'Oh, Finsbury,' said he, not without embarrassment, 'it's of course only fair to let you know—the fact is, money is a trifle tight—I have some paper out—for that matter, every one's complaining—and in short———'
'It has never been our habit, Rodgerson,' said Morris, turning pale. 'But give me time to turn round, and I'll see what I can do; I dare say we can let you have something to account.'
'Well, that's just where it is,' replied Rodgerson. 'I was tempted; I've let the credit out of my hands.'
'Out of your hands?' repeated Morris. 'That's playing rather fast and loose with us, Mr. Rodgerson.'
'Well, I got cent. for cent. for it,' said the other, 'on the nail, in a certified cheque.'
'Cent. for cent.!' cried Morris. 'Why, that's something like thirty per cent. bonus; a singular thing! Who's the party?'
'Don't know the man,' was the reply. 'Name of Moss.'
'A Jew,' Morris reflected, when his visitor was gone. And what could a Jew want with a claim of—he verified the amount in the books—a claim of three five eight, nineteen, ten, against the house of
