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'
Poor devil of a Morris! O, poor devil of a Morris!' cried the lawyer in
delight. 'And his keeping up the farce that you're at home! O, Morris,
the Lord has delivered you into my hands! Let me see, Uncle Joseph, what
do you suppose the leather business worth?'
'It was worth a hundred thousand,' said Joseph bitterly, 'when it was
in my hands. But then there came a Scotsman--it is supposed he had a
certain talent--it was entirely directed to bookkeeping--no accountant
in London could understand a word of any of his books; and then there
was Morris, who is perfectly incompetent. And now it is worth very
little. Morris tried to sell it last year; and Pogram and Jarris offered
only four thousand.'
'I shall turn my attention to leather,' said Michael with decision.
'You?' asked Joseph. 'I advise you not. There is nothing in the whole
field of commerce more surprising than the fluctuations of the leather
market. Its sensitiveness may be described as morbid.'
'And now, Uncle Joseph, what have you done with all that money?' asked
the lawyer.
'
Paid it into a bank and drew twenty pounds,' answered Mr Finsbury
promptly. 'Why?'
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