MR. GUYON'S FRIEND.
The astonishment of Mr. Guyon at the liberal treatment which he had
received at the hands of his new creditor was by no means feigned.
That worthy gentleman, in the course of a long career of
impecuniosity, had become acquainted with all the various plans of all
the leading discounters of the city of London; knew what he called
their "whole bag of tricks;" understood the different ways of getting
time or obtaining renewal, according to the various idiosyncrasies of
the holders of his stamped paper; and gave to the subject an amount of
talent, industry, and attention which, otherwise employed, might have
brought him in a very fair income. A very fair income was not a thing
to be despised by a gentleman in Mr. Guyon's position, whose actually
reliable income was represented by one figure, and that a round one. A
sum of five thousand pounds indeed stood in the Consols in Edward
Guyon's name; but on that pleasantly-sounding amount was laid a
_distringas_, a horrible legal instrument preventing its withdrawal by
the said Edward Guyon, while the annual interest, which would at least
have kept him in cigars and gloves, found its way into the clutches of
Messrs. Sharkey and Maw, attorneys-at-law, who had a few years
previously advanced a sufficient sum to free Mr. Guyon from an
unpleasant incarceration in the Queen's Bench, leaving him a few
pounds over to convey himself to the Newmarket Spring Meeting, whither
he proceeded immediately on his release. All that pleasant estate
known as Bedingfield, in the county of Cheshire, with its three
thousand acres of arable land, its salt- and coal-mines, its
since-made railway bit, its punctually-paying tenant, and its various
sources of revenue; which belonged to the Honourable Piers Rankley,
and which every one thought he would bequeath to his cousin, Edward
Guyon, had been left to a distant relative of Piers Rankley's
childless dead wife, one Jacob Long, a member of the Plymouth
Brethren, and originally a hide-dresser in Bermondsey, who under the
influence of qualms of conscience agreed to allow his reprobate
connection Edward Guyon a sum of a thousand a-year, "at his pleasure."
It had been a matter of acute annoyance to Ned Guyon that he had no
legal claim or hold on this allowance; so that it was impossible for
him to mortgage or anticipate it in any way, save by a three months'
acceptance for the amount of the quarterly instalment--less commission
and discount--payable on the day that instalment was due; but in
reality it enabled him to pay renewal fees, to have occasional
ready-money for certain _menus plaisirs_ of his own and little treats
for Kate, and to give such an air of respectability as it possessed to
that old house in Queen Anne Street, the lease of which, with its
dingy furniture and ten pounds for a mourning ring, had been his sole
legacy from Piers Rankley.
But no income, however fair, would have tempted Mr. Guyon to undertake
any honest work, or, as he phrased it, any "d--d low ungentlemanlike
slavery;" and the consequence was that, what with an accumulation of
gambling-table (he was a member of the Nob and Heels Club, where they
play whist for twenty-four hours at a sitting, pound points and a
tenner on the rub) and turf debts, he was just at the time of his
introduction into this story in a really desperate condition. It had
been an unlucky season with him. His racing information had been bad
throughout. Commencing ill last Chester, he had been hard hit at
Epsom, had dropped more money at Ascot, and could only pull off a
stake at the coming Doncaster by a most unlikely fluke. He had had
frightful ill-luck at cards. Acknowledged to be one of the best
whist-players of the day, he had scarcely held a trump since the
winter, and had been beaten by the merest tyros. That very acceptance,
which his new acquaintance Streightley held, had been given to
Davidson for a card debt; and Guyon had forgotten all about it,
having, contrary to his usual custom, omitted to enter it in his
book. However, that was staved off for the present; and the few words
which he had had with his daughter on the subject had opened a new
well-spring of life in Mr. Guyon's breast. If what Kate surmised, or
rather half hinted at, were true--and, with all her pride and
wilfulness, she had wonderful common-sense and shrewdness--it might,
with judicious management, be turned to wondrous advantage. It was but
in embryo yet, to be sure; but, with Kate's beauty and his own tact,
it could be brought off at any moment, and the value of it would
be--well, he would see at once what the value of it would be by
representing it as a certainty to his chief creditor and principal
discount-agent, Mr. Daniel Thacker.
Who was Mr. Daniel Thacker? If you had been heir to an entailed
estate, with as large a taste for pleasure and as limited resources as
such heirs usually possess; if you had been an officer in either of
the Guards regiments, or any of the crack _corps_; if you had been a
member of any of the West-end government offices, with fast
tendencies; or an author; or an actor frequenting fast society; or a
theatrical manager; or a pretty _coryphée_ fond of suppers and
admiration,--you would not have had to ask the question; for without
doubt you would have possessed Mr. Thacker's acquaintance. A man
combining the sharpest practice (in a gentlemanly way) as a
bill-discounter with the keenest pursuit of pleasure of a strong,
full-flavoured, not to say of a gross kind, was Mr. Thacker. A man who
made cent per cent of his money by judicious investment, and who at
the same time "parted" freely; living in capital chambers in St.
James's Street, keeping horses and carriages, entertaining frequently
and well, having an Opera-stall for himself and frequently an
Opera-box for a female friend, visiting the theatres, riding to
hounds, and carrying out every thing he attempted in very excellent
style. Life seemed a broad and pleasantly-turfed path for Mr. Daniel
Thacker, down which he could stroll in his easy polished boots without
the smallest stumbling-block to cause him annoyance. But there was one
thing which wrung and chafed him, which he could never shut out from
his happiest hour, which proclaimed itself whenever he looked in the
glass (which was not seldom), which lay like a hideous pitfall for Mr.
Thacker's friends, into which they were perpetually tumbling and
coming out covered with inarticulate excuses, which pointed the
sarcasm of little boys in the streets at first overwhelmed by his
splendour, and edged the repartee of insolent cabmen, to whom he
called to clear the way for his high-stepping steeds,--a fact which
nothing could hide, a brand which no money could obliterate;--Mr.
Daniel Thacker was an unmistakable Jew. Unmistakable! as unmistakable
as if he had retained his old family name of Hart; as if he had
remained in his old family neighbourhood of St. Mary Axe; as if he had
continued his old family occupation of contracting with the government
for the supply of rum and lemons for the navy, and uniforms for the
postmen. In that choice neighbourhood, and out of those apparently not
very meaty contracts, had old Simeon Hart, Daniel's uncle, made all
the wealth which he bequeathed to his nephew; and when, long before
the old gentleman's decease, the young man's aspirations led him to
declare to his senior that he thought the Hebraic name stood in their
way in certain matters of business, and that he had some idea of
taking some less-recognisable cognomen,--the old gentleman remarked,
not without a touch of sarcasm in his voice, "Do ath you like, Daniel,
ma tear; do ath you like. You're a threwd lad, and are thure to turn
out right; but underthand one thing, ma tear,--you may change your
name if you like, but you'll never be able to change your nothe." Mr.
Simeon Hart was right; nothing short of cutting off that feature
could have disguised Mr. Daniel Thacker's nationality. He was as
distinctly marked as is the African; and though, with the addition of
splendid sparkling black eyes, bright scarlet lips, a quantity of
tightly-curling hair, and a fine flowing beard, he passed for a
handsome man among certain of the other sex, there was no man to
whom he had ever rendered a service--and he was in the main a
kindly-disposed fellow so far as his profession permitted--but set him
down for a "d--d Jew."
He never forgot this, it was never absent from his thoughts. If he saw
any one regarding him attentively, he felt at once what they were
thinking about; it haunted him in the theatre, in society, wherever
there was a chance of casual mention of his forsworn race. He had
tried to laugh it over in his business discount-dealings with
money-borrowers, asking them in a light and airy manner "why they came
to the Jews," of whom they must have had such serious warnings: but
the raillery always fell flat and heavy; and sometimes, from cubs of
fashion, produced unintentional clumsy sarcasms which stung him to the
quick. The renegade paid the penalty of his cowardice. With the
blunted notions of an unrefined mind, he thought that the prejudice
was levelled at his race, not at the character which the dealings of
some of his nation had won for it, and which he himself was
supporting. In his blindness he ignored the fact that amongst all
those whose good word was worth having, the prejudice had died out;
that the names of certain proud old Jewish families, who could trace
their pedigree far beyond the barber-surgeon or border-robber founders
of Norman or Scottish families, were honoured amongst the honoured;
and that in any case a man who, brought into contact with a set
socially superior to his own, took up his position calmly on the
strength of his own acquirements, be these what they might, was
received with a courtesy and a kindness which were naturally
refused to the most glowing impostor. With Mr. Guyon Thacker had
long had extensive dealings--dealings which had extended over a long
course of years; but of late he had been a little doubtful of his
client's solvency, a little delicate in the matter of renewals and
holdings-over; and with a clouded brow he heard from his clerk the
announcement that Mr. Guyon was waiting to see him in the ante-room.
He reflected for a moment, and seemed half disposed to deny himself to
his visitor; then carefully shutting the right-hand drawer of his
desk, in which he kept his checkbook, and placing the morocco-bound
volume, which was a ledger, but looked like a diary, close by him, he
said, "Show Mr. Guyon in, James; I've just five minutes at his
disposal."
Dressed in the most perfect manner, with all the latest improvements
of fashion sufficiently tempered to his time of life, calm, collected,
bland, and airy, yet with a certain amount of anxiety visible about
his eyes and in the shifting corners of his mouth, Mr. Guyon entered
the apartment and shook hands warmly with his friend.
Mr. Thacker received him civilly but not cordially, and expressed his
hope that he saw Mr. Guyon well.
"Thanks, my dear Thacker," said that sprightly gentleman; "I think I
may say, never in better case. I was getting a little pulled with the
gaieties of the season--we old fellows can't carry it through like you
young ones, you know--and I was, to tell truth, knocking up a bit; but
last week I went down for a couple of days to Maidenhead--Orkney Arms,
Skindle's, you know--where there was a particularly jolly party, all
of them friends of yours, by the way,--Bob Affington and Adèle, and
Dalrymple and O'Dwyer, and Hattenheim and the Marchesa--a droll lot of
people of the right sort--and we had great fun; and it quite set me
up. Every body said they wished you'd been down there."
"Every body's very good," replied Thacker, sufficiently grimly. He
hated hearing of any pleasure which he had not shared. "Every body's
very good; but every body seems to forget that I've my business to
attend to."
"Business, my dear boy," said Mr. Guyon, stretching out his legs and
clasping his lavender-gloves in front of him; "and have we not all
business to transact? I know, for one, that my time is nearly entirely
devoted to business. Case in point, what brings me here to-day?"
"That's exactly what I can't understand," said Thacker with a rather
sardonic smile; "if it had been this day week," he continued,
referring to his ledger, "I should have known at once; because on that
day your acceptance for three hundred and fifty pounds falls due, and
you would have come down to take it up."
"Or to get you to renew," said Guyon insinuatingly.
"O, in that case you would have wasted your visit," replied Thacker;
"that bill has been renewed once, and it is the rule of my house, as
you know very well, never to do these things a second time."
He looked more than serious as he said this; but Mr. Guyon met his
frown with a cheery laugh, and said in his most off-hand manner,
"Well, my dear fellow, then it will be paid. Gad! you look as black as
though thirty thousand instead of three hundred pounds were coming due
from me next week. It's not for three hundred pounds that Ned Guyon,
who has weathered one or two storms in his time, is going to pieces."
"N-no," said Thacker slowly; "but you see, though only three hundred
and fifty are due next week, I hold a great deal of your paper, Mr.
Guyon, in addition to other mortgages and advances on securities
impossible to realise at once, and altogether I--in fact I----"
"Don't hesitate, sir," said Mr. Guyon, rising with a flushed face and
buttoning the lavender glove with a trembling hand, "don't make any
favour of it, I beg. It's been a pure matter of business hitherto, Mr.
Thacker--a pure matter of business, convenient to both of us, though
I'm sure out of respect for you I've endeavoured to import a friendly
element into our negotiations; a friendly element which, I may say,
and indeed was one of the causes of my visit to you to-day; which
might have been the means of--however, since you choose to look upon
Ned Guyon with suspicion, Ned Guyon wishes you good morning." And Mr.
Guyon settled his hat on his head, and was starting off in his usual
easy swagger when he was stopped by the touch of Mr. Thacker's hand on
his arm.
"Stay one minute, my good sir. Don't misunderstand me, if you please.
I simply tell you that an acceptance of yours will be due next week,
an acceptance which you avow your perfect readiness to meet, and you
talk about my looking on you with suspicion. I am perfectly ready to
allow that our relations have been of a business nature; but I thought
that I might take credit for having introduced into them some of the
elements of private friendship. You have done me the honour of dining
with me, and----"
"I have," murmured Guyon absently; "and doosid good dinners they
were."
"And yet you talk about suspicion. This is not fair, Mr. Guyon; this
is any thing but fair."
"'Pon my soul, I didn't mean any harm; didn't, 'pon my life," said Mr.
Gluon; "always found you doosid good fellow, Thacker, and that kind of
thing----"
"And yet you were going away without telling me of something which, if
I understand you rightly, might be to our mutual benefit, and which
you came down expressly to submit to me? Is that so?"
"Dev'lish stoopid and childish of me to take affront so easily, more
particklerly from good feller," said Mr. Guyon. "Yes, I did want to
say word to you upon matter of importance.--matter on which I think
you'll congratulate me."
"Sit down quietly, then, and let's talk it over.--The dry sherry,
Evans, and a biscuit.--Any thing which benefits you interests me, Mr.
Guyon--though all between us is 'pure matter of business,' eh? O,
unkind, sir; very unkind!"
"There! forget that, Thacker, and listen to what I've got to tell you.
You know my daughter,--at least you've seen her," added Mr. Guyon,
with a rather painful recollection of several broad hints which
Thacker had given of his wish for an introduction to Katharine--hints
which Mr. Guyon had always carefully ignored.
"I have seen Miss Guyon," was the cold reply.
"Yes, of course, yes. Strange girl, very reserved, and--afraid of
society."
"Indeed?"
"O very been a great drawback to her; but at last she has consented to
come out, and--well, I don't know that I ought to say it to any one,
but you're a man not likely to break confidence--she's going to make a
splendid match."
"A splendid match, eh? A title?"
"A title? Pooh much better than that! A millionaire! one of the
merchant princes of the City! A man whose name is good on 'Change for
I don't know how much. What do you say to that, Thacker? Ned Guyon's
in luck at last, eh?"
"It sounds very well, so far," said Mr. Thacker quietly, "Might one
venture to ask the name of the modern Croesus?"
"To any one else I should decline, peremptorily decline to give it;
but it's different with you, Thacker; you're an old friend. The
gentleman's name is Streightley--of the firm of Streightley and Son."
"Is it, by Jove!" cried Mr. Thacker, startled out of his usual
quiescence. "Bullion Lane?--I know him well--by repute, that is to
say, not personally. If you've hooked--I beg your pardon--if Mr.
Streightley is going to marry Miss Guyon, you've done a splendid
stroke of business."
"You think so?"
"Think so--I'm sure of it. They say that there's no more far-seeing
man in the City, and his profits must be tre-mendous."
"Well, that's the man. Now look here, Thacker, I'm open and aboveboard
with you, as two men of the world, or rather two men of honour. Not
the same thing, eh?" and the old man's eye twinkled; "should be. This
thing is well on, a little more will bring it to completion. One
mustn't, as they say, spoil the ship for a pennor'th of tar, eh? One
mustn't let a fine chance slip through one's fingers for want of a
little gold-dust to put on one's hands to render the grip secure, eh?"
"I see your drift," said Thacker; "but you must speak more plainly."
"More plainly to you?" said Mr. Guyon in a whisper--unconsciously each
man had lowered his voice. "Well, what I mean is this. If this scheme
turns out well, as it will undoubtedly, if it be only properly carried
out,--well--Katharine is devoted to me, she will rule her husband--O,
never fear, she has the spirit of a dozen women!--and I shall be in
clover once more, with all my arrears cleared off, and a handsome
annuity! But the thing must be properly managed. Streightley must not
take fright at any aspect of poverty, or want of means rather; he must
not for an instant imagine that I am in any way hampered" (the thought
of the 180_l_. bill flashed across him, but he never changed
countenance); "and he must be properly entertained; and Katharine must
have a proper _trousseau_. He's not the man to speak about
settlements," added Mr. Guyon; "and if he did, he must be told that
there would be nothing until my death."
"And how is 'the thing to be properly managed,' and all the rest of it
done?"
"I only know one way--and that is----"
"Speak out; you're not generally reticent on the score of modesty, Mr.
Guyon."
"Well--that is--by you're holding over the three hundred and fifty due
next week, and making me a further advance of--say a thousand, payable
three months after my daughter's wedding-day."
Mr. Thacker was silent for a few minutes, nor could Mr. Guyon,
intently scanning his face, derive the smallest idea from its
expression. Then he made a few rapid calculations on the blotting-pad
in front of him, and said:
"You play for a big stake, Mr. Guyon, and don't stick at asking
trifles from your friends. Now, I like a big game; it at once invests
any scheme with an interest for me which I cannot give to mere
pottering petty hazards. And I don't say that I won't help you in
this--on certain terms--only----"
"Your terms will be your own, my good fellow," cried Guyon, his eye
sparkling at the thought of success. "But I don't like that 'only.'
What is it? Only what?"
"Only that I should like to be introduced to Mr. Streightley, and have
a little talk with him; of course not on the subject under
consideration, but on general topics, just to get an idea of him, you
know. It's a large sum to advance, in addition to outstanding matters;
and I'm a man of business, you know, Guyon, and like to see my way in
these things."
"All right. Come down with me to the City, and we'll hunt him up in
his den."
"No; I think not. We business-men don't like being hunted up in our
dens, as you call them, unless our visitors bring us a carcass or two
to growl over. You go over and see Streightley, and bring him here to
lunch to-morrow at two. I leave you to find the excuse; your ready wit
serves you always in such matters."
There was a tinge of sarcasm in Mr. Thacker's voice as he uttered
these last words, but Mr. Guyon was in far too excited a state to
perceive it. So he took his leave with much exuberant hand-shaking,
and started off with much self-complacency. After his departure Mr.
Thacker sat for some little time, leaning his head on his hands and
his elbows on the desk, immersed in thought. "He's an unscrupulous
vagabond, is Guyon!" said he to himself after a pause. "He's going to
sell that handsome daughter of his, as he would a bit of land, or a
diamond-ring, or a reversion under a will, or any thing that would
bring him money. A determined heartless dog! But he seems to have
either played his cards well or to have had great luck in hooking so
big a fish as Streightley. Robert Streightley! Yes, yes; they say he
pulled the Ocean Marine through when Overend Gurneys had given them up
and the knowing ones looked for an immediate windup, and now their
shares are at 13 premium, and there are no end of the clever things
he's done. He might be useful to me, might put me up to two or three
wrinkles in the City, where all is big and where one's own natural
talent has some chance of showing itself. Hitherto I've been pottering
on with hard-up swells, and men of the Guyon stamp--safe business
enough, and remunerative so far as it goes; pleasant too in its
introductions to good people; but I know enough people now, and must
look to making money as the chief thing. And this Streightley is the
very man who could help me in such a matter. If I now see him, I'll
back myself to read him like a book, and then I'll see how far this
investment of Guyon's is worth my backing."
A telegram found by Mr. Thacker on his arrival at business the next
morning announced that Mr. Guyon and Mr. Streightley would lunch with
him that day; and at two o'clock the meal was on the table and the
_convives_ were assembled. In addition to Guyon, Streightley,
and the host, there were Lord Bollindar, a pleasant old nobleman,
younger brother of a deceased and uncle to a live duke, who had a
limited income of two hundred a-year and lived at the rate of two
thousand--never owing a penny--on the strength of the handles to his
name and a perennial flow of small talk; Sir Harvey Falmer, a
lieutenant in the 2d Life Guards, who had dealings with Mr. Thacker,
and who was kept to lunch on the strength of a recently negotiated
bill; Mr. Wuff of the Theatre Royal, Hatton Garden; and Mr. Tocsin,
Q.C., the celebrated Old Bailey barrister. The lunch was admirable in
itself and admirably served; and after the champagne had circulated
freely, the conversation, which at first had been rather slow,
improved considerably.
"Doosid good champagne!" said Sir Harvey Falmer, tossing off his
glassful; "that's what I always say about you, Thacker; when you give
a man a drink, it's a good drink, and you give it him; don't stick it
in--swipes and gooseberry, you know--as part of your balance."
Mr. Thacker smiled somewhat ghastlily at this witticism; but Lord
Bollindar came to the rescue by saying, "Good, good! devilish smart,
Falmer! but you fellas are in clover now. Why, I reckleckt the
Dook--you reckleckt the Dook, Mr. Streightley?"
"I--I beg your pardon--the Duke?"
"Dook of Wellington I mean. He used to say, 'Hang your still
champagne!'--only his Grace used a stronger term--'Hang your still
champagne! Champagne without froth is like man without woman!' Said so
indeed, begad!"
"Did he indeed?" said Mr. Tocsin in his strident voice: "I should have
liked to have had his Grace under cross-examination to prove that."
"I don't think you'd have made much of him, Tocsin," said Mr. Thacker,
"What do you think, Mr. Streightley?"
"I? I can't say, of course, so far as my knowledge of his Grace was
concerned; but I'm sure--that--the presence of ladies elevates--and
refines--and----"
"Of course it does," cried Mr. Wuff. "Put on a fellow--I mean a male
fellow--to dance, and see where you are. Patron of mine--noble lord
who shall be nameless--said to me the other night, 'Never again, Wuff;
never again. Many petticoats as you like; but if ever I see again a
fellow in a low-necked dress with grapes in his hair dancing at your
theatre, damme, I leave the house.'"
"The sentiment did him honour, whoever he was," said Mr. Tocsin. "I
don't want to pry into your secrets, Wuff, but the man was right, and
spoke like--a man. What is it nerves to our best efforts? What is it
makes us exert ourselves? Not the thought of the jury--I speak for
myself--not the thought that we are--are--bending the minds of a few
stupid men in--in a box; but the feeling that we are looked up to and
gaining renown in the eyes of--of--those bright eyes which we wish to
shine in delight upon our labours."
"Bravo!" cried Sir Harvey Falmer, who was rapidly falling into a
maudlin state.
"Look at our friend here," said Lord Bollindar, pointing to
Streightley; "one of--as I'm given to understand; never had the
pleasure of meeting him before--pillars of British commerce. Ask him
what prompts his men--Jack Tars and all that kind of thing--to brave
storms and billows and typhoons, and whatever they're called, and
carry British commerce from pole to pole. Is it the mere paltry
gain, wages, advance-rate, whatever it is? No; the poet, what's
his name?--Dibdin--has told us different: Jack's delight is lovely
Nan,--And the wind that blows,--And mill that goes,--And lass that
loves a sailor--and all that."
"There can, I think," said Streightley, "be little doubt that the
influence of a--a wife--can scarcely be overrated. I--I think," he
added in a lower tone to Mr. Guyon, who was his next neighbour, "that
I've not sufficiently appreciated feminine influence; but that is a
fault which can be remedied, eh?" And he said this rather nervously.
"To a man with your advantages, my dear boy," said Guyon, "delay,
instead of being dangerous, has been, I may say, a safeguard. I was
making this very remark--for, curiously enough, I've taken a strong
interest in you--to my daughter this morning, and she perfectly agreed
with me."
This for a sample of the conversation. When his guests had gone, Mr.
Thacker stood looking at but not seeing the _débris_ of the banquet.
He was calmly feeling his chin with his hand, and saying to himself,
"So far so good. The man is weak as water, and seems inclined to mould
himself as old Guyon pleases. But I must have a look at the girl
before I throw myself into the scales."