Mr John Sudberry was a successful London merchant. He was also a fat
little man. Moreover, he was a sturdy little man, wore spectacles, and
had a smooth bald head, over which, at the time we introduce him to the
reader, fifty summers had passed, with their corresponding autumns,
winters, and springs. The passage of so many seasons over him appeared
to have exercised a polishing influence on the merchant, for Mr
Sudberry's cranium shone like a billiard-ball. In temperament Mr
Sudberry was sanguine, and full of energy. He could scarcely have been
a successful merchant without these qualities. He was also extremely
violent.
Now, it is necessary here to guard the reader from falling into a
mistake in reference to Mr Sudberry's character. We have said that he
was violent, but it must not be supposed that he was _passionate_. By
no means. He was the most amiable and sweet-tempered of men. His
violence was owing to physical rather than mental causes. He was hasty
in his volitions, impulsive in his actions, madly reckless in his
personal movements. His moral and physical being was capable of only
two conditions--deep repose or wild activity.
At his desk Mr Sudberry was wont to sit motionless like a statue, with
his face buried in his hands and his thoughts busy. When these thoughts
culminated, he would start as if he had received an electric shock,
seize a pen, and, with pursed lips and frowning brows, send it careering
over the paper with harrowing rapidity, squeaking and chirping, (the
pen, not the man), like a small bird with a bad cold. Mr Sudberry used
quills. He was a _tremendous_ writer. He could have reported the
debates of the "House" in long-hand.
The merchant's portrait is not yet finished. He was a peculiar man, and
men of this sort cannot be sketched off in a few lines. Indeed, had he
not been a peculiar man, it would not have been worth while to drag him
thus prominently into notice.
Among other peculiarities in Mr Sudberry's character, he was afflicted
with a chronic tendency to _dab_ his pen into the ink-bottle and split
it to the feather, or double up its point so as to render it
unserviceable. This infirmity, coupled with an uncommon capacity for
upsetting ink-bottles, had induced him to hire a small clerk, whose
principal duties were to mend pens, wipe up ink, and, generally, to
attend to the removal of _debris_.
When Mr Sudberry slept he did it profoundly. When he awoke he did it
with a start and a stare, as if amazed at having caught himself in the
very act of indulging in such weakness. When he washed he puffed, and
gasped, and rubbed, and made such a noise, that one might have supposed
a walrus was engaged in its ablutions. How the skin of his head, face,
and neck stood the towelling it received is incomprehensible! When he
walked he went like an express train; when he sauntered he relapsed into
the slowest possible snail's-pace, but he did not graduate the changes
from one to the other. When he sat down he did so with a crash. The
number of chairs which Mr Sudberry broke in the course of his life
would have filled a goodly-sized concert-room; and the number of
tea-cups which he had swept off tables with the tails of his coat might,
we believe, have set up a moderately ambitious man in the china trade.
There was always a beaming smile on the merchant's countenance, except
when he was engaged in deep thought; then his mouth was pursed and his
brows knitted.
The small clerk was a thin-bodied, weak-minded, timid boy, of about
twelve years of age and of humble origin. He sat at Mr Sudberry's
double desk in the office, opposite and in dangerous proximity to his
master, whom he regarded with great admiration, alarm, and awe.
On a lovely afternoon towards the middle of May, when city men begin to
thirst for a draught of fresh air, and to long for an undignified roll
on the green fields among primroses, butter-cups, and daisies, Mr
Sudberry sat at his desk reading the advertisements in the _Times_.
Suddenly he flung the paper away, hit the desk a sounding blow with his
clinched fist, and exclaimed firmly--
"I'll do it!"
Accustomed though he was to nervous shocks, the small clerk leaped with
more than ordinary tremor off his stool on this occasion, picked up the
paper, laid it at his master's elbow, and sat down again, prepared to
look out--nautically speaking--for more squalls.
Mr Sudberry seized a quill, dabbed it into the ink-bottle, and split
it. Seizing another he dabbed again; the quill stood the shock; the
small clerk ventured a sigh of relief and laid aside the inky napkin
which he had pulled out of his desk expecting an upset, and prepared for
the worst. A note was dashed off in two minutes,--signed, sealed,
addressed, in half a minute, and Mr Sudberry leaped off his stool. His
hat was thrown on his head by a species of sleight of hand, and he
appeared in the outer office suddenly, like a stout Jack-in-the-box.
"I'm away, Mr Jones," (to his head clerk), "and won't be back till
eleven to-morrow morning. Have you the letters ready? I am going round
by the post-office, and will take charge of them."
"They are here, sir," said Mr Jones, in a mild voice.
Mr Jones was a meek man, with a red nose and a humble aspect. He was a
confidential clerk, and much respected by the firm of Sudberry and
Company. In fact, it was generally understood that the business could
not get on without him. His caution was a most salutary counteractive
to Mr Sudberry's recklessness. As for "Co," he was a sleeping partner,
and an absolute nonentity.
Mr Sudberry seized the letters and let them fall, picked them up in
haste, thrust them confusedly into his pocket, and rushed from the room,
knocking over the umbrella-stand in his exit. The sensation left in the
office was that of a dead calm after a sharp squall. The small clerk
breathed freely, and felt that his life was safe for that day.