gentleman, looking over his spectacles at Bob. “I don’t think that’s necessary, uncle,” said Tom. “At least, I mean it would not be necessary for me, because I know Bob well; but perhaps it would be right for you to have some security.” “You get your percentage out o’ the purchase, I suppose?” said Mr Glegg, looking at Bob. “No, sir,” said Bob, rather indignantly; “I didn’t offer to get a apple for Mr Tom, o’ purpose to hev a bite out of it myself. When I play folks tricks, there’ll be more fun in ’em nor that.” “Well, but it’s nothing but right you should have a small percentage,” said Mr Glegg. “I’ve no opinion o’ transactions where folks do things for nothing. It allays looks bad.” “Well, then,” said Bob, whose keenness saw at once what was implied, “I’ll tell you what I get by’t, an’ it’s money in my pocket in the end,—I make myself look big, wi’ makin’ a bigger purchase. That’s what I’m thinking on. Lors! I’m a ’cute chap,—I am.” “Mr Glegg, Mr Glegg!” said a severe voice from the open parlour window, “pray are you coming in to tea, or are you going to stand talking with packmen till you get murdered in the open daylight?” “Murdered?” said Mr Glegg; “what’s the woman talking of? Here’s your nephey Tom come about a bit o’ business.” “Murdered,—yes,—it isn’t many ’sizes ago since a packman murdered a young woman in a lone place, and stole her thimble, and threw her body into a ditch.” “Nay, nay,” said Mr Glegg, soothingly, “you’re thinking o’ the man wi’ no legs, as drove a dog-cart.” “Well, it’s the same thing, Mr Glegg, only you’re fond o’ contradicting what I say; and if my nephey’s come about business, it ’ud be more fitting if you’d bring him into the house, and let his aunt know about it, instead o’ whispering in corners, in that plotting, underminding way.” “Well, well,” said Mr Glegg, “we’ll come in now.” “You needn’t stay here,” said the lady to Bob, in a loud voice, adapted to the moral, not the physical, distance between them. “We don’t want anything. I don’t deal wi’ packmen. Mind you shut the gate after you.”