The worst of it was that, though I scampered through the applicants as
fast as ever they would let me, the number of them, instead of
diminishing, increased. The clamour of their voices filled the house.
Saunders and the maids were becoming alarmed--for the matter of that
so was I. The people swarmed into the house like flies. The downstair
rooms were full, the hall was blocked, the stairway choked, a
continually increasing crowd was on the pavement. Everyone wanted to
see me at once. Judging from the noise quarrels were frequent. I had
heard of the astonishing number of the applications which are received
for an advertised vacant clerkship; judging from results I might have
advertised not for one clerk, but for half a dozen.
"I think," suggested Saunders, pale, though heated, "that we had
better send for the police."
I had just disposed of a man who, after explaining that he had lost a
purse something like twelve months ago, had assured the crowd, from
the top of the stairs, that I was a colourable imitation of a thief,
because I had declined to show him the one which I had found a couple
of days before. He had been followed by an acidulated-looking female,
who, I felt certain, was a tough morsel, and who was eyeing me, as
Saunders spoke, as if I had been a convict at the least.
"Why? Are the people misbehaving?"
Saunders's face was more eloquent than his words.
"I don't believe there'll be much furniture left in the drawing-room
if something isn't done. Cook's locked herself in the kitchen, and
some of the people have gone downstairs--a pretty sort they are! If
they aren't in the plate cupboard, they're in the pantry."
This was pleasant hearing. Before I could speak the acidulated
lady--proving that my diagnosis of her character had not been
unfounded--answered for me.
"And serve you quite right too! I believe that the whole affair's a
swindle. You ought to be made to suffer. I don't believe you've found
a purse at all."
"My dear madam, I assure you that I have!"
"Then why don't you let any of the poor creatures who have lost their
purses have so much as a sight of it? If you have found a purse, why
don't you show it to them like an honest man?" I sighed--the logic of
people who had lost their purses was wonderful. "As for me, I'm not
going through the farce of describing the purse I lost, because I know
very well you haven't got it; but I'll tell you this--I've come all
the way from Hackney, and I've wasted a day, and I don't mean to leave
this house till you've paid me my expenses. I'll teach you to play
tricks with innocent people! And"--she suddenly raised her voice--"if
other people take my advice they will insist upon having their
expenses paid them too!"
Before Saunders or I could interpose she had thrown the door wide
open, and was addressing her, by now, excited audience, as if to the
manner born.
"My good people, I am Sarah Eliza Warren, of Greenbush Villa,
Hackney, and, like yourselves, I have been brought to this house by
what seems to me to amount to false pretences. I don't believe that a
purse has been found at all. If you take my advice you will do as I am
doing--you will insist on being compensated for your loss of time, and
for your out-of-pocket expenditure!"
I plainly perceived that further argument was useless. The idea of
compensating that motley gathering for effecting a burglarious entry
on to my premises was one which was too terrible to contemplate.