A crier with a bell advanced through Dock Street; as the tongue
monotonously _galing-galanged_ against the sides of the bell, the man
chanted with equal monotony:
"A hogshead of rum! To whom it may concern: a hogshead of fine Jamaica
rum will be sold at vendue at the warehouse of William Stone, in
Mulberry Street, at two o'clock to-day."
"Another damned cutthroat must be asking for his pound of flesh!"
grumbled a gentleman, whose bulbous nose was pinched blue with the snap
of the cold. "Stone's interest is no doubt due, and he's forced to
send out a crier and sell a hogshead of liquor to keep the shark from
turning over on his back."
Mr. Sparhawk, who bore the blue-nosed gentleman company, smiled dryly.
"Mr. Stone, from what I hear of his affairs, need not bother himself.
He's so safely in the hands of Bulfinch and his handsome sons that he
has no more chance of escape, Mr. Stroude, than the north star has of
falling out of the sky."
Mr. Stroude swore eloquently.
"Bulfinch is a villain," announced he. "And I wish his sons were at the
devil!"
"There are a great many who are equally pious with regard to them,"
said Mr. Sparhawk, "but at the same time the stairs leading to their
den are wearing thinner and thinner under the tread of these same
gentlemen's feet."
"I have merchandise to the value of eight thousand dollars," protested
Mr. Stroude gloomily, "and with it I have a good name in business. But
can I borrow two thousand dollars in a reputable way? I can't! Will
any institution in the city take my note on any terms that correspond
with my position as a merchant? They will not! And why?" demanded Mr.
Stroude of the world, as he swept it with his eye. "Why not? It is
because the law permits them but a fair interest, but if they can force
me to go to their secret co-worker, Bulfinch, they can make me pay as
many times that as my necessity compels."
"Bulfinch is, I know, much favored among some financial people,"
admitted Mr. Sparhawk, with the perky manner of a small bird. "He has
at command any sum that can be reasonably asked of him. And, for an
accommodation like that, he feels bound to make his demands."
"But my heart's blood!" said Mr. Stroude, his nose going a very deep
blue, indeed. "Must he have that?"
"Perhaps," soothed Mr. Sparhawk, "he will not go so far. At any rate,
here we are, and you shall soon know."
Off Dock, at Third Street, was a group of old buildings, none in very
good repair; through these a brick-paved thoroughfare cut its way.
This was Harmony Court, and here a second group of buildings crouched
behind the first, as though to avoid the full glare of day. There were
a number of shabby tin signs upon a shutter, and perhaps the shabbiest
of all bore the inscription: "Amos Bulfinch, Broker."
"So it's here our gentleman keeps himself," grumbled Mr. Stroude. "I
knew it was in this neighborhood, but I didn't think it would give
quite so dirty a promise."
Mr. Sparhawk led the way into a dim passage which smelt musty, and the
walls of which were greasy with the touch of generations. When the
perky gentleman said the steps leading to the place of business of Amos
Bulfinch had been thinned by the tread of his patrons, he spoke the
truth; for thin they were, and very dirty as well. A dim oil lamp, on
a landing, lighted the way; and at the top of the steps was a door upon
which the money-lender's name occurred once more. They went in.
"Good morning," said Mr. Sparhawk, to a gangling-looking man who sat at
a table upon which was spread a quantity of much-handled papers. "This
is Mr. Nathaniel Bulfinch, son of Amos," to Stroude.
"Yes, I know," said Stroude. "Glad to see you."
Mr. Nathaniel Bulfinch smiled; his teeth were large, and there were
wide spaces between them; his hands were enormous and covered with
freckles; he had outstanding ears, an unruly thatch of coarse hair, and
pale, watchful eyes.
"What name?" asked Mr. Nathaniel, as he shuffled eagerly among the
dirty documents. "Is something due? Eh?"
"Not yet," said Stroude. "No, not yet."
"But," insinuated Mr. Sparhawk, "Mr. Stroude is hopeful."
Mr. Nathaniel laughed.
"They are always that," said he. "It's surprising how much hope is
brought into this place."
"And very little is ever taken out again, I'll venture," mumbled
Stroude, to himself. He looked about at the dirty walls, the worn
furniture, the dusty files of papers hanging from hooks; the air of
mean sordidness chilled him. "No," he thought, "no one ever took
anything out of this place, unless it was a curse."
"I do not see your brother," said Mr. Sparhawk, of Nathaniel. "Where is
Rehoboam?"
"He is going his rounds," said Nathaniel. "No one pays unless they're
made to, and Rehoboam is apt at explaining the law. He knows its
regulations very well," admiringly. "There are few solicitors who have
a defter turn for it. He can tell to the breadth of a hair how much a
man may delay in the matter of a debt before the prison keepers may
put their hands upon him."
"A pretty talent!" said Stroude. Then, in his thoughts, he added, "I
wonder what length of time a man must serve as the devil's acolyte
before he reaches so much wisdom as that."
Sparhawk and Stroude sat down, and Nathaniel began thumbing his dirty
papers with much the same enjoyment a gourmand shows in eating a dainty
dish. There was a soothing voice lifted in an inner room, dimly heard,
yet full of assuring sweetness.
"That," whispered Sparhawk to Stroude, "is old Amos."
"I know," nodded Stroude. "I've heard him before, though he's never had
occasion to use his honey on me."
Answering the money-lender was a quavering voice, decidedly French in
accent, and pitched to a note of anxiety.
"I am not known here," said the quavering voice, "except by Rufus
Stevens' Sons. With them I have moneys invested. But there are reasons
why I should ask no favors of them."
"To get a name upon the back of a note is no favor," explained the
sweet voice. "No favor at all. It is a matter of business."
"There is no one but them; and to them I will not go," said the
quavering voice, with a deal of native decision. "I am sorry to have
intruded upon you, monsieur, and taken your time."
There was a scraping of chair-legs upon the floor; then the
money-lender was heard to say:
"Wait! do not be in haste, Monsieur Lafargue. Let us consider. Mr.
Tarrant sent you here, and Mr. Tarrant is my very good friend. I would
go greatly out of my way to oblige him. Of course, to have Rufus
Stevens' Sons upon your note would be desirable; but as this is an
exceptional case we'll say no more about it. What sum did you say you
required?"
Nathaniel paused in his thumbing of his documents; his wide mouth hung
open, surprisedly, as he listened.
"What?" whispered Stroude. "What? Old Bulfinch lend money without a
sponsor?"
But Sparhawk, whose perky manner seemed suddenly frozen into one of
interest, motioned him to be still.
"One thousand dollars," said Monsieur Lafargue, "for six months."
"It is a good sum," said the money-lender. "It's a round sum. But, as
Mr. Tarrant speaks for you--"
"Wait," said the old Frenchman. "Let it be understood, sir, that Mr.
Tarrant does not vouch for me. My acquaintance with him has been quite
brief."
"Mr. Tarrant _vouch_ for you!" the money-lender was heard to laugh; and
his gangling son, outside, giggled, and winked his pale eyes in great
enjoyment. "No, I understand that, monsieur. But I have heard that you
were this nation's friend when it needed a friend in France during our
days of struggle; also it's been said that you helped forward the cause
of the people in your own country; and these things mean a deal to a
republican like me."
Stroude seemed stupefied by these virtuous sentiments; Sparhawk pursed
up his lips and closed his eyes reflectively. The jaw of Nathaniel once
more hung open in surprise.
"Sign your name to that," resumed the money-lender, "and you shall have
the money in hand."
There was a sound of some one getting up, the snapping back of locks,
and the groaning of heavy hinges. Papers rustled and gold chinked on a
table. Then the strong box was closed and the bolts were re-shot into
their sockets.
"Well, now," said the soothing voice, "that is done with. There I have
your note of hand, monsieur, and you have my money."
"With the conditions what they are," said Monsieur Lafargue, "I am
astonished at your generous treatment of me. We do not transact
business upon such principles in France."
"No more do we here," said the money-lender, "except upon such
occasions as this. But we must do our best by our French friends,
more especially when they, in turn, are friends of so distinguished
a patriot as Citizen Genêt." Sparhawk, who had continued to sit
with closed eyes, now opened them, narrowly; his breath all but
stopped. "You are a friend of the citizen's, are you not?" asked the
money-lender in his sweetest voice.
"We have known each other many years," said Lafargue.
"To know a patriot like that must give a deal of satisfaction," said
the money-lender. "A great deal of satisfaction, indeed."
A few moments later the door of the inner room opened, and Monsieur
Lafargue, infirm but holding his white head up with his customary air,
came out. Following him was Amos Bulfinch.
"Mr. Sparhawk," said the latter with a little bow, "I'm pleased to
see you here. And you, sir," urbanely, to the frowning Stroude. Then
turning to Nathaniel, he added, "My son, the stairs are dark and not
quite safe for a gentleman of Monsieur Lafargue's years. Will you go
with him, down into the court?"
Monsieur Lafargue protested; but Nathaniel reared himself up to his
gangling height and took one of the old Frenchman's arms in his clutch.
"It's no trouble," grinned he, showing his large teeth, with the spaces
between. "I'll have you down in a moment."
Their steps were still sounding upon the stairs when Amos Bulfinch
turned his mild look upon Mr. Sparhawk and then upon Stroude; and
a close observer would have noticed that it rested longer and with
greater interest upon Stroude.
"A trifling matter of business," explained Mr. Sparhawk. "Mr. Stroude
desired me to introduce him. You've heard of him, maybe."
"Often," said Amos in his sweet voice. "Glass, and crockery, and
imported ware in Mulberry Street. A fine, profitable business, very
active, and not overcrowded."
Stroude was about to answer this, but Sparhawk stopped him.
"You are quite right," said Mr. Sparhawk. "It's an excellent business,
and prospering. But there come times in mercantile life," with a little
gesture of regret, "when ready money must be reckoned with."
"That is true, Mr. Sparhawk," said Amos soothingly. "Not a day passes
but that is brought home to me."
"What would you say," added Mr. Sparhawk, "to loaning Mr. Stroude a
matter of three thousand dollars--gold?"
"How soon?" asked Amos Bulfinch, looking at Stroude in a most
beneficent manner.
"To-day," said the merchant.
"To-day? Impossible! That is the way with all of them," to Mr.
Sparhawk. "They think I have only to pick the money up. What security
is there?"
Mr. Stroude displayed some documents, which Amos studied minutely.
Nathaniel reëntered just then; and he also gave the matter the closest
attention.
"And what names?" asked the money-lender. "Of course, they must be good
ones."
Stroude grudgingly mentioned one or two; and father and son shook their
heads at each other.
"We have them already," said Amos.
"A half-dozen times," said Nathaniel. "They won't do."
"My people object to the same name so often," said Amos. "They are very
strict. And when they object the rate goes up."
Stroude writhed at this, and Sparhawk asked:
"How high?"
The money-lender, who still had Stroude's paper in his hand, folded it
one third.
"Oh, no," said Sparhawk. "Oh, dear, no!"
"There are, besides, interests, costs, and other things," said Amos
in his honeyed way. "It is too bad. Maybe your friend had better go
somewhere else."
"They may treat him better," suggested Nathaniel with disbelief.
Stroude's blue nose paled.
"But a charge like that!" protested he. "It's monstrous!"
"Added to it," said Amos, still fingering the paper, "there are apt to
be brokerage charges, besides, there is my small portion to be fixed
upon it finally."
He folded the paper in two and stood creasing it between thumb and
forefinger while Stroude began to choke and to pull at his neck-cloth
feebly.
"Perhaps you'd better not favor us," said Amos. "We never advise
anything."
"Terms are always plainly stated," said Nathaniel; "and patrons are
left to use their own judgment."
"Well?" asked Mr. Sparhawk of Stroude.
"Can I get the money to-day?" asked the merchant, his trembling hand
still fumbling with the neck-cloth. "To-day, without fail?"
"It will be at your office in one hour," said Amos Bulfinch,
soothingly. "I will send for it at once." Under his father's
directions, Nathaniel sat down at his table and made out the note;
when it was ready, it was passed over to Stroude, who read and buttoned
it up in his breast pocket.
"My son, Rehoboam, will pay the money over to you," said the leech;
"and I would ask, Mr. Stroude, that you have the necessary signatures
ready affixed, to avoid delay."
Stroude stumbled a little as he went down the stairs; and the perky
little Mr. Sparhawk carried a wrinkle of interrogation between his eyes
as he went with him.