"If I give you ever so much now, what guarantee have I that you'll not return in a month or so, and want as much more ?" "I'll pledge ye me honour," said McCloskey, grandly.
"Your honour!" rejoined Stevens, "that is no security." "Security or no security," said McCloskey, impatiently, "you'll have to give me the money--it's not a bit of use now this disputin, bekase ye see I'm bound to have it, and ye are wise enough to know ye'd better give it to me.

What if ye have give me thousands upon thousands," continued he, his former good-humoured expression entirely vanishing; "it's nothing more than you ought to do for keeping yer secrets for ye--and as long as ye have money, ye may expect to share it with me: so make me out a good heavy cheque, and say no more about it." "What do you call a heavy cheque ?" asked Stevens, in a despairing tone.
"Five or six thousand," coolly answered his visitor.
"Five or six thousand!" echoed Mr.Stevens, "it is impossible." "It had better not be," said McCloskey, looking angry; "it had better not be--I'm determined not to be leading a beggar's life, and you to be a rolling in wealth." "I can't give it, and won't give it--if it must come to that," answered Stevens, desperately.

"It is you that have the fortune--I am only your banker at this rate.

I can't give it to you--I haven't got that much money." "You must find it then, and pretty quick at that," said McCloskey.

"I'm not to be fooled with--I came here for money, and I must and will have it." "I am willing to do what is reasonable," rejoined Mr.Stevens, in a more subdued tone.