The offices of Maximilian Shingle were on the first-floor, in a narrow
turning close to the Royal Exchange; and, though they were dark and
inconvenient, they were handsomely furnished, as befitted a suite of
three rooms for which a heavy rent was paid. The outer room was
occupied by four clerks, the second room was allotted to his wife's
elder son, and the inner sanctum was Max's own.
A morning or two after the visit to Crowder's Buildings, Fred was seated
at his table, with a small open book before him--one which evidently had
nothing to do with stock-broking; but he was studying it so hard that
the lines were deeply marked upon his effeminate face.
Twice over he started, and closed it hastily, as he heard a step
outside; but, after listening for a few moments, he resumed his task,
and kept on with his study for some time. Then he closed the little
memorandum book with a sigh, placed it carefully in his pocket, and
opening a drawer, took out some doubled blotting paper, between which,
on opening it, lay a piece of tracing paper and an old bill of exchange.
Placing this convenient to his hand, he also took a large blotter,
arranged in it a sheet of paper, and wrote in the date and some
half-dozen lines, before moving blotter and letter into a handy
position.
This done, he listened for a few moments, and then taking the tracing
paper and bill, began to go over the signature very carefully, writing
it again and again, beginning at the top of his tracing paper, and
forming a column of signatures.
Then there was a knock at the door; and as Fred cried "Come in!" the
blotter was drawn deftly over the tracing paper, and he went on writing.
A clerk brought in a couple of letters to be signed, and this being done
he retired; when Fred resumed his task, working away patiently, and
always going over the writing again.
This went on for half an hour or so, until the young man started, and
hastily drew the blotter over his work; for the door was being opened
very slowly and quietly, and in a heavy, noiseless way, old Hopper
entered the room.
"How do, Fred?" he said, approaching the table slowly.
"How do?" was the short, sharp reply. "What does he want?" he muttered.
"Hey?"
"I say what hot weather."
"Don't shout: I'm not so deaf as all that," said the old fellow hastily.
"Father in his room?"
"Yes," said Fred; "he's in there."
"Hey?"
"I say he's in there," roared the young man.
"I wish you wouldn't shout so, my lad," said the old man sourly. "I
don't want the drums of my ears split. I could hear what you said. And
how is the dear, good man, eh?"
"Same as usual," replied Fred, with a grin.
"Ah!" said Hopper, "you ought to be a very good young man, having such a
step-father."
"I am," replied Fred.
"Hey?"
"I say I am," shouted Fred.
"So I suppose," said the old fellow, chuckling, and looking at him with
a strange expression of countenance. "Well, tell him I want to see
him."
_Ting_!
There was the sharp sound of a gong heard in the next room, and Fred
rose to answer it. He glanced first at the old man, and then down at
his letter; but a second stroke on the gong made him hurry to the inner
door, which he opened, and stood with his head half inside; but a few
sharp peremptory words were heard, and he went in and closed the door,
leaving Hopper waiting.
Fred was not gone many minutes; and when he returned it was to find the
visitor had taken a chair, and was busy over the contents of a bulky
pocket-book, which he secured as the young man appeared, and returned to
the pocket in the breast of his ugly, ill-cut dress-coat.
"He says you can go in, but he can only give you ten minutes," said
Fred.
"Won't see me for ten minutes?" said the old fellow.
"Says you may go in for ten minutes," shouted the young man; and then,
in a whisper, "Confounded old nuisance!"
Old Hopper turned half round, and gave him a peculiar leer, shaking his
head and chuckling to himself as he went slowly towards the door of Max
Shingle's office, putting down his stick heavily in the recurring
pattern of the floorcloth, closely followed by Fred, who showed him in.
"What the governor has that deaf old beetle hanging about him for, I
can't make out," said the young man, returning to his seat; and he was
about to continue his task when a fresh knock at the door made him
hastily thrust his papers into the drawer of the table, lock it, and
take out the key.
"Ah, my dear Hopper, how are you?" said Max, smiling amiably, and making
his eyes beam upon his visitor.
"Hey? How am I?" snarled the old fellow, giving his stick a thump on
the floor. "What's that to you? I'm not dying yet. Ain't you sorry?"
"Sorry? Heaven forbid!" said Max unctuously, as he shook his head
reproachfully at his visitor, and then, taking hold of his watch-ribbon,
threw himself back in his chair and began to spin the seals round and
round.
"Don't! Be quiet!" cried Hopper, thrusting out the point of his stick,
so that the seals struck upon it and were arrested in their motion.
"Think I'm not bilious enough with looking at you, without having that
thing spun round in my face?"
Max laughed, but looked annoyed; while the old fellow took a seat
unasked.
"What can I do for you?" said Max at last, smiling blandly.
"Give me a glass of wine. I'm hot and tired."
"Really, I--" began Max.
"It's in that stand," said the old fellow, chuckling, as he pointed with
his stick at a handsome mahogany cellarette at one end of the room; when
Max, whose smile was tempered a good deal with a look of annoyance,
rose, sighed, secured the door with a little bolt, and then unlocked the
cellarette and took out a decanter and glass.
"No, thank you--I don't smoke cigars," said the old fellow, as he
watched the sherry poured into the glass. "Hey! You weren't going to
offer me one? Ho! I was afraid you were."
Max had not spoken; but he winced as he heard these words--preserving
his smile, though, when he turned his face to his visitor and passed the
wine.
"Not bad, Max--not bad," said the old fellow, tasting the sherry and
smacking his lips before pouring the rest down his throat. "How you
must mug yourself here! Lucky dog, lucky dog! Now, if I had taken to
stock-broking instead of ship's husbanding, I might have been as well
off as you."
"Oh dear, no; I'm not well off," said Max.
"Hey?"
"I say I'm not well off," said Max, more loudly.
"That's a pity," said the old fellow. "Never mind, I'll have another
glass, all the same. Fill it full this time."
Max shut his teeth with a snap, but he filled the glass brimming full,
and then restopped the decanter.
"So you're not well off, hey?" said Hopper.
"Very, very short," said Max, with his mouth close to his visitor's ear.
"Humph! Sorry to hear it, because I want to borrow five pounds of you,"
said Hopper. "You've got that, I suppose?"
"Indeed, no. I'm very sorry," began Max.
"So am I," said the old fellow shortly. "Hah, Max Shingle, how you'd
have liked to stick a dose of poison in that wine, wouldn't you?"
"Really, Mr Hopper," began Max indignantly, and he half rose.
But the old man laid his stick upon his shoulder like a sceptre, and
forced him down.
"Sit still, stupid!" cried the old man. "I know what you are going to
say. Surprised at my making such remarks, and so on. But you would
like to, and I believe you'd do it if it was not for the fear of the
law. I say, Max," he chuckled, "it would take a strong new rope to hang
you."
Max laid his hands upon the arms of his handsome, well-stuffed easy
chair, and turned of a pale dough colour, as he glared at his visitor.
"I don't wonder at it," chuckled Hopper. "It must be very unpleasant to
have a man come to see you, and invade the sanctity--sanctity, yes,
sanctity, that's the word--of your home and private office, who knows
what a scoundrel you are."
"For Heaven's sake, speak lower!" cried Max, in a hoarse whisper.
"All right," said Hopper, nodding. "Especially to a man like you, who
goes in for the religious dodge, and is so looked up to and respected by
every one. Ha! ha! ha!" he chuckled--"what a wonderful deal is done in
this world, Max, by humbug!"
Max began to wipe his wet face with his handkerchief, glaring the while
helplessly at his tormentor.
"You're such a good man, too, now," said Hopper, laughing, and evidently
enjoying the other's discomfiture. "I saw you coming from service last
Sunday, with the wife, and that dear youth in the next room, Fred, all
carrying limp hymn-books. I say, Max, your prayers must be precious
limp, too."
"Say what you have to say, and then go, for Heaven's sake!" gasped Max.
"Hey! say what I have to say? How I can read your fat lips, Max! I
never feel my deafness when you are speaking. Well, I am saying what I
have to say. I don't often speak out like this."
"Only when you want money," muttered Max.
"Only when I want money? Right. There, I told you I could read off
your lips every word you say, so don't begin to curse me, and wish I was
dead, because it will only make me want more. Think it, if you like. I
say, you must look sharp after that boy Fred, or he'll go to the bad."
Max frowned.
"If he was half such a lad as Tom!"
"Tom's a scoundrel--a vagabond!" exclaimed Max furiously.
"Yes, yes, of course. To be sure he is. Every one is who doesn't do as
you wish, Max Shingle. I'm a horrible old scoundrel, and yet you're
obliged to put up with me. You can't afford to offend me, and I come to
your house as often as I like; and I shall keep on doing so, because
it's good for you. I'm like a conscience to you, and a devilish ugly
old conscience, eh?--a deaf conscience--and I keep you from being a
bigger scoundrel than you are. I say, Max, you'd give a thousand pounds
down, now, to hear I was dead, wouldn't you?"
"What is the good of talking like this?" said Max, leaning over to
whisper to his visitor.
"Hey? What's the good? A deal--does you good. I say, Max, I've often
thought that you might be tempted to get me killed--by accident, of
course. It is tempting, I know. You'd feel as if the old slate with
the nasty writing on was wiped clean with a sponge. But it would be so
ugly for such a good man to be exposed to such a temptation, and uglier
still to add the crime of side-blow murder to his other sins. So do you
know what I've done to save you from temptation?"
There was a curious malignity of expression in the old man's face as,
with a chuckling laugh, he asked his question and saw its effect.
"No! What?" exclaimed Max, in agony.
"Well, I've written it all down neatly on paper--not on a slate; and
I've deposited it with my will."
"Where?"
"Ah, yes, that's another thing. Where it would be opened and read
directly I was dead. Ha! ha! ha! Max, what an _expose_ that would be!
But don't be nervous, man, and look so white. It wouldn't be a hanging
matter." Max stretched across the table, and laid his hand upon his
visitor's lips; but the old man thrust his chair back, gave the hand a
sharp rap with his stick, and Max shrank back in his chair.
"It isn't, I say, a hanging matter. But I say, Max, old fellow, I
should look sharp after that boy Fred. Don't let him get into
temptation. Like father, like son. Now, Tom--"
"Curse Tom!" cried Max, biting his nails.
"Not I," laughed the old man. "He isn't so bad; and you curse him quite
often enough, you know. Ah, Max, what a blessing and relief it must be
to you that you have reformed so, and become such a good, pious man!"
Max raised his hands.
"One of those dear, good creatures," chuckled the old fellow, "who go
through life saying `Have mercy upon us miserable sinners,' and then
feel so happy. Not a bit of the Pharisee about you, Max--all humble
Publican. I say, why don't you build a church or a chapel? That's the
proper thing to do. `Publican' put me in mind of it. It's what the
brewers and distillers do. Make fortunes out of the vice and misery of
the people, and then buy a seat in the heavenly Parliament by building a
church--"
"My dear Hopper," began Max.
"And endowing it."
"Will you listen to me, Hopper?"
"They think they can cheat God with their sham repentance. Ha! ha!
ha!--it's a rare joke, 'pon my word. Now, you know, Max, I'm just such
a fool in my way, for I get thinking He'd have more respect for an
honest old reprobate like me. But we shall see, Max, when we die--when
we die; when you die, and the gravedigger puts you to bed with a
shovel."
A spasm seemed to shoot across the other's face at these last words.
"I am an out-and-out bad one, you know, Max. I never go to chapel and
hold the plate--never dip a little out of it, Max, in the vestry!"
"Man, are you the Devil?" muttered Max.
"Yes, if you like."
"Then you are not deaf!" cried Max triumphantly.
"Honestly; but I can read your lips as well as your heart, my dear
friend. Devil? Because I know about that ugly bit of forgery for which
you ought to have served your time."
"Will you be silent?" cried Max, with an agonised look at the door.
"No," said the other coolly. "Devil because I saw through the Uncle
Rounce business? Perhaps I am," he continued, as he saw Max wince, "for
I never believed in the Excelsior game--to go up higher--because it's so
cold. I'm not a pure-minded man, Max, but would rather stay in the
valley, and lay my head on the nice, pleasant, plump young woman's
breast--so comfortable and cosy and warm. Eh, you dog--eh?"
He poked Max with his stick as he spoke, and then chuckled at the
other's horrified air.
"I'm no cackle-spinner, like you, Max; I never went through the world
saying it was all vanity and vexation of spirit, and a vale of tears;
and howled hymns, declaring that I was sick of it, and wanted to die and
get out of it as soon as I could, because it was such a wicked, wretched
place. I never told people I had a call, like you did; and played
shepherd in a white choker, and went and delivered addresses to the lost
lambs outside the fold."
"They'll hear you in the outer office," cried Max vainly, for Hopper
went on:--
"Because I was always a wolf, and liked the world, and thought it very
beautiful, and loved it; and when I caught a lost lamb I took him and
ate him right off, because it was my nature. Not like you, my gentle
shepherd, who, of course without any vanity or self-interest, coaxed the
lambs into the fold; and when you killed one, you had him nicely dressed
with mint sauce. Eh, Max? mint sauce--the tap out of the barrels that
they take into the bank."
"Are you mad?" exclaimed Max, at last.
"Mad as a hatter," said the old fellow, grinning; "that's why I chose
the wrong way. Not like you. Ah, Max, when we both die, what a
beautiful plump cherub you'll make up aloft there, and what an ugly old
sinner I shall be down below! How sorry you'll be for me, won't you?"
"Pray, let us bring this interview to an end," gasped Max.
"No hurry," said Hopper. "I told you I was bilious when you were
spinning that bunch of seals of yours. This is all bile. I'm getting
rid of it. I shall be better afterwards. I have not had a go at you
for a twelvemonth. I haven't half done yet. I'm not a pithy man, like
you--more pith than heart--but long-winded. Ah, I'm a wicked old
wretch, ain't I, and always turned a deaf ear to what was good?"
"But I am busy," pleaded Max.
"So am I," said Hopper, chuckling, and giving a box on the table a poke
with his stick--"busy giving you a taste of my bile.--What have you got
there, my pious old saint? `Donations for the debt fund of St Ursula's
Church.' Ah! that's a pretty respectable way of doing things--that is.
Church in debt. Built up, I'll be bound, with fal-lals and fancy work
and stained glass, and a quire inside--twenty-four sheets to wrap up
singing men and boys. Now, look here, Max: if I built a place and
hadn't money to pay for it, you'd call me a rogue."
"Shall we try and transact the bit of business you came about?" said Max
humbly.
"Presently," said Hopper, who was now wound up, and determined to go on.
"Ah, Max, you don't know what a wicked old man I've grown," he
continued, with a sly twinkle in his eye. "But you see I can preach
morality--my fashion."
"We shall never agree upon such points," said Max wearily.
"Of course not, till you convert me, Max. I'm a brand for the burning,
Max. Why don't you try and save me? Teach me to sing some of those
nice hymns you know by heart--`Fain would I leave this weary world.'
Bah! How many would fain? Who made it weary? Who filled the beautiful
world full of diseases and death and wickedness? Humbugs, sir--humbugs.
I'm an old worldling, and I was put here in the world, and the longer I
live the more beautiful I find it; and I don't want to leave it, even to
carry your secret with me, friend Max Shingle. I mean to live as long
as I can, taking my share of the bad as bitter to make the good sweet;
and when it's time to set sail for the other land, I mean to go like a
man, and say `Thank God for it all. Amen!' There's a wicked old
reprobate for you, Max. Why don't you try to convert this old
scoundrel, eh? Ah! I'm a bad one--a regular bad one--hopelessly lost.
And now I've got rid of all my bile, and feel better, get out your
cheque-book."
Max rose with a sigh, unlocked the iron safe in the corner, and took out
a cheque-book and laid it upon a table.
"I can very ill spare this, John Hopper," he said. "Five pounds are
five pounds now."
"Always were, stupid!" said the old fellow. "Dear me, how much better I
can hear to-day! Got rid of all that bile," he added, considering.
"But don't you draw that for five pounds. Make it ten."
"Ten pounds!" gasped Max.
"Yes. Five extra for your conscience. You don't suppose your poor
conscience is going to preach to you, as it has to-day, for nothing?"
"But--" commenced Max.
"Ten pounds, you goodly saint--you man after Heaven's own heart--you
halo-promised piece of piety and man of heavenly manna!" cried Hopper.
"Make it ten pounds directly, O smooth-faced piece of benignity, or I
shall want twenty in less than a minute."
Max Shingle hastily drew a cheque for ten pounds, blotted it, and passed
it over; for he knew only too well that his visitor would keep his word,
and that he should be obliged to obey.
"That'll do--for the present," said Hopper, grinning, as he folded the
cheque and placed it in his gouty pocket-book. Then he rose to go.
"Good-bye: God bless you, Max! What a good thing it is for me that I
have a wealthy saint who can relieve my necessities! Thank you, my
dearest and best friend. I sha'n't give you any acknowledgment, because
I know you mean this for a gift. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," said Max, who could hardly contain his rage.
"Good-bye. And a word more from your conscience. Good advice, mind.
Look after Master Fred. Don't let him go your way."
"You've got your money. Now be silent!" cried Max, savagely.
"All right," said the old fellow; and he walked out, making his stick
thump the floor, and nodding at Fred as he passed through to the outer
office; while Max, as soon as he was alone, ground his teeth with rage,
as he heaped a series of very unchristianlike curses upon his visitor's
head.
"Yes," he said in a hoarse whisper, "he must be a devil, or he couldn't
have known about Uncle Rounce."