UNRIGHTEOUS GAIN
ON the following day, Michael was still busy with the late
professor's books. As he examined them more fully, he was disposed to
congratulate himself on the bargain he had made. There were several
valuable old books in the lot, and others which, if less aged, were
much in request. Michael foresaw that he would make money by them. It
was true his returns would come in slowly; but nevertheless, he must
in time gain a handsome profit on the sum he had expended.
As he reflected on this, Michael's spirits rose. He forgot the gloomy
thoughts which had troubled him on the previous evening. He ceased to
think with pity of little Margery and her mother. After all, theirs
was the common lot. Men must die, and women must weep. It was an ill
wind which blew nobody any good, and their wind of trouble had
brought him a good investment. Nothing pleased Michael more than a
prospect of making money. He loved to think that he was accumulating
capital.
He cherished the hope that he should die a rich man, though he had no
one to whom he could leave his savings when death called him hence.
He had never made a will. It seemed so unnecessary to trouble about
that yet. Some day he would make one, of course. He had no intention
of dying intestate and letting the Crown seize his hardly earned
money. No, he thought he would leave his property to charities. He
had a vague idea that in this way he might make amends for an
uncharitable life. But it was rarely that he gave the matter a
serious thought. Why should he, when death seemed so remote?
Michael began to realize money from the professor's books sooner than
he could have anticipated. Only a few days later a gentleman came to
the shop and asked for a copy of an old but still valuable
encyclopædia. Michael remembered that there was one amongst his
newly-acquired stock of books. He looked for the work, and soon
brought forward the two strongly-bound, bulky volumes which formed
it. He was half afraid that his customer would be frightened at the
somewhat high price he felt obliged to ask for them. But the
gentleman made no demur. He seemed so pleased to obtain them, indeed,
that Michael half wished he had asked more.
"I'll take them with me, if you will just put a piece of paper round
them," the gentleman said. "But, stay what is this?"
He had been turning over the pages of one volume when he came upon an
envelope which seemed as if it had been slipped between the leaves to
mark a place.
"That, sir? Oh, I don't suppose it's anything of consequence," said
Michael, as he took it. As he turned it over in his hand, he
perceived, to his astonishment, what appeared to be bank-notes within
the envelope. With his instinctive caution, however, he said nothing,
but thrust the envelope quickly out of sight. The gentleman concluded
that he had found its contents to be trivial, and said nothing more
about it; and as he waited whilst Michael did up the parcel, he gave
not another thought to the matter.
But as soon as his customer had quitted the shop, Michael turned
eagerly to the envelope. What was his amazement when he drew from it
five Bank of England notes for ten pounds each! He could hardly
believe his eyes. He looked at them carefully, holding each note up
to the light. There could be no doubt that they were genuine. Fifty
pounds! What a treasure to light upon!
But how did the notes come to be within the old book? Who had put
them there? Had they belonged to Professor Lavers?
In the first surprise of his discovery, Michael had not a doubt as to
the ownership of the money. His first impulse was to return them to
Mrs. Lavers forthwith. She certainly had the first right to anything
found within the books that he had purchased of her. The thing to be
done was clear enough to Michael in the earliest moments which
followed his great surprise.
But later, as he looked at the notes and shook them in his hand, and
thought of all that might be done with them, various doubts and
possibilities presented themselves to his mind. Who could say that
the professor had put the notes where he found them? The notes were
not fresh and crisp; they were soiled, and one was a little torn.
They might have lain for years within the thick volume. They might
have been there when Professor Lavers bought the encyclopædia.
Michael knew that he bought many of his books second-hand. Besides,
if he had left the notes there, they would have been missed, and
questions asked and search made. Evidently no one had missed the
money.
Why, then, Michael asked himself, need he proclaim what he had found?
If a man found a sum of money, he had a right to keep it till some
one claimed it, and could prove that it was his. If Mrs. Lavers came
and told him that she had lost this money, he would restore it to her
at once. But till then he had a perfect right to retain it. At any
rate, he would do nothing hastily. He would wait and see what
happened. So Michael locked the notes within his desk and tried to go
on with his work as usual. But this was not easy. He could not forget
that the notes were there, though he tried hard to do so. Nor, in
spite of the many excellent arguments by which he strove to persuade
himself that he was acting rightly, could he get the better of an
uneasy sense that he was swerving from the path of rectitude.
A week passed by, and the roll of notes remained within Michael's
desk. He was still trying to persuade himself that he was justified
in retaining them, and he still found that the voice of conscience
would not endorse his arguments. There were moments when that voice
would say to him that his action in keeping money that was not his
was little better than stealing.
One evening Michael Betts, goaded by these irritating suggestions,
started to walk up Gower Street, with the half-formed intention of
calling at Mrs. Lavers' house and asking to see her, that he might
tell her what he had found in the old encyclopædia. The struggle
within him was still so strong, the love of gain contending so
fiercely with the love of integrity, that it is probable he would in
any case have turned back when he reached Mrs. Lavers' house. But
when he came to the door he found the steps littered with straw and
paper; there was no light in the windows, and when he lifted the
knocker, its fall resounded hollowly through the now empty house.
Mrs. Lavers and her children had gone away, and the house was no
longer a home.
Michael's feeling was one of relief.
"Now there's an end to the matter," he said to himself. "She's gone
away, I don't know where, and it's not in my power to tell her. It's
clear she knows nothing about the money, and she does not want it. I
have therefore a perfect right to keep it."
And hugging this thought to his heart, and congratulating himself on
the lucky thing he had done when he purchased the professor's
library, Michael turned homewards.
As he approached his shop, he saw a girl standing beneath the
lamp-post at the corner. She was a girl about fifteen years of age,
with bright eyes showing beneath the thick black fringe which covered
her forehead. Her cheeks were flushed by the cold wind, which,
however, she did not seem to mind as she stood there. A large white
apron covered her dark gown; she wore a violet woollen shawl crossed
over her chest, and a hat with many feathers was on her head. She
turned and looked curiously at Michael as he passed her, eyeing him
so intently that he was conscious of her scrutiny, and resented it.
As he was opening the door of his shop, she came to the head of the
steps and called out in loud, clear tones:
"I say, are you Michael Betts?"
"That is my name, certainly," replied Michael, with dignity, "but I
cannot see what business that is of yours."
"Maybe not. And yet, p'raps it is my business. Maybe I know more of
you than you think for, Michael Betts."
"Then you know I'm a respectable man, and have nothing to say to a
girl like you," returned Michael angrily.
"Respectable, indeed!" cried the girl hotly. "I don't know about your
being so mighty respectable, but I'd have you know, other folks can
be respectable besides yourself. You might practise a little civility
along with your respectability."
Michael closed his door sharply, cutting short this tirade. The girl
made an angry, defiant gesture in his direction, and then ran off.
"The hussy!" said Michael to himself. "How did she get my name so
pat, I wonder? I hope none of the neighbours heard her calling it
out. Anyhow, they all know me for a respectable man."
Suddenly with the thought his face flushed, and a pang of shame smote
him. Was he indeed a respectable man? Would they respect him if they
knew how he had kept the notes? Could he say that in that instance he
had acted perfectly on the square? Alas! His conscience convicted
him. He was no longer satisfied of his own probity. He had given his
self-respect in exchange for those fifty pounds.