Mr. Sandford affected, therefore, to have come to see Fletcher only, and drew him into a corner.

“Fletcher, what’s in the wind?  Don’t Danforth & Co. do their own buying and selling?  They don’t employ Tonsor, do they?”

“You don’t expect me to tell their business, do you?”

“Well, no,—­not exactly.  I thought you might have dipped in on your own account.”

“That’s a good joke.  How should I have the funds?”

“Any chances to invest, Fletcher?  I’ll give liberal commissions.”

“Chances are plenty for those that have money.”

Fletcher started as though he would return to his place of business.  But Sandford dropped his smooth and honeyed tone and spoke more decidedly.

“You can’t blind me, Fletcher.  You know what the bears are doing.  They are ruining everything, knocking down prices, destroying credit, using what little money there is for speculation, thriving on the distress of the public.  It’s no better than highway-robbery; and it’s my belief you are concerned in the plot.”

“You had better go to the nobs, and not talk to me.  You might as well pitch into the tellers or messengers when the banks suspend payment.”

“No,—­I shan’t let you off.  The ‘nobs,’ as you call them, dare not be seen in this matter; they will pocket the chestnuts, but they will get some cat’s-paw to rake them out of the ashes.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

Fletcher was astonished at his own temerity as soon as he had uttered the words; but his prosperity and the support of Bullion had given him some courage.

“Do? you scoundrel!” said Sandford, in a rage that rarely overtook him.  “What am I going to do?  I’ll break every bone in your skin, if you don’t give up this plot you are in.  Do you dare to set yourself to put me down?  Don’t let any of your tools dare to run my stocks!  If you do, I’ll go to a magistrate and have you arrested.”

“When I am arrested, my good Sir,” said Fletcher, with a face pale as death, but with lips firmly set, “I advise you to have your accounts ready.  For I shan’t be in the jug a minute before you’ll have to show your papers and your cash-book to the Company.”

Sandford staggered as though he had received a blow from a bruiser.  He gasped for breath,—­turned pale, then red,—­at length with difficulty said, “You defy me, then?  We shall see!”

“You have it;—­I defy you, hate you, despise you!  I have been your slave long enough.  Do your worst.  But the instant you move, I promise you that a man will look after you, d—­d quick.”

Sandford looked around.  Tonsor was calmly counting the pile of bank-notes before him.  It was near eleven.  This Board would soon commence its session.  He stepped into the street, slamming the door after him.

“Pretty well, for a beginning!” said Fletcher, meditating, “a shot betwixt wind and water.  So much for Bullion’s advice.  Bullion is a trump, and Sandford be hanged!”