"And now, my young friend, if you will sign that our negotiations will be at an end."
Bert read the paper haltingly, stumbling over its wordy, legal phraseology. Two of its statements stood out from everything else. One was that the note was payable in sixty days. The other was that he was signing a receipt for $175.
"But you gave me only $150," he cried. "This is wrong."
"No; no. I'm afraid you misunderstand. In a transaction of this kind there is always a bonus—a purchase price, you might say, of the loan. I assure you it is all quite customary."
"But the bank would only charge me interest."
"Then why do you not go to the bank? Ah, my friend, now we are getting at the kernel of the matter. You do not go to the bank because you have no security on which they would advance you anything. That means that, in lending to you, I run a risk. I take a chance. Is it not so? And is it not right that, taking such a chance, I should receive some extra return for the risk I run? Fair, my friend; be fair."
Bert was doing some rapid mental arithmetic. Considering that the loan was to be paid back within two months, Old Man Clud was charging him in excess of 100 per cent interest per annum. The lender seemed to read what was passing in his thoughts.
"Observe," he said, and laid his hand over
