"Anyhow, I've
a mind to try the fellow, Graspum. I feel the risk I run; but I
don't mind-it's neck or nothin here in the south! Ye'll take a long
note, s'pose? Good, ye know!"
Graspum motions his head and works his lips, half affirmatively.
"Good as old gold, ye knows that," insinuates Mr. Grabguy.
"Yes, but notes aint cash; and our banks are shut down as tight as
steel traps. At all events make it bankable, and add the interest
for six months. It's against my rules of business, though," returns
Graspum, with great financial emphasis.
After considerably more very nice exhibitions of business tact, it
is agreed that Mr. Grabguy takes the "imp" at five hundred and
twenty dollars, for which Graspum accepts his note at six months,
with interest. Mr. Grabguy's paper is good, and Graspum considers it
equal to cash, less the interest. The "imp" is now left in charge of
the negro, while the two gentlemen retire to the private
counting-room, where they will settle the preliminaries.
A grave-looking gentleman at a large desk is ordered to make the
entry of sale; as the initiate of which he takes a ponderous ledger
from the case, and, with great coolness, opens its large leaves.
"Nicholas, I think his name is?" he ejaculates, turning to Graspum,
who, unconcernedly, has resumed his seat in the great arm-chair.
"Yes; but I suppose it must be Nicholas Grabguy, now," returns
Graspum, bowing to his book-keeper, and then turning to Mr. Grabguy.
"One minute, if you please!" rejoins that gentlemen, as the sedate
book-keeper turns to his page of N's in the index.
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