Adrien Leroy

"Here, sir," said Harker, in a dry, rasping voice, somewhat like the

creaking of an old, rusty-hinged door.

"Where?--oh, yes, I see. Oh, Paxhorn has come to us, has he? Writing

poetry is not a paying game, eh? Or is it the fine, grand company that

runs away with the golden counters? Well, all fish--or idiots--that come

to our net are welcomed, no matter what wind drives them. Thirty per

cent. from Paxhorn. No more?"

"I could not get any more, sir," said Harker earnestly; "I tried--tried

hard--indeed I did, I assure you. I would not give in until he

threatened to go to another office."

"Hem! well, I suppose it's the truth; though, of course, all

moneylenders are rogues--and you're only a moneylender, you know." He

looked up for a moment to laugh at the logical joke. "Who backs his

paper? Lord Standon. Oh, my lord is pretty deep in our books already,

isn't he? Where are his statistics?"

"Here, sir," said Harker, taking one of the papers from the heap.

Jasper Vermont glanced at it, and laid it down again with an evil smile

on his face.

"Oh, he's good for more than that, Harker; but be cautious. We'll lend

him another ten thousand; but put on five per cent. Lords must pay, to

set the fashion to commoner folk. By the way, Captain Beaumont----"

"Whose bills you instructed me to call in, sir."

"Yes; well, I met him yesterday and promised to intercede for him you."

He laughed harshly. "What fun it is, poor idiot! He shook my hand with

profuse expressions of gratitude. Mr. Leroy will back the renewal and

you can let it run. Beaumont's the second son, Lord Dunford is on his

last legs, and the heir won't live another year, we can come down like

kites when the gallant captain has the title and estates. Till then

we'll wait; but stick out for another two-and-a-half per cent. Make the

calves bleed, Harker; it will do them and me good."

About that small matter of the young artist, Wilson, sir?"

"Eh! Wilson? Oh, yes. You got instructions to proceed in the usual way

to sell him up."

"Yes, sir, that was your order. He called yesterday, and pleaded for

another week. His wife is dying, and they are starving. He begs hard for

another week----"

Stuff, another week! the dog means another year. He should have thought

of the time for repaying when he was borrowing. Another week--not

another day. Start proceedings at once. Mind, I say it. Didn't I hear

him call me a 'parasite from the pavement' one night at a ball? Screens

have ears, Mr. Wilson, and parasites have memories. Sell him up--do you

hear, Harker?"