The Firm of Girdlestone | Page 4

has
been saved by his industry and thrift. It would be a dangerous precedent
for us to allow pensions to the wives of these sailors, for it would
deprive the others of all motive for laying their money by, and would
indirectly encourage vice and dissipation."
Ezra laughed, and continued to rattle his silver and keys.
"It is not upon this matter that I desired to speak to you," Girdlestone
continued. "It has, however, always been my practice to prefer matters
of business to private affairs, however pressing. John Harston is said to
be dying, and he has sent a message to me saying that he wishes to see
me. It is inconvenient for me to leave the office, but I feel that it is my
Christian duty to obey such a summons. I wish you, therefore, to look
after things until I return."

"I can hardly believe that the news is true," Ezra said, in astonishment.
"There must be some mistake. Why, I spoke to him on 'Change last
Monday."
"It is very sudden," his father answered, taking his broad-brimmed hat
from a peg. "There is no doubt about the fact, however. The doctor says
that there is very little hope that he will survive until evening. It is a
case of malignant typhoid."
"You are very old friends?" Ezra remarked, looking thoughtfully at his
father.
"I have known him since we were boys together," the other replied,
with a slight dry cough, which was the highest note of his limited
emotional gamut. "Your mother, Ezra, died upon the very day that
Harston's wife gave birth to this daughter of his, seventeen years ago.
Mrs. Harston only survived a few days. I have heard him say that,
perhaps, we should also go together. We are in the hands of a higher
Power, however, and it seems that one shall be taken and another left."
"How will the money go if the doctors are right?" Ezra asked keenly.
"Every penny to the girl. She will be an heiress. There are no other
relations that I know of, except the Dimsdales, and they have a fair
fortune of their own. But I must go."
"By the way, malignant typhoid is very catching, is it not?"
"So they say," the merchant said quietly, and strode off through the
counting-house.
Ezra Girdlestone remained behind, stretching his legs In front of the
empty grate. "The governor is a hard nail," he soliloquized, as he stared
down at the shining steel bars. "Depend upon it, though, he feels this
more than he shows. Why, it's the only friend he ever had in the
world--or ever will have, in all probability. However, it's no business of
mine," with which comforting reflection he began to whistle as he
turned over the pages of the private day-book of the firm.

It is possible that his son's surmise was right, and that the gaunt,
unemotional African merchant felt an unwonted heartache as he hailed
a hansom and drove out to his friend's house at Fulham. He and
Harston had been charity schoolboys together, had roughed it together,
risen together, and prospered together. When John Girdlestone was a
raw-boned lad and Harston a chubby-faced urchin, the latter had come
to look upon the other as his champion and guide. There are some
minds which are parasitic in their nature. Alone they have little vitality,
but they love to settle upon some stronger intellect, from which they
may borrow their emotions and conclusions at second-hand. A strong,
vigorous brain collects around it in time many others, whose mental
processes are a feeble imitation of its own. Thus it came to pass that, as
the years rolled on, Harston learned to lean more and more upon his old
school-fellow, grafting many of his stern peculiarities upon his own
simple vacuous nature, until he became a strange parody of the original.
To him Girdlestone was the ideal man, Girdlestone's ways the correct
ways, and Girdlestone's opinions the weightiest of all opinions. Forty
years of this undeviating fidelity must, however he might conceal it,
have made an impression upon the feelings of the elder man.
Harston, by incessant attention to business and extreme parsimony, had
succeeded in founding an export trading concern. In this he had
followed the example of his friend. There was no fear of their interests
ever coming into collision, as his operations were confined to the
Mediterranean. The firm grew and prospered, until Harston began to be
looked upon as a warm man in the City circles. His only child was Kate,
a girl of seventeen. There were no other near relatives, save Dr.
Dimsdale, a prosperous West-end physician. No wonder that Ezra
Girdlestone's active business mind, and perhaps that of his father too,
should speculate as to the disposal of the