stained from all cat-and-dog absurdities. Nevertheless, it was
the frequently expressed opinion of every clerk in the office that
Mr. Butterwell hated Mr. Crosbie like poison. This was the man to whom
Crosbie suddenly made up his mind that he would have recourse.

As he was driven back to his office he resolved that he would make a
plunge at once at the difficulty. He knew that Butterwell was fairly
rich, and he knew also that he was good-natured,--with that sort of
sleepy good-nature which is not active for philanthropic purposes,
but which dislikes to incur the pain of refusing. And then Mr
Butterwell was nervous, and if the thing was managed well, he might
be cheated out of an assent, before time had been given him in which
to pluck up courage for refusing. But Crosbie doubted his own courage
also,--fearing that if he gave himself time for hesitation he would
hesitate, and that, hesitating, he would feel the terrible disgrace
of the thing and not do it. So, without going to his own desk, or
ridding himself of his hat, he went at once to Butterwell's room.
When he opened the door, he found Mr. Butterwell alone, reading _The
Times_. "Butterwell," said he, beginning to speak before he had even
closed the door, "I have come to you in great distress. I wonder
whether you can help me; I want you to lend me five hundred pounds?
It must be for not less than three months."

Mr. Butterwell dropped the paper from his hands, and stared at the
secretary over his spectacles.

CHAPTER XLIV

"I Suppose I Must Let You Have It"

[Illustration]

Crosbie had been preparing the exact words with which he assailed Mr
Butterwell for the last quarter of an hour, before they were uttered.
There is always a difficulty in the choice, not only of the words
with which money should be borrowed, but of the fashion after which
they should be spoken. There is the slow deliberate manner, in using
which the borrower attempts to carry the wished-for lender along with
him by force of argument, and to prove that the desire to borrow
shows no imprudence on his own part, and that a tendency to lend
will show none on the part of the intended lender. It may be said
that this mode fails oftener than any other. There is the piteous
manner,--the plea for commiseration. "My dear fellow, unless you will
see me through now, upon my word I shall be very badly off." And this
manner may be divided again into two. There is the plea piteous with
a lie, a