Jonas sat in the attitude in which Mr Pecksniff had left him, gazing
moodily at his friend; who, surrounded by a heap of documents, was
writing something on an oblong slip of paper.
'You mean to wait at Salisbury over the day after to-morrow, do you,
then?' said Jonas.
'You heard our appointment,' returned Montague, without raising his
eyes. 'In any case I should have waited to see after the boy.'
They appeared to have changed places again; Montague being in high
spirits; Jonas gloomy and lowering.
'You don't want me, I suppose?' said Jonas.
'I want you to put your name here,' he returned, glancing at him with a
smile, 'as soon as I have filled up the stamp. I may as well have your
note of hand for that extra capital. That's all I want. If you wish
to go home, I can manage Mr Pecksniff now, alone. There is a perfect
understanding between us.'
Jonas sat scowling at him as he wrote, in silence. When he had
finished his writing, and had dried it on the blotting paper in his
travelling-desk; he looked up, and tossed the pen towards him.
'What, not a day's grace, not a day's trust, eh?' said Jonas bitterly.
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