the payment of the sum of three
hundred and fifty pounds and interest thereon at the rate of eight per
cent. per annum."
"Thank you, Mr. Chalker. I know all that."
"You can't complain, I'm sure. It is five years since you borrowed the
money."
"It was fifty pounds and a box of old law books out of your office, and
I signed a bill for a hundred."
"You forget the circumstances."
"No, I do not. My grandson was a rogue. One does not readily forget
that circumstance. He was also your friend, I remember."
"And I held my tongue."
"I have had no more money from you, and the sum has become three
hundred and fifty."
"Of course you don't understand law, Mr. Emblem. How should you!
But we lawyers don't work for nothing. However it isn't what you got,
but what I am to get. Come, my good sir, it's cutting off your nose to
spite your face. Settle and have done with it, even if it does take a little
slice off your granddaughter's fortune? Now look here"--his voice
became persuasive--"why not take me into your confidence? Make a
friend of me. You want advice; let me advise you. I can get you good
investments--far better than you know anything of--good and safe
investments--at six certain, and sometimes seven and even eight per
cent. Make me your man of business--come now. As for this trumpery
bill of sale--this trifle of three fifty, what is it to you? Nothing--nothing.
And as for your intention to enrich your granddaughter, and cut off
your grandson with a shilling, why I honor you for it--there, though he
was my friend. For Joe deserves it thoroughly. I've told him so, mind.
You ask him. I've told him so a dozen times. I've said: 'The old man's
right, Joe.' Ask him if I haven't."
This was very expansive, but somehow Mr. Emblem did not respond.
Presently, however, he lifted his head.
"I have three weeks still."
"Three weeks still."
"And if I do not find the money within three weeks?"
"Why--but of course you will--but if you do not--I suppose there will
be only one thing left to do--realize the security, sell up--sticks and
books and all."
"Thank you, Mr. Chalker. I will look round me, and--and--do my best.
Good day, Mr. Chalker."
"The best you can do, Mr. Emblem," returned the solicitor, "is to take
me as your adviser. You trust David Chalker."
"Thank you. Good-day, Mr. Chalker."
On his way out, Mr. Chalker stopped for a moment and looked round
the shop.
"How's business?" he asked the assistant.
"Dull, sir," replied Mr. James. "He throws it all away, and neglects his
chances. Naturally, being so rich--"
"So rich, indeed," the solicitor echoed.
"It will be bad for his successor," Mr. James went on, thinking how
much he should himself like to be that successor. "The goodwill won't
be worth half what it ought to be, and the stock is just falling to pieces."
Mr. Chalker looked about him again thoughtfully, and opened his
mouth as if about to ask a question, but said nothing. He remembered,
in time, that the shopman was not likely to know the amount of his
master's capital or investments.
"There isn't a book even in the glass-case that's worth a five-pound
note," continued Mr. James, whispering, "and he don't look about for
purchases any more. Seems to have lost his pluck."
Mr. Chalker returned to the back-shop.
"Within three weeks, Mr. Emblem," he repeated, and then departed.
Mr. Emblem sat in his chair. He had to find three hundred and fifty
pounds in three weeks. No one knew better than himself that this was
impossible. Within three weeks! But, in three weeks, he would open the
packet of letters, and give Iris her inheritance. At least, she would not
suffer. As for himself--He looked round the little back shop, and tried
to recall the fifty years he had spent there, the books he had bought and
sold, the money which had slipped through his fingers, the friends who
had come and gone. Why, as for the books, he seemed to remember
them every one--his joy in the purchase, his pride in possession, and his
grief at letting them go. All the friends gone before him, his trade sunk
to nothing.
"Yet," he murmured, "I thought it would last my time."
But the clock struck six. It was his tea-time. He rose mechanically, and
went upstairs to Iris.
CHAPTER II.
FOX AND WOLF.
Mr. James, left to himself, attempted, in accordance with his daily
custom, to commit a dishonorable action.
That is to say, he first listened carefully to the retreating footsteps of his
master, as he went up the stairs; then he left his table, crept stealthily
into the
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