So
Ocock took pencil and paper, and, prior to running off a reckoning, put
him through a sharp interrogation. Under it Mahony felt as though his
clothing was being stripped piece by piece off his back. At one moment
he stood revealed as mean and stingy, at another as an unpractical
spendthrift. More serious things came out besides. He began to see,
under the limelight of the lawyer's inquiry, in what a muddle-headed
fashion he had managed his business, and how unlikely it was he could
ever have made a good thing of it. Still worse was his thoughtless folly
in wedding and bringing home a young wife without, in this settlement
where accident was rife, where fires were of nightly occurrence,
insuring against either fire or death. Not that Ocock breathed a hint of
censure: all was done with a twist of the eye, a purse of the lip; but
it was enough for Mahony. He sat there, feeling like an eel in the
skinning, and did not attempt to keep pace with the lawyer, who hunted
figures into the centre of a woolly maze.
The upshot of these calculations was: he would need help to the tune of
something over one thousand pounds. As matters stood at present on
Ballarat, said Ocock, the plainest house he could build would cost him
eight hundred; and another couple of hundred would go in furnishing;
while a saddle-horse might be put down at fifty pounds. On Turnham's
letter he, Ocock, would be prepared to borrow seven hundred for him--
and this could probably be obtained at ten per cent on a mortgage of the
house; and a further four hundred, for which he would have to pay twelve
or fifteen.
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