THE BLOW FALLS.
The next morning found Mr. Sharp closeted with a brother practitioner
equally unprincipled with himself. There was this difference between
them, however, that while Mr. Sharp concealed his real character beneath
a specious show of affability and suavity, his companion, whom, by way
of distinction, we will call Blunt, was rough in his manners, and had
not art enough to compass the consummate duplicity of the other. Indeed,
so accustomed was Mr. Sharp to its use, that he did not lay it aside
even where he knew it to be useless.
“My dear friend Blunt,” he exclaimed, with charming cordiality, “I am
delighted to see you looking so well.”
“Humph?” was the somewhat dubious rejoinder.
“I should have called upon you instead of sending for you to my office,
but I have really been so harassed by business that I could not get a
single spare moment.”
“And you presumed that I was not overburdened in that way, eh?”
“My dear Blunt,” said Sharp, with wounded feeling, “how can you imagine
such a thing?”
“I only judged from what you said. You hadn’t time to call upon me, but
judged that I had plenty of time to spend in calling upon you.”
“My dear Blunt,” said Sharp, impressively, “if the extent of a man’s
business were always commensurate with his merits——”
“We should neither of us stand a very good chance.”
“That was not exactly what I intended to say,” said Sharp, blowing his
nose, “your modesty, my dear Blunt——”
“Modesty! I am sure you’re joking now, Sharp, and although my time is
not particularly valuable, I don’t care to stand here discussing
personal qualities; so if you had any object in sending for me, out with
it.”
“You are somewhat abrupt in your speech, my dear friend; an evidence of
your sincerity, for which no one has a greater respect than myself.”
“I have heard,” muttered Blunt, “that people are apt to set a high value
on qualities which they lack.”
“However,” pursued Sharp, evading a reply to his last remark, “I have a
little professional business to offer you, if your engagement will
permit.”
“No fear on that score,” said Blunt, dryly; “but this business—why don’t
you do it yourself? You needn’t tell me it’s on account of a pressure of
the other engagements, for I know better.”
“That is not the reason, as with your usual penetration you have
discovered, my dear Blunt. Do not for a moment think I would attempt to
deceive you. With others it might do; but with you I know there would be
no chance of succeeding.”
Mr. Sharp nodded with pleasant affability to his visitor, and resumed:
“The fact is, it is a matter in which I do not wish to appear. One of my
clients (Mr. Sharp brought out these words with an emphasis calculated
to convey the idea that it was one of a very large number), for a reason
which I need not mention, employed me some weeks since to lend a sum of
money to a certain individual. This was only to establish a power over
him which, some time, it might be convenient to use. That time has come;
it is his desire that the note should be presented with a demand for
immediate payment; in default of which a particular article in
possession of the borrower should be seized in execution. This, as you
may readily imagine, would have a tendency to harrow up my feelings,
and——”
“Therefore you intrust the business to me, who have no feelings to be
harrowed up.”
“My dear Blunt, I desire you to undertake this, because of your superior
strength of mind. I am well aware of my own deficiency in that respect.”
“Well, well, have it as you will. I won’t trouble you to assign reasons
for throwing business into my hands. I sha’n’t let any scruples stand
between me and my own interest. Where’s the note!”
“One thing more,” said Sharp, slowly unclasping the wallet which
contained the note. “This man—Robert Ford—thinks I lent him the money on
my own responsibility, and naturally regards me as a firm friend. I
called on him yesterday, and hinted that I had been forced to raise
money to meet a pressing engagement, and had given up this note as
collateral, on condition that it should not be presented. Very probably
he may mention this. I don’t wish him to suspect that there is any
understanding between us, as it will destroy what little influence I may
have over him. You will be kind enough, therefore, to say nothing to
undeceive him on that point, and if you could make it convenient to
abuse me a little, just to show that there is no collusion between us, I
should regard it as a particular favor.”
“Abuse you! I will do it with the greatest pleasure in the world.”
“I knew it, my dear Blunt; it was what I expected of your friendship.
But I must give you his direction. Have you all necessary instructions?”
“You have not told me what I am to seize on execution?”
“Very true, an important omission. You must know that this Ford, an
estimable man, by the way, has taken a fancy to invent a flying machine,
and to that end has collected an odd jumble of machinery. This is what I
wish you to seize. Here is the address.”
“And where am I to bring it?”
“You may as well bring it here.”
“How unfortunate that you cannot complete the invention,” said Blunt,
dryly. “If it is just as convenient I shouldn’t mind receiving the pay
in advance; not,” he continued, with a pointed imitation of his
companion’s manner,—“not that I doubt in the least your high-souled
integrity, my dear Sharp, but simply because, just at present,
singularly enough, I happen to be out of cash.”
“I shall be most happy to discharge your claim forthwith,” said Sharp,
rather ostentatiously displaying a roll of bills, and placing a five in
the hands of his agent.
Blunt examined the bill with some minuteness, a sudden suspicion having
entered his mind as to its genuineness. Satisfied on this point, he
slipped it into his vest pocket, saying, “All right, you shall hear from
me in the course of the day.”
An hour afterwards a loud authoritative knock aroused Robert Ford, who,
it is needless to say, was employed after his usual fashion.
“Come in!”
The invitation was quickly accepted by a shock-headed man, stout and
burly, who without ceremony drew out a note, and said, abruptly, “You
are Robert Ford, I presume?”
“That is my name, sir,” said the inventor, in some surprise.
“Very well. Here is a note with your signature, payable on demand. I
presume it will be perfectly convenient for you to pay it now.”
Mr. Ford took the note with an absent air, and said, glancing at the man
before him, “Excuse me, but I do not recollect having seen you before.”
“Very probably,” said Blunt, with _sang froid_. “We never had the
pleasure of meeting before.”
“Then,” said the inventor, “how comes it that you have a demand against
me?”
“If you will take the trouble to examine the note, you will find that it
comes through a third person, Richard Sharp. You probably remember him.”
“Yes, I know him.”
Mr. Ford glanced at the paper in his hand.
“I think there must be some mistake,” he said. “The sum should be two
hundred dollars, not three.”
“There is no mistake,” said Blunt, positively. “It is just as he gave it
to me.”
“Mr. Sharp mentioned yesterday,” said Mr. Ford, with a sudden effort at
recollection, “that he had parted with this note to some one, but on
condition that it should not be presented. You had better see him about
it.”
“I have nothing further to do with him,” replied Blunt, “I believe he
did mention something of the kind; but of course he cannot expect me to
keep this note when I want the money.”
“Then, sir,” said Mr. Ford, “if, as you admit, Mr. Sharp made this
condition, it is incumbent on you, as a man of honor, to keep it. I am
sure it is very far from Mr. Sharp’s intention to trouble me for the
payment of a sum which he loaned without the expectation of immediate
repayment. I should wrong his disinterested generosity by harboring such
a suspicion.”
“His disinterested generosity!” repeated Blunt, with a loud laugh.
“Sir,” said the inventor, with calm dignity, “I must request you to
forbear insinuating by word or manner anything derogatory to a man who
has proved himself my benefactor, and, solely impelled by his interest
in science, has offered me the aid of his purse, without even an
application on my part.”
“Very well,” said Blunt, “although it’s rather amusing to me to hear
Sharp spoken of as interested in science, I won’t quarrel with your
opinion of him, especially as his character isn’t in question just now.
The main point is, can you pay this note?”
“I cannot.”
“Then I shall be under the disagreeable necessity of calling two of my
friends in waiting.”
Two Irishmen, who appeared to have been waiting outside, entered at
Blunt’s call.
“Take that machinery,” said Blunt, in a tone of command, “and carry it
down stairs.”
“Stay!” said Mr. Ford, in alarm; “what do you intend to do?”
“I am only acting in self-defence,” said Blunt, doggedly. “You cannot
pay your money. If I can’t get my pay in one way, I must in another;
therefore, I take this machinery of yours in execution.”
The thought of this calamity nearly overcame Mr. Ford. He did not pause
to consider whether the seizure was legal or illegal, but, in an
agitated voice, urged, “Take everything else, but spare me this. It is
to me of inestimable value,—greater than you can possibly imagine.”
“That’s the very reason I take it,” said Blunt. “All the rest of your
trumpery,” glancing contemptuously at the plain furniture, “wouldn’t be
worth carrying away.”
“At least,” implored the inventor, “wait till to-morrow, till I can see
Mr. Sharp.”
“And where would you be?” sneered Blunt. “Don’t think to catch me with
such chaff; I’m too old a bird. I will take it while it is here.”
“But,” urged Mr. Ford, “it can be of little value to you. You cannot
sell it for one quarter of the debt.”
“Perhaps not. But that isn’t what I take it for.”
“What then?”
“As a pledge for its final payment. I care nothing for the trumpery,
while you, I know, do. When you come forward and pay the note, you shall
have it back again.”
“Do you promise that?” asked the inventor, more cheerfully.
“I will agree to wait a reasonable time.”
Little ceremony was used in the removal of the complicated machinery.
Within ten minutes, all that had so fully occupied the thoughts of Mr.
Ford, and furnished the pleasure and the occupation of his quiet life,
was swept away, and he was left alone. That the labor was to no purpose,
and the hopes which he cherished vain, imported little. To him, at
least, they were realities, and upon them he had built a dazzling
superstructure, which now suddenly crumbled into pieces at his feet.
Lewis Rand’s triumph was thus far complete.