nd the plea piteous with a truth. "You shall have it again
in two months as sure as the sun rises." That is generally the plea
piteous with a lie. Or it may be as follows: "It is only fair to
say that I don't quite know when I can pay it back." This is the
plea piteous with a truth, and upon the whole I think that this is
generally the most successful mode of borrowing. And there is the
assured demand,--which betokens a close intimacy. "Old fellow, can
you let me have thirty pounds? No? Just put your name, then, on the
back of this, and I'll get it done in the City." The worst of that
manner is, that the bill so often does not get itself done in the
City. Then there is the sudden attack,--that being the manner to
which Crosbie had recourse in the present instance. That there are
other modes of borrowing by means of which youth becomes indebted to
age, and love to respect, and ignorance to experience, is a matter
of course. It will be understood that I am here speaking only of
borrowing and lending between the Butterwells and Crosbies of the
world. "I have come to you in great distress," said Crosbie. "I
wonder whether you can help me. I want you to lend me five hundred
pounds." Mr. Butterwell, when he heard the words, dropped the paper
which he was reading from his hand, and stared at Crosbie over his
spectacles.

"Five hundred pounds," he said. "Dear me, Crosbie; that's a large sum
of money."

"Yes, it is,--a very large sum. Half that is what I want at once; but
I shall want the other half in a month."

"I thought that you were always so much above the world in money
matters. Gracious me;--nothing that I have heard for a long time has
astonished me more. I don't know why, but I always thought you had
your things so very snug."

Crosbie was aware that he had made one very great step towards
success. The idea had been presented to Mr. Butterwell's mind, and had
not been instantly rejected as a scandalously iniquitous idea, as an
idea to which no reception could be given for a moment. Crosbie had
not been treated as was the needy knife-grinder, and had ground to
stand upon while he urged his request. "I have been so pressed since
my marriage," he said, "that it has been impossible for me to keep
things straight."

"But Lady Alexandrina--"

"Yes, of course; I know. I do not like to trouble you with my private
affairs;--there is nothing, I think, so bad as washing one's dirty
linen in public;--but the truth is, tha