SUGGESTS THE DOUBT WHETHER EVERY FRIEND IN NEED IS A
FRIEND INDEED.
"Con," said Mr. Sheldrake, "I want you to assist me in a private
little matter of my own, and to ask no questions."
"Fire away, governor," was Con's rejoinder.
"A young man will call upon you in half an hour, with one of my cards,
on which I have written, 'Do what you can for the bearer, a friend of
mine.' He wants to borrow some money."
"And I am to lend it to him. How much?"
"Stop a bit. He wants to borrow money; he is in difficulties. Backed
Christopher Sly, and lost; he's in a mess, and I want to do him a good
turn. He _must_ have the money, so you can put the screw upon him."
"What interest shall I charge him?"
"Whatever you like. It will be as well to make it something handsome;
he will agree to anything so long as he can get the money."
"They generally do agree to anything," observed Con, sagely; "it makes
me laugh to see their long faces sometimes. What security can he
give?"
"None, I expect. You'll have to take his bill."
"Is it to be a long dated bill?"
"No, short; not longer than three months. I don't expect he'll be able
to pay it when its due, but that's my affair."
This was so contrary to Mr. Sheldrake's general mode of procedure,
that Con gave a low whistle--a whistle of curious inquiry, which
expressed, "What's his little game, I wonder?" Mr. Sheldrake did not
enlighten him, but proceeded with his instructions:
"He'll tell you, of course, that he can't give you any security, and
you'll tell him, of course, that it will be impossible for you to lend
him money under the circumstances. But don't let him go away. Angle
with him until I come. I shall stroll in upon you quite accidentally,
and you can take your cue from me. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly."
"You can speak about me as if I was a soft-hearted, good-natured
fellow, always too ready to do a good turn. I've been taken in by a
great many persons, and you don't feel inclined to let me be taken in
again, or to follow my example. My great fault is that I think too
well of people: I believe that everybody is as honest and
straightforward as I am myself. I think that I am as sharp and cunning
as any man, but you know better. Directly my susceptibilities are
appealed to, I am as soft as a pat of butter."
Con laughed heartily, and Mr. Sheldrake continued:
"You and I are not in anyway connected in business, you know, and if
you feel inclined to do anything for him, it is only upon my
recommendation."
"O, of course," said Con, still laughing.
"I persuaded you to do a good turn to a fellow last year, who turned
out to be a scamp. You didn't lose any money by the transaction--I
took the liability upon myself, and paid you out of my own pocket,
although you hadn't the slightest claim upon me. It was only the week
before last that I took a poor man out of prison, and paid his debts
for him, and set him upon his legs again, because he had a wife and
family. But I don't like these things mentioned to my face. I'm the
sort of man who goes about doing all sorts of kind actions on the
quiet."
Con opened his eyes wider, and still wondered what on earth Mr.
Sheldrake's little game was.
"Then, of course, you're very short of money yourself," said Mr.
Sheldrake, in self-satisfied tones; for if there was one thing in the
world he had confidence in more than another, it was in his own
cunning and cleverness; he was always shaking hands with himself.
"You've had losses lately; all your money's locked up, and you've been
disappointed in people not keeping their promises; besides, it's a
very risky affair, lending upon personal security, especially to a man
you don't know anything of--and you're generally disinclined to
accommodate him until I make my appearance."
Con gave a nod of acquiescence to each of these instructions, and Mr.
Sheldrake presently took his departure, and left the spider waiting
for the fly.
He had not long to wait. The fly soon made his appearance.
A very anxious-looking fly indeed. His countenance betokened nothing
but care and overwhelming trouble; looking very much like a fly who
had not had a wink of sleep last night--which, indeed, was the fact.
Con Staveley received the card which the fly handed to him, and waved
his hand to a seat. Alfred sat down, holding his hat between his legs,
and looked nervously at Con Staveley; but finding no comfort in that
gentleman's face, looked into his hat with a like result. He was
terribly distressed. It seemed to him that life and death hung upon
the words of the judge in whose presence he was sitting.
Con Staveley read the words on the card aloud:
"'Do what you can for the bearer, a friend of mine.' Happy to see you.
Any friend of Mr. Sheldrake is a friend of mine. What can I do for
you?"
Although his tone infused hope into Alfred's breast, the young man did
not know how to commence. Observing his hesitation, Con rattled on,
without waiting for him to speak:
"Sheldrake's a fine fellow. A little too easy, a little too confiding,
but a fine fellow for all that. Doesn't look sharp enough after
Number One, though; and that doesn't do nowadays. You can take care of
yourself, I'll be bound; you look after Number One."
With dry lips, Alfred muttered assent to the proposition.
"Do you want to back a horse for the Cambridgeshire or the
Cesarewitch? Now's the time; the early bird catches the worm. I'll
give you sixty-six to one against any horse you can name. Spot the
winner and put a few tenners on. There's an old fellow I know spotted
Taraban yesterday for the Northumberland Plate. What do you think he
did, the old fool? Backed it for a crown. No pluck. He might have won
a heap of money, and now the chance has gone. About this time last
year a fellow came in--just as you have done now--asked about a horse
for the Cambridgeshire--wanted to know the odds. A hundred to one I
offered. 'I'll take it to fifty sovs.,' he said. I gave it to him,
five thousand to fifty. Hanged if the horse didn't win, with a stone
in hand, and I was nicked. He had pluck, that fellow, and took my
cheque for five thou. with a grin on his face. He's one of the
leviathans now--had a fifty thousand book on the Derby. Is that _your_
little game? Have you come to take the odds? Well, I'll give them to
you, to any amount."
"No," Alfred managed to say, "that isn't the business I've come upon."
"Well, what is it, then?" inquired free-and-easy Con. "Fire away. Do
anything I can for a friend of Sheldrake's."
"He told me to make a clean breast of it," said Alfred, playing
nervously with his hat; and Con Staveley thought, "What a soft young
fool he is!" "The fact is, I've been out of luck lately. I backed the
wrong horse yesterday."
"Christopher Sly?"
"Yes; it looked like a moral certainty for him."
"It _was_ a sell," observed Con gravely. "Every one of the prophets
went for him. I was bit myself--heavily, too; so you're not alone in
the boat."
Alfred derived no consolation from this statement. The reverse,
indeed. For the fact that the man he was about to ask to assist him
had lost heavily on the same race, rendered his chance of obtaining
money a less hopeful one than it had seemed. But he spurred on
desperately.
"There wasn't one of the prophets or tipsters that went in for
Taraban. They all gave Christopher Sly. And if you can't believe them,
whom are you to believe? All the morning papers gave Christopher Sly
as the absolute winner--all the sporting papers too. Nothing else had
a chance. I sent five shillings to Horace St. John----"
"Who is he?" asked Con innocently.
"A gentleman. He advertises in the sporting papers. I sent him five
shillings for the tip, and got it--Christopher Sly. He sent me a
voucher with the tip--£20 to £2 against Christopher Sly. The horse was
then at only three to one, and he gave me ten to one. I sent him the
£2, and was afraid he would return it to me, because he had given me
too long odds. But he didn't; it was all right, I thought. I should
have won a little hatful of money if Christopher Sly had come in
first--but you know how it was."
Alfred spoke fretfully, and without the slightest control over his
tongue. He felt that he was damaging the probable success of his
errand by whining about his misfortunes, but he could not help
himself. It was a necessity especially belonging to his nature to
endeavour to justify himself in his own eyes by attempting to prove
what an exceptionally unfortunate person he was. This is one of the
idiosyncrasies of weak and selfish natures, which seek to find comfort
in the fiction that all the world is in a conspiracy against them, and
that their misfortunes are caused, not by their own weakness and
selfishness, but by a predetermined effort on the part of everybody
and everything to persecute and crush them.
"Well, I told all this to my friend Mr. Sheldrake," continued Alfred,
looking moodily at the floor, for Con Staveley's silence boded no good
result, "and told him I was in a hole, and wanted to borrow some
money. He would have lent it to me in a minute if he had had it--he
told me so--but he is short himself."
"And always will be short," retorted Con grumblingly, "if he doesn't
give up being so soft-hearted. What with lending here and lending
there, taking this man out of prison and paying his debts, and setting
that man on his legs, he'll find himself in a mess one of these fine
days. The joke of it is, that he thinks himself the smartest man in
London."
"He says to me," continued Alfred with a fainting heart, "'Go to my
friend Mr. Staveley, and take my card; he'll do what you want upon my
recommendation.' So I've come. You _do_ lend money, don't you?"
"Yes, I lend money to responsible people," replied Con; "I've got a
good deal of money put into my hand for investment, and to lend out at
fair interest----"
"I'll pay any interest," said Alfred eagerly.
"But then of course my hands are tied so far as regards money that
doesn't belong to me. How much do you want?"
"Fifty pounds I can manage with."
"What security can you give?"
"Security!" stammered Alfred.
"Yes, this is a matter of business. You don't expect any
man to lend you money without security, do you? Have you got
prospects--expectations? I've lent money to a good many swells upon
their own and their friends' names, but then they have expectations,
and are sure to come into property; so that the money is certain to be
paid one day."
"I haven't any expectations that I know of," said Alfred gloomily:
"but I'll be sure to pay you. Do you think I'd borrow money without
being sure that I can pay it back?"
"I don't know," responded Con dryly; "some people do. What do you want
the money for? To pay betting debts? They're not recoverable in law;
and even if they were, isn't it as well for you to owe money to one
man as to another?"
"But they're debts of honour," said Alfred, with a not uncommon but
very miserable assumption of high-mindedness; "no gentleman can afford
not to pay his debts of honour."
"It seems you can't afford to pay them," observed Con mercilessly,
somewhat relishing the sport, "or you wouldn't come to me."
If he had not been in a very miserable plight indeed, Alfred would
have replied hotly. But he was frightened and completely cowed. In
truth, if Con Staveley failed him, he did not know which way to turn.
And he dared not confess the truth; he dared not confess that, taking
advantage of his position in the office of his employers, he had
committed the common indiscretion of "borrowing" money for a few days.
If he did not replace it at once----well, he was terrified to think
what might occur. The minutes were very precious to him. Discovery
hung above him on a hair; any moment it might fall and overwhelm him.
These reflections kept him silent, and he suffered a very agony of
terror and remorse in the slight pause that followed Con Staveley's
taunt.
"The only way in which you can get the money is by giving a bill for
it--to be paid in three months, say. Have you got a responsible
friend--somebody who is worth something--who will endorse the bill for
you!"
"No," faltered Alfred, "I don't know anybody, except Mr. Sheldrake."
"I don't want his name--he's good enough for any amount--but he would
most likely have to pay the bill when it's due (excuse my saying so),
and it wouldn't be friendly on my part to take it from him. The same
thing occurred last year. I accommodated a friend of his with three
hundred pounds; I did it only because Sheldrake persuaded me. Well,
the fellow didn't pay, and Sheldrake insisted on cashing up, though I
hadn't the slightest claim upon him. There's not one man in ten
thousand would have done it; but it was like Sheldrake all over. I
took the money, of course; it was business, you know, but it wasn't
friendly. I don't want the same thing to occur again. Sheldrake thinks
too well of people. He has a right to do as he pleases with his money,
but hang me if I like to be a party to his throwing it away. Then,
what do I know of you? It isn't reasonable of Sheldrake to expect me
to do this; upon my soul it isn't! Are you in business? Is your father
worth anything? Would he cash up if you put the screw on?"
"I have no father," said Alfred, his heart growing fainter and
fainter, "and I'm not in business. I'm a clerk."
"O, you're in a situation, I suppose."
"Yes, I'm a clerk at Tickle and Flint's."
"Salary?"
"Fifteen shillings a week."
At mention of which amount Con shifted some books from one part of the
table to another with very decided action, as if that settled the
matter.
"I can put some of it by," exclaimed Alfred imploringly. "I can put it
all by, if you'll let me have fifty pounds for three months!"
"Fifteen shillings a week wouldn't pay the interest, my boy," was
Con's rejoinder. "Wouldn't cover risk."
"Then Alfred suddenly thought of Lily. If he mentioned her, it might
improve his standing in Con Staveley's estimation.
"My sister earns money," he said in a shamefaced manner.
"Indeed," very carelessly from Con. "What does she do?"
"She sings at the Royal White Rose Music-hall. Her name's Lily.
Perhaps you've heard her?"
Thought Con, of Sheldrake, "That is your little game, eh?" "O, yes,
I've heard her. So she's your sister. A pretty girl--I'd like to know
her. But about this fifty pounds you want--I really don't think I can
do it for you. Very sorry--very sorry, indeed, because you're a friend
of Sheldrake's; but to speak candidly" (which he did, with a display
of white teeth) "it isn't good enough. Best to be candid, you know."
Alfred's weak hand was played out. The game was lost. He sat, looking
despairingly at the floor. What should he do? Run away? Try to hide
himself? That would draw attention to him, and bring exposure at once.
Besides, where would he be safe from the detectives? He almost groaned
aloud as he thought. The words of his grandfather came to him "Once
more I pray God to keep you from crime! Once more I say that the
remorse of a too late repentance is the bitterest of experiences!" He
was suffering this bitterest of experiences now, and felt the truth of
his grandfather's words. And yet he took credit to himself for the
good resolution he had come to, of being a better man if Christopher
Sly had won the Northumberland Plate. Whose fault was it that the
horse had not won, and that this monstrous undeserved misfortune had
come upon him? Not his. He had done his best: but he had been
deceived, swindled, robbed; those false prophets had ruined him, and
all the world was in a conspiracy against him. In this way he threw
the blame off his own shoulders, and felt no shadow of self-reproach
because he had been weak enough to allow himself to be duped by
tricksters. In the midst of his self-tormenting the door opened, and
he heard, in a pleasant voice,
"Good-day, Staveley. How are things? Ah, Alf, you here! I thought it
likely I might catch you."
Alfred looked up, and Mr. Sheldrake smiled familiarly upon him. "Like
Paul Pry, I hope I don't intrude," said Mr. Sheldrake. "Perhaps I'm
interrupting business."
"O, no," replied Con; "our business is over."
"Well, _that's_ all right!" and Mr. Sheldrake clapped Alfred on the
shoulder gaily.
Alfred winced. He was labouring under a sense of injury, not so much
at the present moment on account of Con Staveley's refusal to
accommodate him, as on account of Sheldrake's recommending him to a
man who had failed him in this desperate crisis. But he could not
afford to quarrel with any man now; all his courage and insolence were
gone. He said, almost humbly,
"Mr. Staveley won't lend me the money."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Sheldrake. "Not on my recommendation. Come,
come, Staveley, this isn't friendly, you know."
"I think it is," replied Con; "there isn't a money-lender in London
would let him have what he wants. Why, he can't even give security!
Can't even give a good name at the back of a bill!"
"Isn't my name good enough?"
"For any amount; but we're friends, and I'm not to see you let in with
my eyes open----"
"That's my affair," said Mr. Sheldrake warmly.
"It happens to be mine as well. I don't want to take money of my
friends. Remember the three hundred you had to pay me last year, and
the hundred and twenty for that poor woman----"
"Shut up!" interrupted Mr. Sheldrake. "Let my affairs alone. You've no
business to mention those things. You know I don't like it. How much
did you ask Mr. Staveley for, Alfred?"
"Fifty pounds; that's all. For three months only."
"A paltry fifty pounds!" exclaimed Mr. Sheldrake scornfully. "Why, you
might win it on a horse fifty times over in five minutes! There's the
Goodwood Cup and the Stakes going to be run for presently----"
"I've got the tip for the Cup," cried Alfred eagerly; "I can get
thirty to one about it to-day. I'll pay Mr. Staveley directly the race
is over, and any interest he likes to charge, and I'll give him the
tip, too, if he likes." (Whereat something very like a grin appeared
on Con's face.) "The horse only carries five stone seven. He can't
lose!"
"There, Staveley, do you hear that?" asked Mr. Sheldrake in a
reproachful tone. "Isn't that good enough for you?"
Con Staveley shrugged his shoulders, indicating that it was not good
enough for him.
"Curse me if I don't feel inclined to turn nasty!" then exclaimed Mr.
Sheldrake. "If I had the money to spare, I'd lend it to him on the
spot. But I shall be short for the next month."
"Can't your friend wait till then?"
With quivering lips, Alfred said, No; "he _must_ have the money at
once."
"And you'll let him have it," said Mr. Sheldrake.
"I don't feel at all inclined to," replied Con.
Here Mr. Sheldrake took up his hat in pretended indignation, and
declared if this was friendship, curse him, he didn't want any more of
it! and otherwise expressed himself to the same effect in terms so
exceedingly warm, that Con Staveley began to lose patience.
"Look here, Sheldrake," he retorted; "be reasonable. I'm doing this
for your protection, and you're infernally ungrateful. Your friend
wants the money to pay racing debts with; well, I told him before you
came in, that racing debts are not recoverable by law, so that whoever
he owes the money to _must_ wait until he can pay. Let your friend pay
his debts after the Goodwood Cup is run for; he'll be all right then.
As for friendship, you're a little too hard on me. You know fifty
pounds is no object to me, and if after what I've said you insist
upon becoming responsible for the sum, I'll let him have it. I can't
say fairer than that. But mind; I warned you."
Mr. Sheldrake seemed impressed by what Con Staveley had said. He
considered a little, and asked if Con could let him have five minutes'
private conversation with Alfred.
"You can have this room," said Con, rising. "I've got some writing to
do in the next. Call me when you have done."
When they were alone, Mr. Sheldrake said,
"After all, Alf, there's something in what Staveley says. Racing debts
are not recoverable. I can understand his feelings very well; he
doesn't know you, or anything about you. He is only anxious to protect
me. I _have_ been let in a good many times by one and another, and
I've paid him money which he has been obliged to take in the way of
business, and which he has lent, on my recommendation, to people I've
wanted to do a good turn for."
"_I_ won't let you in," said Alfred.
"I don't think you will, Alf. If I were in funds, you shouldn't have
had to come to Staveley for the money. But I can't shut my eyes to
what he has said. You must deal a little openly with me; you know I'm
your friend. You've lost this money on Christopher Sly?"
"Yes."
"Why not let the people you've lost it to wait?"
"Because I've paid them already. I had to stake the money in advance."
"You dealt with commission agents, then?"
"Yes."
Mr. Sheldrake hesitated before he asked the next question.
"It wasn't your own money that you staked?"
Alfred did not reply.
"I don't want to press you unfairly, Alf," said Mr. Sheldrake, after a
few moments' study of Alfred's downcast face, "and I don't want you to
say anything you would rather not say. Young fellows often get into
scrapes. I suppose you're in one now?"
"Yes, I'm regularly cornered," replied Alfred. "I wouldn't care so
much for my own sake--but there's Lily. She's fond of me, and it would
break her heart to see me in a mess."
"Lily's heart sha'n't be broken, and you shall get out of your mess,
Alf. I'll stand your friend, as I said I would, and Con Staveley shall
let you have the money before you go."
Alfred looked up, and grasped Mr. Sheldrake's hand. The revulsion of
feeling almost blinded him.
"Mind," continued Mr. Sheldrake, "I do this for Lily's sake, so you
may thank your stars you've got such a sister."
"She is the dearest girl in the world," cried Alfred, his good spirits
returning.
"So she is, and I should like her to think well of me."
"She'll do that, depend upon it. I'll let her know what a friend
you've been to me. You _are_ a trump! I'll pay Mr. Staveley after the
Goodwood Meeting."
That astute person being called in, and Mr. Sheldrake's decision being
communicated to him, the next quarter of an hour was spent in the
drawing-up and signing of documents. Alfred signed everything
unhesitatingly, without reading the papers; he was too overjoyed to
attend to such small formalities. He signed a bill at three months for
seventy-five pounds, and would have signed it for a hundred and
seventy-five, without murmuring at the interest charged. The two
hundred per cent. per annum seemed to him fair enough, and when Con
Staveley gave him the cheque, and the business was concluded, he gaily
asked his friends to come and have a "bottle of fiz," an invitation
which they willingly and gladly accepted. Over the bottle of "fiz"
they indulged in a great deal of merry conversation, and Alfred forgot
his despair and remorse, and once more indulged in visions of shadowy
fortunes, and boasted of the grand things he was going to do.
"I'll show them a trick or two," he said confidently.
Poor fool! Not by such credulous selfish natures as his can tricksters
be tricked and dupers duped. They laugh in his face, and in the face
of stronger than he. Have they not reason? They are stronger than the
law, which is powerless to touch them. Yet it is a strange reflection
that a cunning rogue is allowed to swindle, and a starving woman is
not allowed to beg. But such is the law.