It was the common talk at the office that Mr Lister was going to be
married soon to the rich Miss Carr; and one day, when I was busily
reading to Mr Jabez Rowle--who, snuff-box before him, kept drawing in
his breath, hissing viciously, and sometimes smacking his lips as he dug
his pen into some blunder in the slips before him--Mr Grimstone came
bustling in, with his spectacles shining as much as his bald head, his
scanty hair standing straight up, and, what was very rarely the case, a
smile upon his face.
"Well, Rowle," he said, rubbing his hands, "how is it this morning?"
"Foul--foul foul," said Mr Jabez, with a dab at a stop he had missed
before. "Those fellows of yours make more literals every day."
"I'm always telling them of it, Rowle, always," said Mr Grimstone,
nodding his head sharply. "How does this boy get on?"
"Fairly--fairly," said Mr Rowle, screwing himself round upon his stool,
and gazing full in the overseers face. "Now, then, Grimstone, what is
it?--what's on the cards?"
"Oh, nothing--nothing. I only looked in. Give me a pinch!"
Mr Rowle handed his little brown box, and Mr Grimstone refreshed
himself with a pinch before handing back the snuff to Mr Rowle, who
also took a pinch loudly, and with a defiant flourish, while I took up a
slip and a pen, and began to practise reading and correcting, a thing
Mr Rowle always encouraged.
Grimstone had evidently come in for a gossip, business being rather
slack, following a good deal of night-work and the finish of an
important order; and after another pinch and an allusion to the
political topic of the day, they seemed to forget my presence and went
on talking.
"When's the happy day to be?" said Mr Grimstone.
"What, Lister's? Oh, I don't know: soon, I suppose. Seen her?"
"Yes, twice," said Mr Grimstone, giving his lips a smack; "beautiful!"
"So I hear," said Mr Jabez Rowle; "plenty of money too, I suppose."
"50,000 pounds, and more to come. I never had such luck."
"I never wanted it," said Mr Jabez Rowle with a growl. "I don't know
why a man should want to tie himself up to a woman."
"Not with 50,000 pounds and more to come, eh?" said Mr Grimstone
waggishly.
"Might have tempted me twenty years ago," growled Mr Jabez; "it
wouldn't now."
"S'pose not. You're too warm, Rowle--much too warm. I say, though," he
continued, lowering his voice, but quite ignoring me, "is a certain
person safe?"
"A certain person?"
"Yes, you know. Suppose, for instance, he quietly asked you to let him
have 500 pounds for a few months at seven-and-a-half and a bonus, would
you, always considering that he soon touches 50,000 pounds and more to
come, would you let him have it?"
Mr Jabez took a pinch of snuff furiously, shut the box with a loud
snap, and, evidently completely thrown of his guard, exclaimed:
"Hang him for a fool! Curse me if ever I do so again."
"What do you mean?" said Mr Grimstone, milling up, "Do you mean to say
I'm a fool?"
"No, no: he is, to go and blab."
"Blab?"
"Yes, to let it out to you."
"I say! What do you mean?" said Mr Grimstone again.
"Mean? Why, you as good as said he told you I had let him have 500
pounds at seven-and-a-half and a bonus. Lent on the strength of his
going to marry a woman with 50,000 pounds and more to come."
"I didn't."
"You did."
"Whew!" whistled Mr Grimstone, snatching the snuff-box out of Mr Jabez
Rowle's hand, taking a vigorous pinch, and scattering so much of the
fine brown dust in the air that I should have had a violent fit of
sneezing if I had not become hardened to its effects.
The two stared at one another for a minute, and Mr Jabez now snatched
the box back and took a hearty pinch, some of which went on to his
shirt-front--and some upon his sleeve.
"Why, you don't mean to say that he has borrowed 500 pounds of you?"
said Mr Grimstone, in a whisper.
"But I do mean to say it," replied Mr Jabez. "How came he to tell you?
I never told a soul."
"He didn't tell me," said Mr Grimstone thoughtfully.
"Then who did?"
"No one."
"Then how came you to know?" said Mr Jabez, passing his box. "Why, you
don't mean to say he has been to you for five hundred?"
Mr Grimstone nodded.
"And offered you seven-and-a-half, and a bonus of thirty pounds?"
Mr Grimstone nodded again, and this time it was Mr Jabez Rowle's turn
to whistle.
"He wanted it done quietly, and I, after a bit, agreed to do it. But
though we ain't friends over business matters, Jabez Rowle, I know you
to be a man of strong common-sense and integrity, and I thought you
would give me a good bit of advice. But this seems to alter the case.
Would you lend it?"
"Humph! Two five hundreds are not much out of fifty thousand," said Mr
Jabez; "but what does he want the money for? 'Tain't for the business."
"No," said Mr Grimstone, "because he said he didn't want Mr Ruddle to
know. I say, what would you do? I shouldn't like to offend Lister."
"Do? Well, I've lent the money," said Mr Jabez, taking a savage pinch.
"And would you do the same if you were me?" replied Mr Grimstone.
"It's a lot of money; years of savings, you know, and--"
He made some kind of gesticulation, and I fancy he pointed with his
thumb over his shoulder at me.
"Look here, Grace," said Mr Rowle, "go downstairs and ask Mr Ruddle to
send me up Mr Hendry's letter about his book."
I got down off my stool, and left them together in the glass case, going
straight down to the office, where, in place of Mr Ruddle, I round Mr
Lister, and told him my business.
"I don't know where it is," he replied. "I leave it till Mr Ruddle
comes in. But look here, Grace, I wanted you. Miss Carr was asking how
you got on. Take this note there--you know where she lives--and give it
to her herself. But before you go up there take this note to Norfolk
Street, Strand. No answer."
He took four written slips of stamped blue paper from his pocket, and I
saw him write across them, blot them hastily, and refold and place them
in a letter, which he carefully sealed. After which, I noticed that he
tore off and destroyed the piece of blotting-paper that he had used. I
thought no more of it then, but it came up in connection with matters
that afterwards occurred.
I hurried upstairs, and told Mr Jabez Rowle that Mr Lister wanted me
to go out, Mr Grimstone being still in close conference with him in the
glass case.
"Where are you going, boy?" said the latter.
"To Miss Carr's with a note, sir," I said; and the two old men exchanged
glances of intelligence.
"All right, Grace," said Mr Jabez, nodding; "we're not busy. You can
go."
I hurried away, thinking no more of them or their conversation; but I
was obliged to go into the composing-room below, to hurry up to Mr
Hallett's frame, where, stern-looking and half-repellent, he was rapidly
setting a piece of manuscript.
"I'm going to Miss Carr's," I whispered, while my face glowed with
pleasure.
"Indeed!" he said, starting; and my bright face might have been
reflected in his, such a change passed over his speaking countenance.
"I've to take a note from Mr Lister and to wait for an answer," I said;
and I felt startled at the rapid change as he heard these last words.
"Are you ill?" I cried anxiously.
"No--no," he said hastily, and his voice sounded hard and harsh. "Go
away now, I am very much pressed for time."
I left him, wondering, for I could not read him then, and bounding down
the stairs, I was soon in Fleet Street, and soon after in Norfolk
Street, Strand.
I quickly found the number and the door, with a large brass plate
thereon bearing the name "Brandsheim," and in small letters in the
corner "Ground Floor."
A boy clerk answered my knock, and I was told to sit down in an outer
office while the clerk went in with the note and to see if Mr
Brandsheim was at home.
Mr Brandsheim was at home, and was ushered into his presence, to find
him a dark, yellow-looking man with a wrinkled face and very keen eyes.
He quite startled me for the moment, for, though not in personal
appearance in the slightest degree resembling Mr Blakeford, there was a
something about him that suggested that worthy and his ways.
He was dressed in the first style of fashion, a little exaggerated. He
might have been a slave of the great Plutus himself, for round his neck
and lashing his chest was a thick gold chain; diamond rings were on the
fingers of each hand; a great opal and diamond pin was in his black
satin stock; at his wrists were jewelled sleeve-links that glistened and
sparkled when he moved. There was nothing sordid about him, for he sat
in an easy-chair at a polished secretary; there was a Turkey carpet
beneath his feet, and the furniture of the room was massive and good;
but, all the same, I had no sooner entered the place than I began to
think of Mr Blakeford and Mr Wooster, and I involuntarily wondered
whether this man could be in any way connected with my late employer,
and whether I had unconsciously walked into a trap.
As my eyes wandered about the room in search of tin boxes containing
different people's affairs, of dusty parchments and sale bills, I felt
better; for they were all absent. In their place were large oil
pictures against the walls, hung, and leaning back, resting on the
floor. On a sideboard was a row of little stoppered bottles with labels
hanging from their necks in a jaunty fashion, and in the bottles were
richly tinted liquids--topaz, ruby, purple, and gold. They might have
been medicines, but they looked like wines, and I felt sure they were,
as I saw piled upon the floor some dozens of cigar-boxes.
Mr Brandsheim might have been a picture dealer, a wine merchant, or an
importer of cigars, for in those days I had yet to learn that he was a
bill-discounter who contrived that his clients should have so much in
cash for an acceptance, and the rest in old masters, Whitechapel
Havanas, and Hambro-Spanish wines.
Mr Brandsheim's words somewhat reassured me, as he nodded pleasantly to
me and smiled.
"Sit down, my man," he said; "sit down, and I'll soon be ready for you.
Let me see--let me see."
He busied himself behind his secretary, rustling papers and making
notes, and now and then looking at me and tapping his teeth with a heavy
gold pencil-case, while I furtively watched him and wondered how he
managed to make his jet black hair so shiny, and why it was he spoke as
if he had been poking cottonwool up his nose, till it suddenly occurred
to me that he must be a German.
"Ah!" he said, at last; "let me see--let me see--let me see--see--see.
Mr Lister quite well?"
"Yes, sir; quite well, thank you."
"That's right. Let me see--let me--how's business?"
"Oh! we've been very busy, sir. The men have often had to stop up all
night to get things finished."
"Have they really, though?" he said, nodding and smiling; "and did you
stay up, too?"
"No, sir; I read for Mr Jabez Rowle, and he said he wouldn't sit up all
night and upset himself for anybody."
"Mr Jabez Rowle is quite right, my lad."
"He said, sir, his work was so particular that after he had been
correcting for twelve hours his eyes and mind were exhausted, and he
could not do his work properly."
"Mr Jabez Rowle is a man of business, my lad, evidently. And Mr
Lister, is he pretty busy?"
"I think he comes to the office every day."
"Have a glass of wine, my lad," he said, getting up and taking a
decanter, glass, and a dish of biscuits from a cellaret. "No. Good
sherry won't hurt you. Take some biscuits, then."