“Mr. Jan, I am in great hopes that you will do me a little favour.  I have temporary need of a trifle of pecuniary aid—­some slight debts which have grown upon me abroad,” he added carelessly, with a short cough—­“and, knowing your good heart, I have resolved to apply to you.  If you can oblige me with a couple of hundred pounds or so, I’ll give you my acknowledgment, and return it punctually as soon as I am able.”

“I’d let you have it with all the pleasure in life, if I had got it,” heartily replied Jan; “but I have not.”

“My dear Mr. Jan!  Not got it!  You must have quite a nice little nest of savings laid by in the bank!  I know you never spend a shilling on yourself.”

“All I had in the bank, and what I have drawn since, has been handed to my mother.  I wanted Lionel and Sibylla to come here:  I and Miss Deb arranged it all; and in that case I should have given the money to Miss Deb.  But Sibylla refused; she would not come here, she would not go anywhere but to Lady Verner’s.  So I handed the money to my mother.”

The confession appeared to put the doctor out considerably.  “How very imprudent, Mr. Jan!  To give away all you possessed, leaving nothing for yourself!  I never heard of such a thing!”

“Lionel and his wife were turned out of everything, and had nobody to look to.  I don’t see that I could have put the money to better use,” stoutly returned Jan.  “It was not much, there’s such a lot of the Clay Lane folks always wanting things when they are ill.  And Miss Deb, she had had something.  You keep her so short, doctor.”

“But you pay her the sum that was agreed upon for housekeeping?” said Dr. West.

“What should hinder me?” returned Jan.  “Of course I do.  But she cannot make both ends meet, she says, and then she has to come to me. I’m willing:  only I can’t give money away and put it by, you see.”

Dr. West probably did see it.  He saw beyond doubt, that all hope of ready money from easy Jan was gone—­from the simple fact that Jan’s coffers were just now empty.  The fact did not afford him satisfaction.

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Jan,” said he, brightening up, “you shall give me your signature to a little bill—­a bill at two months, let us say.  It will be the same as money.”

“Can’t,” said Jan.

“You can’t!” replied Dr. West.

“No!” said Jan resolutely.  “I’d give away all I had in hand to give, and welcome; but I’d never sign bills.  A doctor has no business with ’em.  Don’t you remember what they did for Jones at Bartholomew’s?”

“I don’t remember Jones at Bartholomew’s,” frigidly returned the doctor.

“No!  Why, what’s gone with your memory?” innocently asked Jan.  “If you think a bit, you’ll recollect about him, and what his end was.  Bills did it; the signing of bills to oblige some friend.  I’ll never sign a bill, doctor.  I wouldn’t do it for my own mother.”