station in his breast, too, for he was blithe and merry. There was quite a fresh trill in his voice, when, arriving at the counting-house in St Mary Axe, and finding it for the moment empty, he trolled forth at the foot of the staircase: “Now, Judah, what are you up to there?”

The old man appeared, with his accustomed deference.

“Holloa!” said Fledgeby, falling back, with a wink. “You mean mischief, Jerusalem!”

The old man raised his eyes inquiringly.

“Yes you do,” said Fledgeby. “Oh, you sinner! Oh, you dodger! What! You’re going to act upon that bill of sale at Lammle’s, are you? Nothing will turn you, won’t it? You won’t be put off for another single minute, won’t you?”

Ordered to immediate action by the master’s tone and look, the old man took up his hat from the little counter where it lay.

“You have been told that he might pull through it, if you didn’t go in to win, Wide-Awake; have you?” said Fledgeby. “And it’s not your game that he should pull through it; ain’t it? You having got security, and there being enough to pay you? Oh, you Jew!”

The old man stood irresolute and uncertain for a moment, as if there might be further instructions for him in reserve.

“Do I go, sir?” he at length asked in a low voice.

“Asks me if he is going!” exclaimed Fledgeby. “Asks me, as if he didn’t know his own purpose! Asks me, as if he hadn’t got his hat on ready! Asks me, as if his sharp old eye — why, it cuts like a knife — wasn’t looking at his walking-stick by the door!”

“Do I go, sir?”

“Do you go?” sneered Fledgeby. “Yes, you do go. Toddle, Judah!”