In Luck at Last | Page 8

were incased in black cloth shoes, so
that he went noiselessly. His hair was short and white, and he wore a
small white beard; his skin was a rather dark brown; he was, in fact, a
Hindoo, and his name was Lala Roy.
He nodded gravely to Mr. James and walked into the back shop.
"It goes well," he asked, "with the buying and the selling?"
"Surely, Lala, surely."
"A quiet way of buying and selling; a way fit for one who meditates,"
said the Hindoo, looking round. "Tell me, my friend, what ails the child?
Is she sick?"
"The child is well, Lala."
"Her mind wandered this morning. She failed to perceive a simple
method which I tried to teach her. I feared she might be ill."
"She is not ill, my friend, but I think her mind is troubled."

"She is a woman. We are men. There is nothing in the world that is able
to trouble the mind of the philosopher."
"Nothing," said Mr. Emblem manfully, as if he, too, was a disciple.
"Nothing; is there now?"
The stoutness of the assertion was sensibly impaired by the question.
"Not poverty, which is a shadow; nor pain, which passes; nor the loss
of woman's love, which is a gain; nor fall from greatness--nothing.
Nevertheless," his eyes did look anxious in spite of his philosophy,
"this trouble of the child--will it soon be over?"
"I hope this evening," said Mr. Emblem. "Indeed I am sure that it will
be finished this evening."
"If the child had a mother, or a brother, or any protectors but ourselves,
my friend, we might leave her to them. But she has nobody except you
and me. I am glad that she is not ill."
He left Mr. Emblem, and passing through the door of communication
between house and shop, went noiselessly up the stairs.
One more visitor--unusual for so many to call on a September
afternoon. This time it was a youngish man of thirty or so, who stepped
into the shop with an air of business, and, taking no notice at all of the
assistant, walked swiftly into the back shop and shut the door behind
him.
"I thought so," murmured Mr. James. "After he's been counting up his
investments, his lawyer calls. More investments."
Mr. David Chalker was a solicitor and, according to his friends, who
were proud of him, a sharp practitioner. He was, in fact, one of those
members of the profession who, starting with no connection, have to
make business for themselves. This, in London, they do by encouraging
the county court, setting neighbors by the ears, lending money in small
sums, fomenting quarrels, charging commissions, and generally making

themselves a blessing and a boon to the district where they reside. But
chiefly Mr. Chalker occupied himself with lending money.
"Now, Mr. Emblem," he said, not in a menacing tone, but as one who
warns; "now, Mr. Emblem."
"Now, Mr. Chalker," the bookseller repeated mildly.
"What are you going to do for me?"
"I got your usual notice," the old bookseller began, hesitating, "six
months ago."
"Of course you did. Three fifty is the amount. Three fifty, exactly."
"Just so. But I am afraid I am not prepared to pay off the bill of sale.
The interest, as usual, will be ready."
"Of course it will. But this time the principal must be ready too."
"Can't you get another client to find the money?"
"No, I can't. Money is tight, and your security, Mr. Emblem, isn't so
good as it was."
"The furniture is there, and so is the stock."
"Furniture wears out; as for the stock--who knows what that is worth?
All your books together may not be worth fifty pounds, for what I
know."
"Then what am I to do?"
"Find the money yourself. Come, Mr. Emblem, everybody knows--your
grandson himself told me--all the world knows--you've been for years
saving up for your granddaughter. You told Joe only six months
ago--you can't deny it--that whatever happened to you she would be
well off."

Mr. Emblem did not deny the charge. But he ought not to have told this
to his grandson, of all people in the world.
"As for Joe," Mr. Chalker went on, "you are going to do nothing for
him. I know that. But is it business like, Mr. Emblem, to waste good
money which you might have invested for your granddaughter?"
"You do not understand. Mr. Chalker. You really do not, and I cannot
explain. But about this bill of sale--never mind my granddaughter."
"You the aforesaid Richard Emblem"--Mr. Chalker began to recite,
without commas--"have assigned to me David Chalker aforesaid his
executors administrators and assigns all and singular the several
chattels and things specifically described in the schedule hereto
annexed by way of security for