"Confound it all, Quarrier, I've always said you were that sort of man--that you'd never let a friend in on the top floor, and kick him clear to the cellar! As a matter of fact, I sold out at ten and three-eighths.

Wait! Here's a pencil.

Lydia, give me that pad on your desk.

Here you are, Quarrier.

It's easy enough to figure out how much you owe me." And as Quarrier slowly began tracing figures on the pad, Mortimer rambled on, growing more demonstrative and boisterous every moment.
"It's white of you, Quarrier--I'll say that! Legally, of course, you could laugh at me; but I've always said your business conscience would never let you stand for this sort of thing.