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."
Thus the doctor's expectations were put a final end to, so far as Jan
went--and very certain expectations they had, no doubt, been. As to Jan,
a thought may have crossed him that the doctor and his daughter Sibylla
appeared to have the same propensity for getting out of money.
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