Iron's letter as a voucher.
"I may have been mistaken," he observed, apologetically. "Mr. Irons was
called away in a great hurry, and I did get some of his directions
confused. It's singular that he didn't name the amount in the letter."
"I'm very sorry he didn't," returned the widow, with an engaging air of
appealing to the other's generosity. "It puts me in a very awkward
position, just as if I were trying to impose on you. Mr. Irons knew
just what I had and said he'd take it all."
"Oh, I didn't mean for an instant," the clerk protested, blushing with
confusion, "that you were trying to impose on us."
The clerk was young and susceptible, the widow was mature and adroit;
he was confused and uncertain, she was definite and determined. Mr.
Irons had, moreover, given the young man to understand that the
transaction was a confidential and personal one, which involved more
than appeared on the surface. Confronted by the phraseology of Mr.
Iron's note, backed by Mrs. Sampson's insinuating manner and unblushing
statements, the clerk laid aside his discretion, and in the end allowed
himself to fall a victim to the wiles of the astute widow, who walked
away considerably richer than she came, besides being able to bring joy
to the heart of Erastus Snaffle by a neat sum of ready cash, which she
delivered after another prolonged discussion over the price she should
pay him for the stock.
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