“Don’t say so,” retorted Fledgeby, secretly exultant as the old man stretched out his hands, with a shrinking action of defending himself against the sharp construction of the two observers. “Don’t play the tune of the trade, Mr. Riah. You’ve a right to get in your debts, if you’re determined to do it, but don’t pretend what everyone in your line regularly pretends. At least, don’t do it to me. Why should you, Mr. Riah? You know I know all about you.”
The old man clasped the skirt of his long coat with his disengaged hand, and directed a wistful look at Fledgeby.
“And don’t,” said Fledgeby, “don’t, I entreat you as a favour, Mr. Riah, be so devilish meek, for I know what’ll follow if you are. Look here, Mr. Riah. This gentleman is Mr. Twemlow.”
The Jew turned to him and bowed. That poor lamb bowed in return; polite, and terrified.
“I have made such a failure,” proceeded Fledgeby, “in trying to do anything with you for my friend Lammle, that I’ve hardly a hope of doing anything with you for my friend (and connection indeed) Mr. Twemlow. But I do think that if you would do a favour for anybody, you would for me, and I won’t fail for want of trying, and I’ve passed my promise to Mr. Twemlow besides. Now, Mr. Riah, here is Mr. Twemlow. Always good for his interest, always coming up to time, always paying his little way. Now, why should you press Mr. Twemlow? You can’t have any spite against Mr. Twemlow! Why not be easy with Mr. Twemlow?”
The old man looked into Fledgeby’s little eyes for any sign of leave to be easy with Mr. Twemlow; but there was no sign in them.
“ Mr. Twemlow is no connection of yours, Mr. Riah,” said Fledgeby; “you can’t want to be even with him for having through life gone in for a gentleman and hung on to his family. If Mr. Twemlow has a contempt for business, what can it matter to you?”