“Let me see the letter,” the accountant implored. Mr. Bultiwell only breathed hard. “The other communication,” Jacob continued, unfolding a stiff sheet of paper, “is from the Bank of England, and it is what you might call short and sweet:” Dear Sir, We beg to inform you that we have to-day received a credit on your behalf, from our New York branch, amounting to one hundred thousand pounds sterling, which sum we hold at your disposal. Faithfully yours, BANK OF ENGLAND. p. p. J. Woodridge Smith. Faithfully yours, BANK OF ENGLAND. [Pg 17] [Pg 17] “One hundred thousand pounds! God bless my soul!” Mr. Bultiwell gasped. “I shall be at your office, Mr. Pedlar,” Jacob announced, folding up the letters, “at eleven o’clock.” “It is your intention, I presume,” the accountant enquired, “to pay your debts in full?” “Certainly,” Jacob replied. “I thought I had made that clear.” “A very laudable proceeding,” Mr. Pedlar murmured approvingly. The train was beginning to slacken speed. Jacob rose to his feet. “I am changing carriages here,” he remarked. “I am obliged to you all for putting up with my company for so long.” Mr. Bultiwell cleared his throat. There was noticeable in his tone some return of his former pomposity. “Under the present circumstances, Mr. Pratt,” he said, “I see no reason why you should leave us. I should like to hear more about your wonderful good fortune and to discuss with you your plans for the future. If you are occupied now, perhaps this evening at home. My
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