Mr. Sheldrake pays Muzzy two pounds fifteen shillings, retaining the odd crown for interest, and the old man slouches out of the room and into the streets, and when he is near a favourite public-house, gives the lie direct to his earnest words.
No one who knew him had ever seen him take a glass of liquor at a public-house bar. His enjoyment was indulged in secretly. He would linger about the public-house where he bought his liquor until a small bar marked "private" was empty; and then he would slink in, and, without a word, take a bottle and place it upon the counter, casting apprehensive looks at the door lest any one should come in and detect him. The barman, knowing his wants, would fill the bottle. If Muzzy was rich, he would produce a second bottle from another pocket, this the barman would also fill. Quickly placing the bottles in his pocket, Muzzy would lay upon the counter the exact price of the liquor (having provided himself beforehand with the necessary change), and glide swiftly away. Hugging the bottles to his breast, hiding them so that no one should see, or even, as he believed, suspect, Muzzy would make his way to his garret, and lock the door. Then he would experience thrills of pleasure at the prospect before him, and he would sit and drink and drink and mumble until every drop was gone; then he would sigh and wish for more.
Such was the bad sweetness which life contained for this ill-starred man.
CHAPTER XV
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.