Fletcher mused.  “If Sandford comes to a man like me for such a sum, it must be because he is devilish hard up; and if I get him the money, it would likely be sunk.  I can’t do it.”

“No, Mr. Sandford, it’s out of the question.  Everybody that has money has twenty applications for every dollar.”

“Then you’d rather see this paper in an officer’s hands?”

Fletcher’s face blanched and his knees shook, but he kept his resolution in spite of his bodily tremor.

“I have been like a mouse cuffed between a cat’s paws so long that I don’t care to run.  If you mean to pounce up on me and finish me, go ahead.  I may as well die as to be always dreading it.  But you’ll please remember what I said about overhauling your accounts.”

Sandford found his man firmer than he had expected.  He changed his tactics.

“Fletcher, as you can’t do what I want, how much will you give outright for the little obligation?  You shall have it for fifteen hundred dollars.  Come, now, that’s reasonable.”

“Reasonable as the fellow who puts a pistol to your head on a dark night in the middle of Cambridge bridge.”

“Tut, tut!  Don’t talk of highway-robbery!  I think I am letting you off cheap.”

“How do you suppose I can raise fifteen hundred dollars?”

“That is your affair.”

“You are as cruel as a bloodhound after a runaway nigger.”

“I have once or twice remonstrated against your use of harsh words.”

“What’s the use of being mealy-mouthed?  I owe you five hundred dollars.  Every dollar beyond that you get from me you rob me of; and it doesn’t matter whether it is a pistol or a writ that you threaten me with.”

“You persist in a violent tone.”

“I can’t talk to suit you, and I shall stop.  We shall never agree.  I’ll tell you, though, what I will do.  I’ll give you a note, to-morrow, for a thousand dollars, on short time, with a good name.”

“Money, Fletcher!—­money!  I don’t want any note.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do.  Perhaps I can get the money.”

“And, Fletcher, I advise you to settle the affair to-day.  It has stood quite long enough.  Just devote to-day to this little matter.  Come in before two,—­not later than three, at any rate.  Perhaps your employers might advance it,—­that is, rather than have their clerk compromised.  Suppose I lay the matter before them?”

Fletcher’s rage broke out afresh.  He gnashed his teeth and foamed at the mouth.  If he had had a weapon, it might have fared hard with his oppressor.  But his anger was inarticulate,—­too mighty, too tumultuous, for words.  He left the office, his eyes glowing like a cat’s, and his fringy moustache trembling over his white teeth.