‘I suppose I must let you have it’

Crosbie had been preparing the exact words with which he assailed Mr Butterwell for the last quarter of an hour, before they were uttered.  There is always a difficulty in the choice, not only of the words with which money should be borrowed, but of the fashion after which they should be spoken.  There is the slow deliberate manner, in using which the borrower attempts to carry the wished-for lender along with him by force of argument, and to prove that the desire to borrow shows no imprudence on his own part, and that a tendency to lend will show none on the part of the intended lender.  It may be said that this mode fails oftener than any other.  There is the piteous manner—­the plea for commiseration.  ’My dear fellow, unless you will see me through now, upon my word I shall be very badly off.’  And this manner may be divided again into two.  There is the plea piteous with a lie, and the plea piteous with a truth.  ’You shall have it again in two months as sure as the sun rises.’  That is generally the plea piteous with a lie.  Or it may be as follows; ’It is only fair to say that I don’t quite know when I can pay it back.’  This is the plea piteous with a truth, and upon the whole I think that this is generally the most successful mode of borrowing.  And there is the assured demand—­which betokens a close intimacy.  ’Old fellow, can you let me have thirty pounds?  No?  Just put your name, then, on the back of this, and I’ll get it done in the City.’  The worst of that manner is, that the bill so often does not get itself done in the City.  Then there is the sudden attack—­that being the manner to which Crosbie had recourse in the present instance.  That there are other modes of borrowing by means of which youth becomes indebted to age, and love to respect, and ignorance to experience, is a matter of course.  It will be understood that I am here speaking only of borrowing and lending between the Butterwells and Crosbies of the world.  ’I have come to you in great distress,’ said Crosbie.  ’I wonder whether you can help me.  I want you to lend me five hundred pounds.’  Mr Butterwell, when he heard the words, dropped the paper which he was reading from his hand, and stared at Crosbie over his spectacles.

’Yes it is—­a very large sum.  Half that is what I want at once; but I shall want the other half in a month.’

’I thought that you were always so much above the world in money matters.  Gracious me;—­nothing that I have heard for a long time has astonished me more.  I don’t know why, but I always thought you had your things so very snug.’

Crosbie was aware that he had made one very great step towards success.  The idea had been presented to Mr Butterwell’s mind, and had not been instantly rejected as a scandalously iniquitous idea, as an idea to which no reception could be given for a moment.  Crosbie had not been treated as the needy knife-grinder, and had ground to stand upon while he urged his request.  ‘I have been so pressed since my marriage,’ he said, ‘that it has been impossible for me to keep things straight.’