MR. CROSBIE GOES INTO THE CITY.
"I've known the City now for more than ten years, Mr. Crosbie, and
I never knew money to be so tight as it is at this moment. The best
commercial bills going can't be done under nine, and any other
kind of paper can't so much as get itself looked at." Thus spoke
Mr. Musselboro. He was seated in Dobbs Broughton's arm-chair in
Dobbs Broughton's room in Hook Court, on the hind legs of which he
was balancing himself comfortably; and he was communicating his
experience in City matters to our old friend, Adolphus Crosbie,--of
whom we may surmise that he would not have been there, at that
moment, in Hook Court, if things had been going well with him. It was
now past eleven o'clock, and he should have been at his office at
the West End. His position in his office was no doubt high enough
to place him beyond the reach of any special inquiry as to such
absences; but it is generally felt that when the Crosbies of the West
End have calls into the City about noon, things in the world are not
going well with them. The man who goes into the City to look for
money is generally one who does not know where to get money when he
wants it. Mr. Musselboro on this occasion kept his hat on his head,
and there was something in the way in which he balanced his chair
which was in itself an offence to Mr. Crosbie's personal dignity. It
was hardly as yet two months since Mr. Dobbs Broughton had assured
him in that very room that there need not be the slightest anxiety
about his bill. Of course it could be renewed,--the commission being
duly paid. As Mr. Dobbs Broughton explained on that occasion, that
was his business. There was nothing he liked so much as renewing
bills for such customers as Mr. Crosbie; and he was very candid at
that meeting, explaining how he did this branch of his business,
raising money on his own credit at four or five per cent., and
lending it on his own judgment at eight or nine. Mr. Crosbie did not
feel himself then called upon to exclaim that what he was called upon
to pay was about twelve, perfectly understanding the comfort and
grace of euphony; but he had turned it over in his mind, considering
whether twelve per cent. was not more than he ought to be mulcted
for the accommodation he wanted. Now, at the moment, he would have
been glad to get it from Mr. Musselboro, without further words, for
twenty.
Things had much changed with Adolphus Crosbie when he was driven to
make morning visits to such a one as Mr. Musselboro with the view of
having a bill renewed for two hundred and fifty pounds. In his early
life he had always had the merit of being a careful man as to money.
In some other respects he had gone astray very foolishly,--as has
been partly explained in our earlier chapters; but up to the date
of his marriage with Lady Alexandrina De Courcy he had never had
dealings in Hook Court or in any such locality. Money troubles
had then come upon him. Lady Alexandrina, being the daughter of a
countess, had high ideas; and when, very shortly after his marriage,
he had submitted to a separation from his noble wife, he had found
himself and his income to be tied up inextricably in the hands of
one Mr. Mortimer Gazebee, a lawyer who had married one of his wife's
sisters. It was not that Mr. Gazebee was dishonest; nor did Crosbie
suspect him of dishonesty; but the lawyer was so wedded to the
interest of the noble family with which he was connected, that he
worked for them all as an inferior spider might be supposed to
work, which, from the infirmity of its nature, was compelled by
its instincts to be catching flies always for superior spiders. Mr.
Mortimer Gazebee had in this way entangled Mr. Crosbie in his web on
behalf of those noble spiders, the De Courcys, and our poor friend,
in his endeavour to fight his way through the web, had fallen into
the hands of the Hook Court firm of Mrs. Van Siever, Dobbs Broughton,
and Musselboro.
"Mr. Broughton told me when I was last here," said Crosbie, "that
there would be no difficulty about it."
"And it was renewed then; wasn't it?"
"Of course it was,--for two months. But he was speaking of a
continuation of renewal."
"I'm afraid we can't do it, Mr. Crosbie. I'm afraid we can't, indeed.
Money is so awful tight."
"Of course I must pay what you choose to charge me."
"It isn't that, Mr. Crosbie. The bill is out for collection, and must
be collected. In times like these we must draw ourselves in a little,
you know. Two hundred and fifty pounds isn't a great deal of money,
you will say; but every little helps, you know; and, besides, of
course we go upon a system. Business is business, and must not be
made pleasure of. I should have had a great deal of pleasure in doing
this for you, but it can't be done in the way of business."
"When will Broughton be here?"
"He may be in at any time;--I can't say when. I suppose he's down at
the court now."
"What court?"
"Capel Court."
"I suppose I can see him there?" said Crosbie.
"If you catch him you can see him, of course. But what good will
that do you, Mr. Crosbie? I tell you that we can't do it for you.
If Broughton was here this moment it couldn't make the slightest
difference."
Now Mr. Crosbie had an idea that Mr. Musselboro, though he sat in
Dobbs Broughton's seat and kept on his hat, and balanced his chair on
two legs, was in truth nothing more than a clerk. He did not quite
understand the manner in which the affairs of the establishment were
worked, though he had been informed that Mrs. Van Siever was one of
the partners. That Dobbs Broughton was the managing man, who really
did the business, he was convinced; and he did not therefore like to
be answered peremptorily by such a one as Musselboro. "I should wish
to see Mr. Broughton," he said.
"You can call again,--or you can go down to the court if you like
it. But you may take this as an answer from me that the bill can't
be renewed by us." At this moment the door of the room was opened,
and Dobbs Broughton himself came into it. His face was not at all
pleasant, and any one might have seen with half an eye that the
money-market was a great deal tighter than he liked it to be. "Here
is Mr. Crosbie here,--about that bill," said Musselboro.
"Mr. Crosbie must take up his bill; that's all," said Dobbs
Broughton.
"But it doesn't suit me to take it up," said Crosbie.
"Then you must take it up without suiting you," said Dobbs Broughton.
It might have been seen, I said, with half an eye, that Mr. Broughton
did not like the state of the money-market; and it might also be
seen with the other half that he had been endeavouring to mitigate
the bitterness of his dislike by alcoholic aid. Musselboro at once
perceived that his patron and partner was half drunk, and Crosbie
was aware that he had been drinking. But, nevertheless, it was
necessary that something more should be said. The bill would be due
to-morrow,--was payable at Crosbie's bankers; and, as Mr. Crosbie too
well knew, there were no funds there for the purpose. And there were
other purposes, very needful, for which Mr. Crosbie's funds were at
the present moment unfortunately by no means sufficient. He stood
for a few moments thinking what he would do;--whether he would leave
the drunken man and his office and let the bill take its chance, or
whether he would make one more effort for an arrangement. He did
not for a moment believe that Broughton himself was subject to any
pecuniary difficulty. Broughton lived in a big house, as rich men
live, and had a name for commercial success. It never occurred to
Crosbie that it was a matter of great moment to Dobbs Broughton
himself that the bill should be taken up. Crosbie still thought that
Musselboro was his special enemy, and that Broughton had joined
Musselboro in his hostility simply because he was too drunk to know
better. "You might, at any rate, answer me civilly, Mr. Broughton,"
he said.
"I know nothing about civility with things as they are at present,"
said Broughton. "Civil by ----! There's nothing so civil as paying
money when you owe it. Musselboro, reach me down the decanter and
some glasses. Perhaps Mr. Crosbie will wet his whistle."
"He don't want any wine,--nor you either," said Musselboro.
"What's up now?" said Broughton, staggering across the room towards
a cupboard, in which it was his custom to keep a provision of that
comfort which he needed at the present moment. "I suppose I may stand
a glass of wine to a fellow in my own room, if I like it."
"I will take no wine, thank you," said Crosbie.
"Then you can do the other thing. When I ask a gentleman to take a
glass of wine, there is no compulsion. But about the bill there is
compulsion. Do you understand that? You may drink, or let it alone;
but pay you must. Why, Mussy, what d'ye think?--there's Carter,
Ricketts and Carter;--I'm blessed if Carter just now didn't beg for
two months, as though two months would be all the world to him, and
that for a trumpery five hundred pounds. I never saw money like it
is now; never." To this appeal, Musselboro made no reply, not caring,
perhaps, at the present moment to sustain his partner. He still
balanced himself in his chair, and still kept his hat on his head.
Even Mr. Crosbie began to perceive that Mr. Musselboro's genius was
in the ascendant in Hook Court.
"I can hardly believe," said Crosbie, "that things can be so bad that
I cannot have a bill for two hundred and fifty pounds renewed when I
am willing to pay for the accommodation. I have not done much in the
way of bills, but I never had one dishonoured yet."
"Don't let this be the first," said Dobbs Broughton.
"Not if I can prevent it," said Crosbie. "But, to tell you the
truth, Mr. Broughton, my bill will be dishonoured unless I can have
it renewed. If it does not suit you to do it, I suppose you can
recommend me to some one who can make it convenient."
"Why don't you go to your bankers?" said Musselboro.
"I never did ask my bankers for anything of the kind."
"Then you should try what your credit with them is worth," said
Broughton. "It isn't worth much here, as you can perceive. Ha, ha,
ha!"
Crosbie, when he heard this, became very angry; and Musselboro,
perceiving this, got out of his chair, so that he might be in
readiness to prevent any violence, if violence were attempted.
"It really is no good your staying here," he said. "You see that
Broughton has been drinking. There's no knowing what he may say or
do."
"You be blowed," said Broughton, who had taken the arm-chair as soon
as Musselboro had left it.
"But you may believe me in the way of business," continued
Musselboro, "when I tell you that it really does not suit us to renew
the bill. We're pressed ourselves, and we must press others."
"And who will do it for me?" said Crosbie, almost in despair.
"There are Burton and Bangles there, the wine-merchants down in the
yard; perhaps they may accommodate you. It's all in their line; but
I'm told they charge uncommon dear."
"I don't know Messrs. Burton and Bangles," said Crosbie.
"That needn't stand in your way. You tell them where you come from,
and they'll make inquiry. If they think it's about right, they'll
give you the money; and if they don't, they won't."
Mr. Crosbie then left the office without exchanging another word with
Dobbs Broughton, and went down into Hook Court. As he descended the
stairs he turned over in his mind the propriety of going to Messrs.
Burton and Bangles with the view of relieving himself from his
present difficulty. He knew that it was ruinous. Dealings even with
such men as Dobbs Broughton and Musselboro, whom he presumed to be
milder in their greed than Burton and Bangles, were, all of them,
steps on the road to ruin. But what was he to do? If his bill were
dishonoured, the fact would certainly become known at his office, and
he might even ultimately be arrested. In the doorway at the bottom
of the stairs he stood for some moments, looking over at Burton and
Bangles', and he did not at all like the aspect of the establishment.
Inside the office he could see a man standing with a cigar in his
mouth, very resplendent with a new hat,--with a hat remarkable
for the bold upward curve of its rim, and this man was copiously
decorated with a chain and seals hanging about widely over his
waistcoat. He was leaning with his back against the counter, and was
talking to some one on the other side of it. There was something in
the man's look and manner that was utterly repulsive to Crosbie. He
was more vulgar to the eye even than Musselboro, and his voice, which
Crosbie could hear as he stood in the other doorway, was almost as
detestable as that of Dobbs Broughton in his drunkenness. Crosbie
did not doubt that this was either Burton or Bangles, and that the
man standing inside was either Bangles or Burton. He could not
bring himself to accost these men and tell them of his necessities,
and propose to them that they should relieve him. In spite of what
Musselboro had just said to him, he could not believe it possible
that he should succeed, were he to do so without some introduction.
So he left Hook Court and went out into the lane, hearing as he went
the loud voice of the man with the turned-up hat and the chain.
But what was he to do? At the outset of his pecuniary troubles, when
he first found it necessary to litigate some question with the De
Courcy people, and withstand the web which Mortimer Gazebee wove so
assiduously, his own attorney had introduced him to Dobbs Broughton,
and the assistance which he had needed had come to him, at any rate,
without trouble. He did not especially like Mr. Broughton; and when
Mr. Broughton first invited him to come and eat a little bit of
dinner, he had told himself with painful remorse that in his early
days he had been accustomed to eat his little bits of dinner with
people of a different kind. But there had been nothing really painful
in this. Since his marriage with a daughter of the De Courcys,--by
which marriage he had intended to climb to the highest pinnacle of
social eating and drinking,--he had gradually found himself to be
falling in the scale of such matters, and could bring himself to
dine with a Dobbs Broughton without any violent pain. But now he had
fallen so low that Dobbs Broughton had insulted him, and he was in
such distress that he did not know where to turn for ten pounds. Mr.
Gazebee had beaten him at litigation, and his own lawyer had advised
him that it would be foolish to try the matter further. In his
marriage with the noble daughter of the De Courcys he had allowed the
framers of the De Courcy settlement to tie him up in such a way that
now, even when chance had done so much for him in freeing him from
his wife, he was still bound to the De Courcy faction. Money had been
paid away,--on his behalf, as alleged by Mr. Gazebee,--like running
water; money for furniture, money for the lease of a house, money
when he had been separated from his wife, money while she was living
abroad. It had seemed to him that he had been made to pay for the
entire support of the female moiety of the De Courcy family which had
settled itself at Baden-Baden, from the day, and in some respects
from before the day, on which his wife had joined that moiety. He
had done all in his power to struggle against these payments, but
every such struggle had only cost him more money. Mr. Gazebee had
written to him the civilest notes; but every note seemed to cost him
money,--every word of each note seemed to find its way into some
bill. His wife had died and her body had been brought back, with all
the pomp befitting the body of an earl's daughter, that it might be
laid with the old De Courcy dust,--at his expense. The embalming of
her dear remains had cost a wondrous sum, and was a terrible blow
upon him. All these items were showered upon him by Mr. Gazebee
with the most courteously worded demands for settlement as soon as
convenient. And then, when he applied that Lady Alexandrina's small
fortune should be made over to him,--according to a certain agreement
under which he had made over all his possessions to his wife, should
she have survived him,--Mr. Gazebee expressed a mild opinion that he
was wrong in his law, and blandly recommended an amicable lawsuit.
The amicable lawsuit was carried on. His own lawyer seemed to
throw him over. Mr. Gazebee was successful in everything. No money
came to him. Money was demanded from him on old scores and on new
scores,--and all that he received to console him for what he had lost
was a mourning ring with his wife's hair,--for which, with sundry
other mourning rings, he had to pay,--and an introduction to Mr.
Dobbs Broughton. To Mr. Dobbs Broughton he owed five hundred pounds;
and as regarded a bill for the one-half of that sum which was due
to-morrow, Mr. Dobbs Broughton had refused to grant him renewal for a
single month!
I know no more uncomfortable walking than that which falls to the lot
of men who go into the City to look for money, and who find none. Of
all the lost steps trodden by men, surely the steps lost after that
fashion are the most melancholy. It is not only that they are so
vain, but that they are accompanied by so killing a sense of shame!
To wait about in dingy rooms, which look on to bare walls, and are
approached through some Hook Court; or to keep appointments at a low
coffee-house, to which trystings the money-lender will not trouble
himself to come unless it pleases him; to be civil, almost suppliant,
to a cunning knave whom the borrower loathes; to be refused thrice,
and then cheated with his eyes open on the fourth attempt; to submit
himself to vulgarity of the foulest kind, and to have to seem to like
it; to be badgered, reviled, and at last accused of want of honesty
by the most fraudulent of mankind; and at the same time to be clearly
conscious of the ruin that is coming,--this is the fate of him who
goes into the City to find money, not knowing where it is to be
found!
Crosbie went along the lane into Lombard Street, and then he stood
still for a moment to think. Though he knew a good deal of affairs in
general, he did not quite know what would happen to him if his bill
should be dishonoured. That somebody would bring it to him noted,
and require him instantly to put his hand into his pocket and bring
out the amount of the bill, plus the amount of certain expenses, he
thought that he did know. And he knew that were he in trade he would
become a bankrupt; and he was well aware that such an occurrence
would prove him to be insolvent. But he did not know what his
creditors would immediately have the power of doing. That the fact of
the bill having been dishonoured would reach the Board under which
he served,--and, therefore, also the fact that he had had recourse
to such bill transactions,--this alone was enough to fill him with
dismay. In early life he had carried his head so high, he had been so
much more than a mere Government clerk, that the idea of the coming
disgrace almost killed him. Would it not be well that he should put
an end to himself, and thus escape? What was there in the world now
for which it was worth his while to live? Lily, whom he had once
gained, and by that gain had placed himself high in all hopes of
happiness and riches,--whom he had then thrown away from him, and who
had again seemed to be almost within his reach,--Lily had so refused
him that he knew not how to approach her with a further prayer. And,
had she not refused him, how could he have told her of his load of
debt? As he stood at the corner where the lane runs into Lombard
Street, he came for a while to think almost more of Lily than of his
rejected bill. Then, as he thought of both his misfortunes together,
he asked himself whether a pistol would not conveniently put an end
to them together.
At that moment a loud, harsh voice greeted his ear. "Hallo, Crosbie,
what brings you so far east? One does not often see you in the City."
It was the voice of Sir Raffle Buffle, which in former days had been
very odious to Crosbie's ears;--for Sir Raffle Buffle had once been
the presiding genius of the office to which Crosbie still belonged.
"No, indeed, not very often," said Crosbie, smiling. Who can tell,
who has not felt it, the pain that goes to the forcing of such
smiles? But Sir Raffle was not an acutely observant person, and did
not see that anything was wrong.
"I suppose you're doing a little business?" said Sir Raffle. "If a
man has kept a trifle of money by him, this certainly is the time for
turning it. You have always been wide awake about such things."
"No, indeed," said Crosbie. If he could only make up his mind that he
would shoot himself, would it not be a pleasant thing to inflict some
condign punishment on this odious man before he left the world? But
Crosbie knew that he was not going to shoot himself, and he knew also
that he had no power of inflicting condign punishment on Sir Raffle
Buffle. He could only hate the man, and curse him inwardly.
"Ah, ha!" said Sir Raffle. "You wouldn't be here unless you knew
where a good thing is to be picked up. But I must be off. I'm on the
Rocky Mountain Canal Company Directory. I'm not above taking my two
guineas a day. Good-by, my boy. Remember me to old Optimist." And so
Sir Raffle passed on, leaving Crosbie still standing at the corner of
the lane.
What was he to do? This interruption had at least seemed to drive
Lily from his mind, and to send his ideas back to the consideration
of his pecuniary difficulties. He thought of his own bank, a West-End
establishment at which he was personally known to many of the clerks,
and where he had been heretofore treated with great consideration.
But of late his balances had been very low, and more than once he had
been reminded that he had overdrawn his account. He knew well that
the distinguished firm of Bounce, Bounce, and Bounce would not cash a
bill for him or lend him money without security. He did not even dare
to ask them to do so.
On a sudden he jumped into a cab, and was driven back to his office.
A thought had come upon him. He would throw himself upon the kindness
of a friend there. Hitherto he had contrived to hold his head so high
above the clerks below him, so high before the Commissioners who were
above him, that none there suspected him to be a man in difficulty.
It not seldom happens that a man's character stands too high for his
interest,--so high that it cannot be maintained, and so high that any
fall will be dangerous. And so it was with Crosbie and his character
at the General Committee Office. The man to whom he was now thinking
of applying as his friend, was a certain Mr. Butterwell, who had been
his predecessor in the secretary's chair, and who now filled the less
onerous but more dignified position of a Commissioner. Mr. Crosbie
had somewhat despised Mr. Butterwell, and had of late years not been
averse to showing that he did so. He had snubbed Mr. Butterwell, and
Mr. Butterwell, driven to his wits' ends, had tried a fall or two
with him. In all these struggles Crosbie had had the best of it,
and Butterwell had gone to the wall. Nevertheless, for the sake of
official decency, and from certain wise remembrances of the sources
of official comfort and official discomfort, Mr. Butterwell had
always maintained a show of outward friendship with the secretary.
They smiled and were gracious, called each other Butterwell
and Crosbie, and abstained from all cat-and-dog absurdities.
Nevertheless, it was the frequently expressed opinion of every clerk
in the office that Mr. Butterwell hated Mr. Crosbie like poison. This
was the man to whom Crosbie suddenly made up his mind that he would
have recourse.
As he was driven back to his office he resolved that he would make a
plunge at once at the difficulty. He knew that Butterwell was fairly
rich, and he knew also that he was good-natured,--with that sort of
sleepy good-nature which is not active for philanthropic purposes,
but which dislikes to incur the pain of refusing. And then Mr.
Butterwell was nervous, and if the thing was managed well, he might
be cheated out of an assent, before time had been given him in which
to pluck up courage for refusing. But Crosbie doubted his own courage
also,--fearing that if he gave himself time for hesitation he would
hesitate, and that, hesitating, he would feel the terrible disgrace
of the thing and not do it. So, without going to his own desk, or
ridding himself of his hat, he went at once to Butterwell's room.
When he opened the door, he found Mr. Butterwell alone, reading The
Times. "Butterwell," said he, beginning to speak before he had even
closed the door, "I have come to you in great distress. I wonder
whether you can help me; I want you to lend me five hundred pounds?
It must be for not less than three months."
Mr. Butterwell dropped the paper from his hands, and stared at the
secretary over his spectacles.