The Firm of Girdlestone | Page 8

their
thumbs. They can't cross them over their palms, and they have
rudimentary tails, or had until they were educated off them. They wore
all the hair off their backs by leaning against trees. Marvellous things!
All they want is a little money."

"It seems to be a praiseworthy object," the merchant said gravely.
"I knew that you would think so!" cried the little philanthropist
enthusiastically. "Of course, bartering as you do with aboriginal races,
their development and evolution is a matter of the deepest importance
to you. If a man came down to barter with you who had a rudimentary
tail and couldn't bend his thumb--well, it wouldn't be pleasant, you
know. Our idea is to elevate them in the scale of humanity and to refine
their tastes. Hewett, of the Royal Society, went to report on the matter a
year or so back, and some rather painful incident occurred. I believe
Hewett met with some mishap--in fact, they go the length of saying that
he was eaten. So you see we've had our martyrs, my dear friend, and
the least that we can do who stay at home at ease is to support a good
cause to the best of our ability."
"Whose names have you got?" asked the merchant.
"Let's see," Jefferson Edwards said, unfolding his list. "Spriggs, ten;
Morton, ten; Wigglesworth, five; Hawkins, ten; Indermann, fifteen;
Jones, five; and a good many smaller amounts."
"What is the highest as yet?"
"Indermann, the tobacco importer, has given fifteen."
"It is a good cause," Mr. Girdlestone said, dipping his pen into the
ink-bottle. "'He that giveth'--you know what the good old Book says.
Of course a list of the donations will be printed and circulated?"
"Most certainly."
"Here is my cheque for twenty-five pounds. I am proud to have had this
opportunity of contributing towards the regeneration of those poor
souls whom Providence has placed in a lower sphere than myself."
"Girdlestone," said the member of Parliament with emotion, as he
pocketed the cheque, "you are a good man. I shall not forget this, my
friend; I shall never forget it."

"Wealth has its duties, and charity is among them," Girdlestone
answered with unction, shaking the philanthropist's extended hand.
"Good-bye, my dear sir. Pray let me know if our efforts are attended
with any success. Should more money be needed, you know one who
may be relied on."
There was a sardonic smile upon the hard face of the senior partner as
he closed the door behind his visitor. "It's a legitimate investment," he
muttered to himself as he resumed his seat. "What with his
Parliamentary interest and his financial power, it's a very legitimate
investment. It looks well on the list, too, and inspires confidence. I
think the money is well spent."
Ezra had bowed politely as the great man passed through the office, and
Gilray, the wizened senior clerk, opened the outer door. Jefferson
Edwards turned as he passed him and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Lucky fellow," he said in his jerky way. "Good employer--model to
follow--great man. Watch him, mark him, imitate him--that's the way to
get on. Can't go wrong," and he trotted down the street in search of
fresh contributions towards his latest fad.


CHAPTER III.
THOMAS GILRAY MAKES AN INVESTMENT.
The shambling little clerk was still standing at the door watching the
retreating figure of the millionaire, and mentally splicing together his
fragmentary remarks into a symmetrical piece of advice which might
be carried home and digested at leisure, when his attention was
attracted to a pale-faced woman, with a child in her arms, who was
hanging about the entrance. She looked up at the clerk in a wistful way,
as if anxious to address him and yet afraid to do so. Then noting,
perhaps, some gleam of kindness in his yellow wrinkled face, she came

across to him.
"D'ye think I could see Muster Girdlestone, sir," she asked, with a
curtsey; "or, maybe, you're Mr. Girdlestone yourself?" The woman was
wretchedly dressed, and her eyelids were swollen and red as from long
crying.
"Mr. Girdlestone is in his room," said the head clerk kindly. "I have no
doubt that he will see you if you will wait for a moment." Had he been
speaking to the grandest of the be-silked and be-feathered dames who
occasionally frequented the office; he could not have spoken with
greater courtesy. Verily in these days the spirit of true chivalry has
filtered down from the surface and has found a lodgment in strange
places.
The merchant looked with a surprised and suspicious eye at his visitor
when she was ushered in. "Take a seat, my good woman," he said.
"What can I do for you?"
"Please, Mr. Girdlestone, I'm Mrs. Hudson," she answered, seating
herself in