“With landed property the case is even more difficult.  Tenants cannot be forced to pay rent before it is due, nor can their messuages be sold over their heads.  And possibly all your capital is invested in land—­”

“Every farthing that could be scraped together,” says Simon, “and not a rood of it but is leased to substantial men.  Oh! what excellent discourse!  Proceed further, friend.”

“Nevertheless,” says I, “there are means of raising money upon credit.  If he live there still, there is a worthy Jew in St. Mary Axe, who upon certain considerations of interest—­”

“Hold, friend,” cries Simon.  “What art thee thinking of?  Wouldst deliver my simple mistress into the hands of Jew usurers?”

“Not without proper covenants made out by lawyers and attorneys.”

“Lawyers, attorneys, and usurers!  Heaven have mercy upon us!  Verily, thee wouldst infest us with a pest, and bleed us to death for our cure.”

“I will have such relief as I may,” says Moll; “so pray, sir, do send for these lawyers and Jews at once, and the quicker, since my servant seems more disposed to hinder than to help me.”

“Forbear, mistress; for the love of God, forbear!” cries Simon, in an agony, clasping his hands.  “Be not misguided by this foolish merchant, who hath all to gain and nought to lose by this proceeding.  Give me but a little space, and their claims shall be met, thy desires shall be satisfied, and yet half of thy estate be saved, which else must be all devoured betwixt these ruthless money-lenders and lawyers.  I can make a covenant more binding than any attorney, as I have proved again and again, and” (with a gulp) “if money must be raised at once, I know an honest, a fairly honest, goldsmith in Lombard Street who will lend at the market rate.”

“These gentlemen,” answers Moll, turning to us, “may not choose to wait, and I will not incommode them for my own convenience.”

“Something for our present need we must have, Madam,” says the Don, with a significant glance at his outlandish dress; “but those wants supplied, I am content to wait.”

“And you, sir?” says Moll to me.

“With a hundred or two,” says I, taking Don Sanchez’s hint, “we may do very well till Michaelmas.”

“Be reasonable, gentlemen,” implores Simon, mopping his eyes, which ran afresh at this demand. “’Tis but some five or six weeks to Michaelmas; surely fifty pounds—­”

“Silence!” cries Moll, with an angry tap of her foot.  “Will three hundred content you, gentlemen?  Consider, the wants of our good friend, Captain Evans, may be more pressing than yours.”

“He is a good, honest, simple man, and I think we may answer for his accepting the conditions we make for ourselves.  Then, with some reasonable guarantee for our future payment—­”