There is, and there always was, about Walbrook something of an
exasperating nature. I don't care whether you journey upon wheels, or
by means of your nature-given supports, you shall always find an
obstruction. The pathways are as narrow and awkward as the road; and
while there is always a perky, impudent-looking, heavily-laden truck,
with its handle either cocked up in defiance, or pointed down
insultingly, as it obstructs the horse-drawn traffic, there is sure to
be some one carrying a box of stationery, or a bale of paper-hangings,
or something or another with hard, harsh corners, to come in contact
with your front or your back, to injure your hat, or tear your coat with
a ragged nail, or jostle you off into the gutter. It don't matter when
you go down Walbrook, passing by the sombre Mansion House, and seeking
to be at peace in the quiet shades of Budge-row, or Watling, you shall
certainly have your feathers ruffled, mentally of course; therefore, it
was not surprising that Frank Marr, a sturdy young fellow of goodly
aspect, and some eight-and-twenty years, should look angry and frowning
as he sought the house of old John Richards.
Not that it was at all surprising for people either going to or coming
from John Richards' office to look lowering of brow, for interviews with
that gentleman were none of the most pleasant; they had too much to do
with interest, and renewing, and bill stamps, and too little to do with
hard cash--unless it were for repayments--to be gratifying to any one.
But Frank Marr's business, as he thought, did not relate to money; and
without hanging about the passage in the hope of catching sight of May
Richards, his old playmate and boyhood's love, he asked to be, and
was shown at once into the presence of old John
Richards,--"Grab-all,"--"Grind-'em,"--"Screw-bones,"--"Publican,"--for
by all these pleasant sobriquets was the money-lender known.
But Frank Marr, merchant, who had just passed through the Bankruptcy
Court, after five years' hard struggle with unforeseen difficulties, and
paid ten shillings in the pound, after all the expenses had come out of
his estate--Frank Marr knew that he had chosen a bad morning for his
visit. John Richards' enemy had him by the leg; and swathed and
bandaged, suffering terribly from gout, but transacting business all the
same, as many a trembling client knew to his cost, he sat with a curious
smile upon his face as the young man entered.
"Now for a fierce volley of rage and curses," thought Frank; "he shall
hear me, though, all the same!" But to his great surprise the old man
greeted him most civilly.
"Well, Mr Marr, what's in the wind, eh? Little accommodation bill, eh?
Whose names?"
"No, Mr Richards," said Frank, dashing at once into the subject nearest
his heart, "I have not come about money."
"Indeed!" said the money-lender, grinning with pain, but still speaking
suavely. "Pray what is it, then?"
"I have had news this morning, Mr Richards."
"Good, I hope. An opening, perhaps, for business?"
"No, sir! Bad news--vile news--cruel news!" cried the young man
excitedly.
"Sorry, very sorry," said Richards, quietly. "Pray what is it, then?"
"It is the news of slave-dealing in this city, sir," said Frank. "Of a
father making a contract with a rich purchaser for the sale and delivery
of his only child, as if she were so much merchandise, and I come, old
man, to tell you to your face that it is cruel, and a scandal to our
civilisation. But I beg pardon, Mr Richards; I am hot and excited. I
am deeply moved. You know I love May, that we have loved from
childhood, and that we are promised to one another. Don't interrupt me,
please."
"I'm not going to," said the old man, still quietly, to the other's
intense astonishment.
"I know what you would say to me if I were to advance my pretensions
now. But look here, Mr Richards--I am young yet, May is young. I have
been very unfortunate. I have had to buy experience, in spite of my
endeavours, in a very dear school; but there is time for me to retrieve
my position. I shall get on--I feel assured. For heaven's sake, then,
let this cruel affair be set aside: give me a few years to recover
myself, and all will yet be well, I am sure. You will break her heart
if you force her to marry this old man."
"Who told you of this?" said John Richards, still calmly.
"I cannot tell you," said Frank.
"Did May write to you?"
"No," said Frank warmly; "she promised you, sir, that she would not. I,
too, promised you that while my affairs were in such a state I would not
hold communication with her. We have kept our words, sir, even as we
intend to keep those upon another point. I have neither spoken to nor
heard from May for months."
"Only gone to church to sit and stare at her," said John Richards
quietly.
"It were hard indeed, sir, if that poor gratification were not afforded
me," said Frank. "But now, sir, pray hear me--pray listen to me. Think
of the misery you would inflict."
"Stop now, and hear me," said the old money-lender quietly, though his
lips quivered with pain. "Your name is Frank; now be frank with me.
You are at the present time penniless, are you not?"
Frank had hard work to suppress a groan as he bowed his head and thought
of how, had he been given time, he could have paid every creditor in
full, and had to spare, instead of his poor assets being more than half
swallowed up in costs.
"You came here expecting a stormy interview, did you not?"
"I did!" said Frank.
"To be sure! and now I am going to show you that old Grab-all is not so
black a devil as he is painted."
"Good heavens, sir!" cried Frank joyfully.
"Stop a bit--stop a bit--don't be rash, young man; for perhaps I am not
going to favour you in the way you may expect, though I do feel disposed
to help you. Now look here: I suppose five hundred pounds would be a
great help to you just now?"
"It would start me in life again, sir," said Frank, sadly; "but I should
not feel justified in commencing upon borrowed capital at high
interest."
"Did I say a word about borrowed capital or high interest?"
"No, sir, but--"
"Yes, yes--of course--I know--old Grind-'em will have sixty per cent,
they say, eh? But look here, suppose I were to _give_ you five hundred
pounds to start with!"
"Give! give! Give me five hundred pounds in hard cash, sir! Mr
Richards, why do you play with my feelings?"
"Play, young man?" said the money-lender quietly. "I am not playing--I
am in earnest. I tell you that I will give you, now, this minute, five
hundred pounds. There," he said, "give me that cheque book," and he
pointed to a safe in the wall. "I'll write you one now this instant;
and with five hundred pounds you have the key to a fortune. You may die
rich as I am, Frank Marr."
"But you have a condition: you wish to buy something with this five
hundred pounds, Mr Richards," said Frank sternly.
"I only want five minutes of your time," said the old man.
"What to do?"
"To write half a dozen lines at my dictation."
"And to whom?"
"To my daughter."
"Their purport?"
"That you break with her, and set her free, now and for ever."
"If I do," cried Frank fiercely, "may God in heaven bring down--"
"Stop, stop, you rash, mad fool!" cried the old man excitedly. "Look
here, Frank Marr: you have not a penny; your mother is almost starving;
you are living together in a beggarly second-floor room at a
tallow-chandler's. You see I know all! You are suffering the poor old
lady's murmurs day by day, and she reproaches you for wasting her little
all in your business. Look here: be a man, and not a love-sick boy.
I'll be frank with you. Mr Brough has proposed, and I approve of him
for a son-in-law. He is elderly, but a better-hearted man does not
exist; and you will have the satisfaction of knowing that May has gone
to a good home; while you have the chance, and at once, of doing your
duty by your old mother. She wants change of air, Frank, and more
nourishment. Five hundred pounds clear, Frank, to start with, and on
your obtaining one name, one respectable name, beside your own, I'll
advance you five hundred more--at five per cent, Frank, my good fellow--
at five per cent.--a thing I never before did in my life. I'll do it at
once, this very hour, and you can pay the cheque into a banker's, start
a new account, and a prosperous one. There, I'll find you a name--your
uncle, Benjamin Marr; I'll take him; he's a respectable man, and good
for five hundred pounds. He'll do that for you. Now, my good lad, sit
down and accept my offer."
"Does the devil tempt men still in human form?" gasped Frank, as with
veins starting he stood panting for breath before the old man.
"Pooh! nonsense! absurd! Now, how can you talk such silly book-trash,
Frank Marr? I thought five years with me as clerk would have made
another man of you. You ought never to have left me. Throw all that
folly aside, and look the matter in the face like a man. Now you see
how calm and how lenient I am. I might play the tyrant, and say that
May shall be Mr Brough's wife, and all that sort of thing; but I want
to spare everybody's feelings. I don't want any scenes. Come, now: you
give her up; you will write to her, eh?"
Frank Marr's voice was hoarse as he spoke; for he had felt the old man's
words burning as it were into his brain, as scene after scene presented
itself to his imagination. There on one side wealth, prosperity,
comfort for the old and ailing woman whom he had, as he told himself, in
an evil hour robbed of the comforts of her declining years; a new
career, and the means to pay off that other ten shillings in the pound,
so that he could once more hold up his head amongst his fellow-men. On
the other side, the sweet, loving face of May Richards, whom he thought
he loved as man never yet loved. He told himself that without a
moment's hesitation he should defy the temptation to gain a hold; but
for all that he temporised, and John Richards saw it, and stretched out
his hand to take a pen.
"But you will give me time to recover myself?" said Frank.
"What for? I don't understand," said Richards.
"For May's sake," pleaded Frank.
"Stop! Not another word!" cried the old man, now speaking fiercely. "I
told her last night that I'd sooner see her dead than your wife. I tell
you the same. But I will not be angry, nor yet harsh--I was put out
last night. Now, once more look here: Five hundred pounds in cash--a
free gift, mind--and five hundred more as an easy business loan,
renewable year after year during my life, so long as the interest is
punctually paid. Nothing can be easier for you. Think now, to give up
a boy's milk-and-water love I offer you what to a man in your present
position is a fortune--a thousand pounds. And you will take it?"
Frank tried to speak, but he seemed to be choking.
"A thousand pounds, which means future prosperity--which means, as well,
a score of rich and beautiful women to choose from."
Frank had not heard a door open behind them; he had not seen May, pale
as ashes, standing motionless listening to every word; he could only
hear the words of the tempter, and the scratch, scratch of a cruel pen,
sharp as a needle, dipped apparently in some subtle venom, writing the
words _one thousand pounds_ on his heart at the same time as in that
little slip-book, while the poison was coursing through his veins,
making them to beat and throb.
"One thousand pounds, John Richards; payable to Frank Marr, Esquire, or
his order," said the old man aloud, but as if speaking to himself; "and
all for giving up a boy-and-girl love affair. Pish! I am getting into
my dotage. Look here, Mr Marr," he said, speaking up, "I only want you
to write the few lines I dictate, and to get that name to the bill, and
here is the cheque ready. You'll get on, now, I feel sure," he said, in
cool, business-like tones, but watching his victim like a cat the while.
"Bought wit is better than taught wit. Shall I order you a gloss of
wine?"
"God help me!" groaned Frank Marr as, making an effort to speak, he tore
at his throat for an instant, snatched at his hat, and then rushed out
of the house.
"Expensive, but safe!" said John Richards, with a bitter smile, as he
pinned the cheque to its duplicate. "What, you here?"
"Father!" cried May, coming forward and speaking in tones that should
have pierced even his heart, had it not been stony to the very core; "O,
father, what have you done?"
"Spent hundreds of my hard-earned pounds to free you from a bankrupt
lover--a scoundrel whose every thought was on my cash, whose every
calculation was as to how many years I should be before I died; upon a
man who had not the heart to stand up for you, who valued you at less
than five hundred pounds; and yet you reproached me with wishing to sell
you to a rich husband, when he is a pure, sterling, true-hearted man,
the only one I know that I could trust--a man you have known from a
child, and one who has long loved you. Suppose he is grey-headed, what
then? You can trust in his experience and--eh? What? Why? What the
deuce! talk of the--How are you, Brough? glad to see you. Got the gout
awful this morning. Don't stop; I'm bothered and sick with pain. Take
May up-stairs. My dear, give Mr Brough some lunch."
Then, in an undertone, he spoke to the new-comer:
"I've done it for you, Brough; smoothed the way, and the day's your own.
Bought him off for five hundred."
"And has he taken it?" said the new-comer, a handsome, florid, elderly
man.
"As good as taken it. It's all right, I tell you. She knows it too.
Go and comfort her up, Brough; comfort her up."
"Poor child, poor child," muttered Mr Brough, taking a cold stony hand
in his; and the tears rose to his eyes as he read in the despairing look
directed at him the truth of the old money-lender's words. The next
minute he had led May Richards up-stairs and was seated by her on one of
the sofas, gazing pityingly at her, for with her face covered by her
hands the poor girl wept as though her heart would break.