Alas! it is the last hurdle which often floors the rider, and Thomas too
was doomed to find the final ordeal an insurmountable one.  As he
crossed the room some evil chance made him think of the gossip outside
and of his allusion to the abstruse substance known as cacodyl.
Once let a candidate's mind hit upon such an idea as this, and nothing
will ever get it out of his thoughts.  Tom felt his head buzz round, and
he passed his hand over his forehead and through his curly yellow hair
to steady himself.  He felt a frenzied impulse as he sat down to
inform the examiners that he knew very well what they were going to ask
him, and that it was hopeless for him to attempt to answer it.

The leading professor was a ruddy-faced, benevolent old gentleman, with
spectacles and a kindly manner.  He made a few commonplace remarks to
his colleagues with the good-natured intention of giving the
confused-looking student before him time to compose himself.
Then, turning blandly towards him, he said in the mildest of tones--

"Have you ever rowed in a pond?"

Tom acknowledged that he had.

"Perhaps, on those occasions," the examiner continued, "you may have
chanced to touch the mud at the bottom with your oar."

Tom agreed that it was possible.

"In that case you may have observed that a large bubble, or a succession
of them has risen from the bottom to the surface.  Now, of what gas was
that bubble composed?"

The unhappy student, with the one idea always fermenting on his brain,
felt that the worst had come upon him.  Without a moment's hesitation or
thought he expressed his conviction that the compound was cacodyl.

Never did two men look more surprised, and never did two generally grave
_savants_ laugh more heartily than did the two examiners when they
realized what the candidate had answered.  Their mirth speedily brought
him back to his senses.  He saw with a feeling of despair that it was
marsh gas which they had expected--one of the simplest and commonest of
chemical combinations.  Alas! it was too late now.  He knew full well
that nothing could save him.  With poor marks in botany and zoology,
such an error in chemistry was irreparable.  He did what was perhaps the
best thing under the circumstances.  Rising from his chair he made a
respectful bow to the examiners, and walked straight out of the room--to
the great astonishment of the janitor, who had never before witnessed
such a breach of decorum.  As the student closed the door behind him he
looked back and saw that the other professors had left their respective
tables and were listening to an account of the incident from one of the
chemists--and a roar of laughter the moment afterwards showed that they
appreciated the humour of it.  His fellow-students gathered round Tom
outside in the hope of sharing in the joke, but he pushed them angrily
aside and strode through the midst of them and down the University
steps.  He knew that the story would spread fast enough without his
assistance.  His mind was busy too in shaping a certain resolution which
he had often thought over during the last few months.

The two old people and Miss Kate Harston waited long and anxiously in
their sitting-room at the hotel for some news of the absentee.  The
doctor had, at first, attempted a lofty cynicism and general assumption
of indifference, which rapidly broke down as the time went by, until at
last he was wandering round the room, drumming upon the furniture with
his fingers and showing every other sign of acute impatience.
The window was on the first floor, and Kate had been stationed there as
a sentinel to watch the passing crowd and signal the first sign of
tidings.

"Can't you see him yet?" the doctor asked for the twentieth time.

"No, dear, I don't," she answered, glancing up and down the street.

"He must be out now.  He should have come straight to us.  Come away
from the window, my dear.  We must not let the young monkey see how
anxious we are about him."

Kate sat down by the old man and stroked his broad brown hand with her
tender white one.  "Don't be uneasy, dear," she said; "it's sure to be
all right."

"Yes, he is sure to pass," the doctor answered; "but--bless my soul,
who's this?"

The individual who caused this exclamation was a very broad-faced and
rosy-cheeked little girl, coarsely clad, with a pile of books and a
slate under her arm, who had suddenly entered the apartment.

"Please sir," said this apparition, with a bob, "I'm Sarah Jane."

"Are you, indeed?" said the doctor, with mild irony.  "And what d'ye
want here, Sarah Jane?"

"Please, sir, my mithar, Mrs. McTavish, asked me if I wudna' gie ye this
letter frae the gentleman what's lodgin' wi' her."  With these words the
little mite delivered her missive and, having given another bob,
departed upon her ways.

"Why," the doctor cried in astonishment, "it's directed to me and in
Tom's writing.  What can be the meaning of this?"

"Oh dear! oh dear!" Mrs. Dimsdale cried, with the quick perception of
womanhood; "it means that he has failed."

"Impossible!" said the doctor, fumbling with nervous fingers at the
envelope.  "By Jove, though," he continued, as he glanced over the
contents, "you're right.  He has.  Poor lad! he's more cut up about it
than we can be, so we must not blame him."

The good physician read the letter over several times before he finally
put it away in his note-book, and he did so with a thoughtful face which
showed that it was of importance.  As it has an influence upon the
future course of our story we cannot end the chapter better than by
exercising our literary privilege, and peeping over the doctor's
shoulder before he has folded it up.  This is the epistle
_in extenso_:--

     "My Dear Father,

     "You will be sorry to hear that I have failed in my exam.
      I am very cut up about it, because I fear that it will
      cause you grief and disappointment, and you deserve
      neither the one nor the other at my hands."

     "It is not an unmixed misfortune to me, because it helps
      me to make a request which I have long had in my mind.
      I wish you to allow me to give up the study of medicine
      and to go in for commerce.  You have never made a secret
      of our money affairs to me, and I know that if I took my
      degree there would never be any necessity for me to practise.
      I should therefore have spent five years of my life in
      acquiring knowledge which would not be of any immediate
      use to me.  I have no personal inclination towards medicine,
      while I have a very strong objection to simply living in the
      world upon money which other men have earned.  I must therefore
      turn to some fresh pursuit for my future career, and surely it
      would be best that I should do so at once.  What that fresh
      pursuit is to be I leave to your judgment.  Personally, I think
      that if I embarked my capital in some commercial undertaking
      I might by sticking to my work do well.  I feel too much cast
      down at my own failure to see you to-night, but to-morrow I hope
      to hear what you think from your own lips."

                                                 "TOM."

"Perhaps this failure will do no harm after all," the doctor muttered
thoughtfully, as he folded up the letter and gazed out at the cold glare
of the northern sunset.

CHAPTER X.

DWELLERS IN BOHEMIA.

The residence of Major Tobias Clutterbuck, late of the 119th Light
Infantry, was not known to any of his friends.  It is true that at times
he alluded in a modest way to his "little place," and even went to the
length of remarking airily to new acquaintances that he hoped they would
look him up any time they happened to be in his direction.  As he
carefully refrained, however, from ever giving the slightest indication
of which direction that might be, his invitations never led to any
practical results.  Still they had the effect of filling the recipient
with a vague sense of proffered hospitality, and occasionally led to
more substantial kindness in return.

The gallant major's figure was a familiar one in the card-room of the
_Rag and Bobtail_, at the bow-window of the Jeunesse Doree.  Tall and
pompous, with a portly frame and a puffy clean-shaven face which peered
over an abnormally high collar and old-fashioned linen cravat, he stood
as a very type and emblem of staid middle-aged respectability.
The major's hat was always of the glossiest, the major's coat was
without a wrinkle, and, in short, from the summit of the major's bald
head to his bulbous finger-tips and his gouty toes, there was not a flaw
which the most severe critic of deportment--even the illustrious
Turveydrop himself--could have detected.  Let us add that the
conversation of the major was as irreproachable as his person--that he
was a distinguished soldier and an accomplished traveller, with a
retentive memory and a mind stuffed with the good things of a
lifetime.  Combine all these qualities, and one would naturally regard
the major as a most desirable acquaintance.

It is painful to have to remark, however, that, self-evident as this
proposition might appear, it was vehemently contradicted by some of the
initiated.  There were rumours concerning the major which seriously
compromised his private character.  Indeed, such a pitch had they
reached that when that gallant officer put himself forward as a
candidate for a certain select club, he had, although proposed by a lord
and seconded by a baronet, been most ignominiously pilled.  In public
the major affected to laugh over this social failure, and to regard it
as somewhat in the nature of a practical joke, but privately he was
deeply incensed.  One day he momentarily dropped his veil of unconcern
while playing billiards with the Honourable Fungus Brown, who was
generally credited with having had some hand in the major's exclusion.
"Be Ged! sir," the veteran suddenly exclaimed, inflating his chest and
turning his apoplectic face upon his companion, "in the old days I would
have called the lot of you out, sir, every demned one, beginning with
the committee and working down; I would, be George!"  At which savage
attack the Honourable Fungus's face grew as white as the major's was
red, and he began to wish that he had been more reserved in his
confidences to some of his acquaintances respecting the exclusiveness of
the club in question, or at least refrained from holding up the major's
pilling as a proof thereof.

The cause of this vague feeling of distrust which had gone abroad
concerning the old soldier was no very easy matter to define.  It is
true that he was known to have a book on every race, and to have secret
means of information from stud-grooms and jockeys which occasionally
stood him in good stead; but this was no uncommon thing among the men
with whom he consorted.  Again, it is true that Major Clutterbuck was
much addicted to whist, with guinea points, and to billiard matches for
substantial sums, but these stimulating recreations are also habitual to
many men who have led eventful lives and require a strong seasoning to
make ordinary existence endurable.  Perhaps one reason may have been
that the major's billiard play in public varied to an extraordinary
degree, so that on different occasions he had appeared to be aiming at
the process termed by the initiated "getting on the money."  The warm
friendships, too, which the old soldier had contracted with sundry
vacuous and sappy youths, who were kindly piloted by him into
quasi-fashionable life and shown how and when to spend their money, had
been most uncharitably commented upon.  Perhaps the vagueness about the
major's private residence and the mystery which hung over him outside
his clubs may also have excited prejudice against him.  Still, however
his detractors might malign him, they could not attempt to deny the fact
that Tobias Clutterbuck was the third son of the Honourable Charles
Clutterbuck, who again was the second son of the Earl of Dunross, one of
the most ancient of Hibernian families.  This pedigree the old soldier
took care to explain to every one about him, more particularly to the
sappy youths aforementioned.

It chanced that on the afternoon of which we speak the major was
engrossed by this very subject.  Standing at the head of the broad stone
steps which lead up to the palatial edifice which its occupiers
irreverently term the _Rag and Bobtail_, he was explaining to a
bull-necked, olive-complexioned young man the series of marriages and
inter-marriages which had culminated in the production of his own
portly, stiff-backed figure.  His companion, who was none other than
Ezra Girdlestone, of the great African firm of that name, leaned against
one of the pillars of the portico and listened gloomily to the major's
family reminiscences, giving an occasional yawn which he made no attempt
to conceal.

"It's as plain as the fingers of me hand," the old soldier said in a
wheezy muffled brogue, as if he were speaking from under a feather-bed.
"See here now, Girdlestone--this is Miss Letitia Snackles of Snackleton,
a cousin of old Sir Joseph."  The major tapped his thumb with the silver
head of his walking-stick to represent the maiden Snackles.  "She
marries Crawford, of the Blues--one o' the Warwickshire Crawfords;
that's him"--here he elevated his stubby forefinger; "and here's their
three children, Jemima, Harold, and John."  Up went three other fingers.
"Jemima Crawford grows up, and then Charley Clutterbuck runs away with
her.  This other thumb o' mine will stand for that young divil Charley,
and then me fingers--"

"Oh, hang your fingers," Girdlestone exclaimed with emphasis.
"It's very interesting, major, but it would be more intelligible if you
wrote it out."

"And so I shall, me boy!" the major cried enthusiastically, by no means
abashed at the sudden interruption.  "I'll draw it up on a bit o'
foolscap paper.  Let's see; Fenchurch Street, eh?  Address to the
offices, of course.  Though, for that matter, 'Girdlestone, London,'
would foind you.  I was spakin' of ye to Sir Musgrave Moore, of the
Rifles, the other day, and he knew you at once.  'Girdlestone?' says he.
'The same,' says I.  'A merchant prince?' says he.  'The same,' says I.
'I'd be proud to meet him,' says he.  'And you shall,' says I.  He's the
best blood of county Waterford."

"More blood than money, I suppose," the young man said, smoothing out
his crisp black moustache.

"Bedad, you've about hit it there.  He went to California, and came back
with five and twinty thousand pounds.  I met him in Liverpool the day he
arrived.  'This is no good to me, Toby,' says he.  'Why not?' I asks.
'Not enough,' says he; 'just enough to unsettle me.'  'What then?' says
I.  'Put it on the favourite for the St. Leger,' says he.  And he did
too, every pinny of it, and the horse was beat on the post by a short
head.  He dropped the lot in one day.  A fact, sir, 'pon me honour!
Came to me next day.  'Nothing left!' says he.  'Nothing?' says I.
'Only one thing,' says he.  'Suicide?' says I.  'Marriage,' says he.
Within a month he was married to the second Miss Shuttleworth, who had
five thou. in her own right, and five more when Lord Dungeness turns up
his toes."

"Indeed?" said his companion languidly.

"Fact, 'pon me honour! By the way--ah, here comes Lord Henry Richardson.
How d'ye do, Richardson, how d'ye do?  Ged, I remember Richardson when
he was a tow-headed boy at Clongowes, and I used to lam him with a
bootjack for his cheek.  Ah, yes; I was going to say--it seems a demned
awkward incident--ha! ha!--ridiculous, but annoying, you know.  The fact
is, me boy, coming away in a hurry from me little place, I left me purse
on the drawers in the bedroom, and here's Jorrocks up in the
billiard-room afther challenging me to play for a tenner--but I won't
without having the money in me pocket.  Tobias Clutterbuck may be poor,
me dear friend, but"--and here he puffed out his chest and tapped on it
with his round, sponge-like fist--"he's honest, and pays debts of
honour on the nail.  No, sir, there's no one can say a word against
Tobias, except that he's a half-pay old fool with more heart than
brains.  However," he added, suddenly dropping the sentimental and
coming back to the practical, "if you, me dear boy, can obloige me with
the money until to-morrow morning, I'll play Jorrocks with pleasure.
There's not many men that I'd ask such a favour of, and even from you
I'd never accept anything more than a mere timporary convanience."

"You may stake your life on that," Ezra Girdlestone said with a sneer,
looking sullenly down and tracing figures with the end of his stick on
the stone steps.  "You'll never get the chance.  I make it a rule never
to lend any one money, either for short or long periods."

"And you won't let me have this throifling accommodation?"

"No," the young man said decisively.

For a moment the major's brick-coloured, weather-beaten face assumed an
even darker tint, and his small dark eyes looked out angrily from under
his shaggy brows at his youthful companion.  He managed to suppress the
threatened explosion, however, and burst into a loud roar of laughter.

"'Pon me sowl!" he wheezed, poking the young man in the ribs with his
stick, an implement which he had grasped a moment before as though he
meditated putting it to a less pacific use, "you young divils of
business-men are too much for poor old Tobias.  Ged, sir, to think of
being stuck in the mud for the want of a paltry tenner!  Tommy Heathcote
will laugh when he hears of it.  You know Tommy of the 81st?  He gave me
good advice: 'Always sew a fifty-pound note into the lining of each
waistcoat you've got.  Then you can't go short.'  Tried it once, and, be
George! if me demned man-servant didn't stale that very waistcoat and
sell it for six and sixpence.  You're not going, are you?"

"Yes; I'm due in the City.  The governor leaves at four.  Good-bye.
Shall I see you to-night?"

"Card-room, as per usual," quoth the clean-shaven warrior.  He looked
after the retreating figure of his late companion with anything but a
pleasant expression upon his face.  The young man happened to glance
round as he was half-way down the street, on which the major smiled
after him paternally, and gave a merry flourish with his stick.

As the old soldier stood on the top of the club steps, pompous,
pigeon-chested, and respectable, posing himself as though he had been
placed there for the inspection of passers-by as a sample of the
aristocracy within, he made several attempts to air his grievances to
passing members touching the question of the expectant Jorrocks and the
missing purse.  Beyond, however, eliciting many sallies of wit from the
younger spirits, for it was part of the major's policy to lay himself
open to be a butt, his laudable perseverance was entirely thrown away.
At last he gave it up in disgust, and raising his stick hailed a passing
'bus, into which he sprang, taking a searching glance round to see that
no one was following him.  After a drive which brought him to the other
side of the City, he got out in a broad, busy thoroughfare, lined with
large shops.  A narrow turning from the main artery led into a long,
dingy street, consisting of very high smoke-coloured houses, which ran
parallel to the other, and presented as great a contrast to it as the
back of a painting does to the front.

Down this sombre avenue the major strutted with all his wonted
pomposity, until about half-way down he reached a tall, grim-looking
house, with many notices of "apartments" glaring from the windows.
The line of railings which separated this house from the street was
rusty, and broken and the whole place had a flavour of mildew.
The major walked briskly up the stone steps, hollowed out by the feet of
generations of lodgers, and pushing open the great splotchy door, which
bore upon it a brass plate indicating that the establishment was kept by
a Mrs. Robins, he walked into the hall with the air of one who treads
familiar ground.  Up one flight of stairs, up two flights of stairs, and
up three flights of stairs did he climb, until on the fourth landing he
pushed open a door and found himself in a small room, which formed for
the nonce the "little place" about which he was wont at the club to make
depreciatory allusions, so skilfully introduced that the listener was
left in doubt as to whether the major was the happy possessor of a
country house and grounds, or whether he merely owned a large suburban
villa.  Even this modest sanctum was not entirely the major's own, as
was shown by the presence of a ruddy-faced man with a long, tawny beard,
who sat on one side of the empty fire-place, puffing at a great
china-bowled pipe, and comporting himself with an ease which showed
that he was no casual visitor.

As the other entered, the man in the chair gave vent to a guttural grunt
without removing the mouthpiece of his pipe from between his lips; and
Major Clutterbuck returned the greeting with an off-handed nod.
His next proceeding was to take off his glossy hat and pack it away in a
hat-box.  He then removed his coat, his collar, his tie, and his
gaiters, with equal solicitude, and put them in a place of safety.
After which he donned a long purple dressing-gown and a smoking-cap, in
which garb he performed the first steps of a mazurka as a sign of the
additional ease which he experienced.

"Not much to dance about either, me boy," the old soldier said, seating
himself in a camp-chair and putting his feet upon another one.
"Bedad, we're all on the verge.  Unless luck takes a turn there's no
saying what may become of us."

"We have been badder than this before now many a time," said the
yellow-bearded man, in an accent which proclaimed him to be a German.
"My money vill come, or you vill vin, or something vill arrive to set
all things right."

"Let's hope so," the major said fervently.  "It's a mercy to get out of
these stiff and starched clothes;  but I have to be careful of them, for
me tailor--bad cess to him!--will give no credit, and there's little of
the riddy knocking about.  Without good clothes on me back I'd be like a
sweeper without a broom."

The German nodded his intense appreciation of the fact, and puffed a
great blue cloud to the ceiling.  Sigismond von Baumser was a political
refugee from the fatherland, who had managed to become foreign clerk in
a small London firm, an occupation which just enabled him to keep body
and soul together.  He and the major had lodged in different rooms in
another establishment until some common leaven of Bohemianism had
brought them together.  When circumstances had driven them out of their
former abode, it had occurred to the major that by sharing his rooms
with Von Baumser he would diminish his own expenses, and at the same
time secure an agreeable companion, for the veteran was a sociable soul
in his unofficial hours and had all the Hibernian dislike to solitude.
The arrangement commended itself to the German, for he had a profound
admiration for the other's versatile talents and varied experiences; so
he grunted an acquiescence and the thing was done.  When the major's
luck was good there were brave times in the little fourth floor back.
On the other hand, if any slice of good fortune came in the German's
way, the major had a fair share of the prosperity.  During the hard
times which intervened between these gleams of opulence, the pair
roughed it uncomplainingly as best they might.  The major would
sometimes create a fictitious splendour by dilating upon the beauties of
Castle Dunross, in county Mayo, which is the headquarters of all the
Clutterbucks.  "We'll go and live there some day, me boy," he would say,
slapping his comrade on the back.  "It will be mine from the dungeons
forty foot below the ground, right up, bedad, to the flagstaff from
which the imblem of loyalty flaunts the breeze."  At these speeches the
simple-minded German used to rub his great red hands together with
satisfaction, and feel as pleased as though he had actually been
presented with the fee simple of the castle in question.

"Have you had your letter?" the major asked with  interest, rolling a
cigarette between his fingers.  The German was expecting his quarterly
remittance from his friends at home, and they were both anxiously
awaiting it.

Von Baumser shook his head.

"Bad luck to them! they should have sent a wake ago.  You should do what
Jimmy Towler did.  You didn't know Towler, of the Sappers?  When he and
I were souldiering in Canada he was vexed at the allowance which he had
from ould Sir Oliver, his uncle, not turning up at the right time.
'Ged, Toby,' he says to me, 'I'll warm the old rascal up.'  So he sits
down and writes a letter to his uncle, in which he told him his
unbusiness-like ways would be the ruin of them, and more to the same
effect.  When Sir Oliver got the letter he was in such a divil's own
rage, that while he was dictating a codicil to his will he tumbled off
the chair in a fit, and Jimmy came in for a clean siven thousand a
year."

"Dat was more dan he deserved," the German remarked.  "But you--how do
you stand for money?"

Major Clutterbuck took ten sovereigns out of his trouser pocket and
placed them upon the table.  "You know me law," he said; "I never, on
any consideration, break into these.  You can't sit down to play cards
for high stakes with less in your purse, and if I was to change one, be
George! they'd all go like a whiff o' smoke.  The Lord knows when I'd
get a start again then.  Bar this money I've hardly a pinny."

"Nor me," said Von Baumser despondently, slapping his pockets.

"Niver mind, me boy!  What's in the common purse, I wonder?"

He looked up at a little leather bag which hung from a brass nail on the
wall.  In flush times they were wont to deposit small sums in this, on
which they might fall back in their hours of need.

"Not much, I fear," the other said, shaking his head.

"Well, now, we want something to pull us together on a dull day like
this.  Suppose we send out for a bottle of sparkling, eh?"

"Not enough money," the other objected.

"Well, well, let's have something cheaper.  Beaune, now; Beaune's a good
comforting sort of drink.  What d'ye say to splitting a bottle of
Beaune, and paying for it from the common purse?"

"Not enough money," the other persisted doggedly.

"Well, claret be it," sighed the major.  "Maybe it's better in this sort
of weather.  Let us send Susan out for a bottle of claret?"

The German took down the little leather bag and turned it upside down.
A threepenny-piece and a penny rolled out.  "Dat's all," he said.
"Not enough for claret."

"But there is for beer," cried the major radiantly.  "Bedad, it's just
the time for a quart of fourpinny.  I remimber ould Gilder, when he was
our chief in India, used to say that a man who got beyond enjoying beer
and a clay pipe at a pinch was either an ass or a coxcomb.  He smoked a
clay at the mess table himself.  Draper, who commanded the division,
told him it was unsoldier-like.  'Unsoldier-like be demned,' he said.
Ged, they nearly court-martialled the ould man for it.  He got the V.C.
at the Quarries, and was killed at the Redan."

A slatternly, slipshod girl answered the bell, and having received her
orders and the united available funds of the two comrades, speedily
returned with a brace of frothing pint pots.  The major ruminated
silently over his cigarette for some time, on some unpleasant subject,
apparently, for his face was stem and his brows knitted.  At last he
broke out with an oath.

"Be George! Baumser, I can't stand that young fellow Girdlestone.
I'll have to chuck him up.  He's such a cold-blooded, flinty-hearted,
calculating sort of a chap, that--"  The remainder of the major's
sentence was lost in the beer flagon.

"What for did you make him your friend, then?"

"Well," the old soldier confessed, "it seemed to me that if he wanted
to fool his money away at cards or any other divilment, Tobias
Clutterbuck might as well have the handling of it as any one else.
Bedad, he's as cunning as a basketful of monkeys.  He plays a safe game
for low stakes, and never throws away a chance.  Demned if I don't think
I've been a loser in pocket by knowing him, while as to me character,
I'm very sure I'm the worse there."

"Vat's de matter mit him?"

"What's not the matter with him.   If he's agrayable he's not natural,
and if he's natural he's not agrayable.  I don't pretind to be a saint.
I've seen some fun in me day, and hope to see some more before I die;
but there are some things that I wouldn't do.  If I live be cards it's
all fair and aboveboard.  I never play anything but games o' skill, and
I reckon on me skill bringing me out on the right side, taking one night
with another through the year.  Again, at billiards I may not always
play me best, but that's gineralship.  You don't want a whole room to
know to a point what your game is.  I'm the last man to preach, but,
bedad, I don't like that chap, and I don't like that handsome, brazen
face of his.  I've spint the greater part of my life reading folks'
faces, and never very far out either."

Von Baumser made no remark, and the two continued to smoke silently,
with an occasional pull at their flagons.

"Besides, it's no good to me socially," the major continued.
"The fellow can't keep quiet, else he might pass in a crowd; but that
demned commercial instinct will show itself.  If he went to heaven he'd
start an agency for harps and crowns.  Did I tell you what the
Honourable Jack Gibbs said to me at the club?  Ged, he let me have it
straight!  'Buck,' he said, 'I don't mind you.  You're one o' the right
sort when all's said and done, but if you ever inthroduce such a chap as
that to me again, I'll cut you as well as him for the future.' I'd
inthroduced them to put the young spalpeen in a good humour, for, being
short, as ye know, I thought it might be necessary to negotiate a loan
from him."

"Vat did you say his name vas?" Von Baumser asked suddenly.

"Girdlestone."

"Is his father a Kauffmann?"

"What the divil is a Kauffmann?" the major asked impatiently.  "Is it a
merchant you mean?"

"Ah, a merchant.  One who trades with the Afrikaner?"

"The same."

Von Baumser took a bulky pocket-book from his inside pocket, and scanned
a long list of names therein.  "Ah, it is the same," he cried at last
triumphantly, shutting up the book and replacing it.  "Girdlestone &
Co., African kauf--dat is, merchants--Fenchurch Street, City."

"Those are they."

"And you say dey are rich?"

"Yes."

"Very rich?"

"Yes."

The major began to think that his companion had been imbibing in his
absence, for there was an unfathomable smile upon his face, and his red
beard and towsy hair seemed to bristle from some internal excitement.

"Very rich! Ho, ho!  Very rich!" he laughed.  "I know dem; not as
friends, Gott bewahre! but I know dem and their affairs."

"What are you driving at?  Let's have it.  Out with it, man."

"I tell you," said the German, suddenly becoming supernaturally solemn
and sawing his hand up and down in the air to emphasize his remarks,
"in tree or four months, or a year at the most, there vill be no firm of
Girdlestone.  They are rotten, useless--whoo!  He blew an imaginary
feather up into the air to demonstrate the extreme fragility of the
house in question.

"You're raving, Baumser," said Major Clutterbuck excitedly.  "Why, man,
their names are above suspicion.  They are looked upon as the soundest
concern in the City."

"Dat may be; dat may be," the German answered stolidly.  "Vat I know, I
know, and vat I say I say."

"And how d'ye know it?  D'ye tell me that you know more about it than
the men on 'Change and the firms that do business with them?"

"I know vat I know, and I say vat I say," the other repeated.
"Dat tobacco-man Burger is a rogue.  Dere is five-and-thirty in the
hundred of water in this canaster tobacco, and one must be for ever
relighting."

"And you won't tell me where you heard this of the Girdlestones?"

"It vould be no good to you.  It is enough dat vat I say is certain.
Let it suffice that dere are people vat are bound to tell other people
all dat dey know about anything whatever."

"You don't make it over clear now," the old soldier grumbled.  "You mane
that these secret societies and Socialists let each other know all that
comes in their way and have their own means of getting information."

"Dat may be, and dat may not be," the German answered, in the same
oracular voice.  "I thought, in any case, my good friend Clutterbuck,
dat I vould give you vat you call in English the straight tap.  It is
always vell to have the straight tap."

"Thank ye, me boy," the major said heartily.  "If the firm's in a bad
way, either the youngster doesn't know of it, or else he's the most
natural actor that ever lived.  Be George! there's the tay-bell; let's
get down before the bread and butther is all finished."

Mrs. Robbins was in the habit of furnishing her lodgers with an evening
meal at a small sum per head.  There was only a certain amount of bread
and butter supplied for this, however, and those who came late were
likely to find an empty platter.  The two Bohemians felt that the
subject was too grave a one to trifle with, so they suspended their
judgment upon the Girdlestones while they clattered down to the
dining-room.

CHAPTER XI.

SENIOR AND JUNIOR.

Although not a whisper had been heard of it in ordinary commercial
circles, there was some foundation for the forecast which Von Baumser
had made as to the fate of the great house of Girdlestone.  For some
time back matters had been going badly with the African traders.  If the
shrewd eyes of Major Tobias Clutterbuck were unable to detect any
indications of this state of affairs in the manner or conversation of
the junior partner, the reason simply was that that gentleman was
entirely ignorant of the imminent danger which hung over his head.  As
far as he knew, the concern was as prosperous and as flourishing as it
had been at the time of the death of John Harston.  The momentous secret
was locked in the breast of his grim old father, who bore it about with
him as the Spartan lad did the fox--without a quiver or groan to
indicate the care which was gnawing at his heart.  Placed face to face
with ruin, Girdlestone fought against it desperately, and, withal,
coolly and warily, throwing away no chance and leaving no stone
unturned.  Above all, he exerted himself--and exerted himself
successfully--to prevent any rumour of the critical position of the firm
from leaking out in the city.  He knew well that should that once occur
nothing could save him.  As the wounded buffalo is gored to death by the
herd, so the crippled man of business may give up all hope when once his
position is known by his fellows.   At present, although Von Baumser and
a few other such Ishmaelites might have an inkling from sources of their
own as to how matters stood, the name of Girdlestone was still regarded
by business men as the very synonym for commercial integrity and
stability.  If anything, there seemed to be more business in Fenchurch
Street and more luxury at the residence at Eccleston Square than in
former days.  Only the stern-faced and silent senior partner knew how
thin the veneer was which shone so deceptively upon the surface.

Many things had contributed towards this state of affairs.  The firm had
been involved in a succession of misfortunes, some known to the world,
and others known to no one save the elder Girdlestone.  The former had
been accepted with such perfect stoicism and cheerfulness that they
rather increased than diminished the reputation of the concern; the
latter were the more crushing, and also the more difficult to bear.

Lines of fine vessels from Liverpool and from Hamburg were running to
the West Coast of Africa, and competition had cut down freightage to the
lowest possible point.  Where the Girdlestones had once held almost a
monopoly there were now many in the field.  Again, the negroes of the
coast were becoming educated and had a keen eye to business, so that the
old profits were no longer obtainable.  The days had gone by when
flint-lock guns and Manchester prints could be weighed in the balance
against ivory and gold dust.

While these general causes were at work a special misfortune had
befallen the house of Girdlestone.  Finding that their fleet of old
sailing vessels was too slow and clumsy to compete with more modern
ships, they had bought in two first-rate steamers.  One was the
_Providence_, a fine screw vessel of twelve hundred tons, and the other
was the _Evening Star_, somewhat smaller in size, but both classed A1 at
Lloyd's.  The former cost twenty-two thousand pounds, and the latter
seventeen thousand.  Now, Mr. Girdlestone had always had a weakness for
petty savings, and in this instance he determined not to insure his new
vessels.  If the crazy old tubs, for which he had paid fancy premiums
for so many years with an eye to an ultimate profit, met with no
disaster, surely those new powerful clippers were safe.  With their
tonnage and horse-power they appeared to him to be superior to all the
dangers of the deep.  It chanced, however, by that strange luck which
would almost make one believe that matters nautical were at the mercy of
some particularly malignant demon, that as the _Evening Star_ was
steaming up Channel in a dense fog on her return from her second voyage,
she ran right into the _Providence_, which had started that very morning
from Liverpool upon her third outward trip.  The _Providence_ was almost
cut in two, and sank within five minutes, taking down the captain and
six of the crew, while the _Evening Star_ was so much damaged about the
bows that she put into Falmouth in a sinking condition.  That day's work
cost the African firm more than five and thirty thousand pounds.

Other mishaps had occurred to weaken the firm, apart from their trade
with the coast.  The senior partner had engaged in speculation without
the knowledge of his son, and the result had been disastrous.  One of
the Cornish tin mines in which he had sunk a large amount of money, and
which had hitherto yielded him a handsome return, became suddenly
exhausted, and the shares went down to zero.  No firm could stand
against such a run of bad luck, and the African trading company reeled
before it.   John Girdlestone had not said a word yet of all this to his
son. As claims arose he settled them in the best manner he could, and
postponed the inevitable day when he should have to give a true account
of their financial position.  He hoped against hope that the chapter of
accidents or the arrival of some brilliant cargoes from the coast might
set the concern on its legs again.

From day to day he had been expecting news of one of his vessels.
At last one morning he found a telegram awaiting him at the office.
He tore it eagerly open, for it bore the Madeira mark.  It was from his
agent, Jose Alveciras, and announced that the voyage from which he had
hoped so much had been a total failure.  The cargo was hardly sufficient
to defray the working expenses.  As the merchant read it, his head
dropped over the table and he groaned aloud.  Another of the props which
upheld him from ruin had snapped beneath him.

There were three letters lying beside the telegram.  He glanced through
them, but there was no consolation in any of them.  One was from a bank
manager, informing him that his account was somewhat overdrawn.
Another from Lloyd's Insurance Agency, pointing out that the policies on
two of his vessels would lapse unless paid within a certain date.
The clouds were gathering very darkly over the African firm, yet the old
man bore up against misfortune with dauntless courage.  He sat alone in
his little room, with his head sunk upon his breast, and his thatched
eye-brows drawn down over his keen grey eyes.  It was clear to him that
the time had come when he must enlighten his son as to the true state of
their affairs.  With his co-operation he might carry out a plan which
had been maturing some months in his brain.

It was a hard task for the proud and austere merchant to be compelled to
confess to his son that he had speculated without his knowledge in the
capital of the company, and that a large part of that capital had
disappeared.  These speculations in many instances had promised large
returns, and John Girdlestone had withdrawn money from safer concerns,
and reinvested it in the hope of getting a higher rate of interest.
He had done this with his eyes open to the risk, and knowing that his
son was of too practical and cautious a nature to embark in such
commercial gambling, he had never consulted him upon the point, nor had
he made any entry of the money so invested in the accounts of the firm.
Hence Ezra was entirely ignorant of the danger which hung over them, and
his father saw that, in order to secure his energetic assistance in the
stroke which he was contemplating, it was absolutely necessary that he
should know how critical their position was.

The old man had hardly come to this conclusion when he heard the sharp
footfall of his son in the outer office and the harsh tones of his voice
as he addressed the clerks.  A moment or two later the green baize door
flew open, and the young man came in, throwing his hat and coat down on
one of the chairs.  It was evident that something had ruffled his
temper.

"Good-morning," he said brusquely, nodding his head to his father.

"Good-morning, Ezra," the merchant answered meekly.

"What's the matter with you, father?" his son asked, looking at him
keenly.  "You don't look yourself, and haven't for some time back."

"Business worries, my boy, business worries," John Girdlestone answered
wearily.

"It's the infernal atmosphere of this place," Ezra said impatiently.
"I feel it myself sometimes.  I wonder you don't start a little country
seat with some grounds.  Just enough to ask a fellow to shoot over, and
with a good billiard board, and every convenience of that sort.
It would do for us to spend the time from Saturday to Monday, and allow
us to get some fresh air into our lungs.  There are plenty of men who
can't afford it half as well, and yet have something of the sort.
What's the use of having a good balance at your banker's, if you don't
live better than your neighbours?"

"There is only one objection to it," the merchant said huskily, and with
a forced laugh; "I have not got a good balance at the banker's."

"Pretty fair, pretty fair," his son said knowingly, picking up the long
thin volume in which the finance of the firm was recorded and tapping it
against the table.

"But the figures there are not quite correct, Ezra," his father said,
still more huskily.  "We have not got nearly so much as that."

"What!" roared the junior partner.

"Hush!  For God's sake don't let the clerks hear you.  We have not so
much as that.  We have very little.  In fact, Ezra, we have next to
nothing in the bank.  It is all gone."

For a moment the young man stood motionless, glaring at his father.
The expression of incredulity which had appeared on his features faded
away before the earnestness of the other, and was replaced by a look of
such malignant passion that it contorted his whole face.

"You fool!" he shrieked, springing forward with the book upraised as
though he would have struck the old merchant.  "I see it now.  You have
been speculating on your own hook, you cursed ass!  What have you done
with it?"  He seized his father by the collar and shook him furiously in
his wrath.

"Keep your hands off me!" the senior partner cried, wrenching himself
free from his son's grasp.  "I did my best with the money.  How dare you
address me so?"

"Did your best!" hissed Ezra, hurling the ledger down on the table with
a crash.  "What did you mean by speculating without my knowledge, and
telling me at the same time that I knew all that was done?  Hadn't I
warned you a thousand times of the danger of it?  You are not to be
trusted with money."

"Remember, Ezra," his father said with dignity, re-seating himself in
the chair from which he had risen, in order to free himself from his
son's clutches, "if I lost the money, I also made it.  This was a
flourishing concern before you were born.  If the worst comes to the
worst you are only where I started.  But we are far from being
absolutely ruined as yet."

"To think of it!" Ezra cried, flinging himself upon the office sofa, and
burying his face in his hands.  "To think of all I have said of our
money and our resources!  What will Clutterbuck and the fellows at the
club say?  How can I alter the ways of life that I have learned?"
Then, suddenly clenching his hands, and turning upon his father he broke
out, "We must have it back, father; we _must_, by fair means or foul.
You must do it, for it was you who lost it.  What can we do?  How long
have we to do it in?  Is this known in the City?  Oh, I shall be ashamed
to show my face on 'Change."  So he rambled on, half-maddened by the
pictures of the future which rose up in his mind.

"Be calm, Ezra, be calm!" his father said imploringly.  "We have many
chances yet if we only make the best of them.  There is no use lamenting
the past.  I freely confess that I was wrong in using this money without
your knowledge, but I did it from the best of motives.  We must put our
heads together now to retrieve our losses, and there are many ways in
which that may be done.  I want your clear common sense to help me in
the matter."

"Pity you didn't apply to that before," Ezra said sulkily.

"I have suffered for not doing so," the older man answered meekly.
"In considering how to rally under this grievous affliction which has
come upon us, we must remember that our credit is a great resource, and
one upon which we have never drawn.  That gives us a broad margin to
help us while we are carrying out our plans for the future."

"What will our credit be worth when this matter leaks out?"

"But it can't leak out.  No one suspects it for a moment.  They might
imagine that we are suffering from some temporary depression of trade,
but no one could possibly know the sad truth.  For Heaven's sake don't
you let it out!"

His son broke into an impatient oath.

A flush came into Girdlestone's sallow cheeks, and his eyes sparkled
angrily.

"Be careful how you speak, Ezra.  There are limits to what I will endure
from you, though I make every allowance for your feelings at this sudden
catastrophe, for which I acknowledge myself responsible."

The young man shrugged his shoulders, and drummed his heel against the
ground impatiently.

"I have more than one plan in my head," the merchant said, "by which our
affairs may be re-established on their old footing.  If we can once get
sufficient money to satisfy our present creditors, and so tide over this
run of bad luck, the current will set in the other way, and all will go
well.  And, first of all, there is one question, my boy, which I should
like to ask you.  What do you think of John Harston's daughter?"

"She's right enough," the young man answered brusquely.

"She's a good girl, Ezra--a thoroughly good girl, and a rich girl too,
though her money is a small thing in my eyes compared to her virtue."

Young Girdlestone sneered.  "Of course," he said impatiently.  "Well, go
on--what about her?"

"Just this, Ezra, that there is no girl in the world whom I should like
better to receive as my daughter-in-law.  Ah, you rogue! you could come
round her; you know you could."  The old man poked his long bony finger
In the direction of his son's ribs with grim playfulness.

"Oh, that's the idea, is it?" remarked the junior partner, with a very
unpleasant smile.

"Yes, that is one way out of our difficulties.  She has forty thousand
pounds, which would be more than enough to save the firm.  At the same
time you would gain a charming wife."

"Yes, there are a good many girls about who might make charming wives,"
his son remarked dubiously.  "No matrimony for me yet awhile."

"But it is absolutely necessary," his father urged.

"A very fine necessity," Ezra broke in savagely.  "I am to tie myself up
for life and you are to use all the money in rectifying your blunders.
It's a very pretty division of labour, is that."

"The business is yours as well as mine.  It is your interest to invest
the money in it, for if it fails you are as completely ruined as I
should be.  You think you could win her if you tried?"

Ezra stroked his dark moustache complacently, and took a momentary
glance at his own bold handsome features in the mirror above the
fire-place.  "If we are reduced to such an expedient, I think I can
answer for the result," he said.  "The girl's not a bad-looking one.
But you said you had several plans.  Let us hear some of the other ones.
If the worst comes to the worst I might consent to that--on condition,
of course, that I should have the whole management of the money."

"Quite so--quite so," his father said hurriedly.  "That's a dear, good
lad.  As you say, when all other things fail we can always fall back
upon that.  At present I intend to raise as much money as I can upon our
credit, and invest it in such a manner as to bring in a large and
immediate profit."

"And how do you intend to do this?" his son asked doubtfully.

"I intend," said John Girdlestone, solemnly rising up and leaning his
elbow against the mantelpiece--"I intend to make a corner in diamonds."

CHAPTER XII.

A CORNER IN DIAMONDS.

John Girdlestone propounded his intention with such dignity and emphasis
that he evidently expected the announcement to come as a surprise upon
his son.  If so, he was not disappointed, for the young man stared
open-eyed.

"A corner in diamonds!" he repeated.  "How will you do that?"

"You know what a corner is," his father explained.  "If you buy up all
the cotton, say, or sugar in the market, so as to have the whole of it
in your own hands, and to be able to put your own price on it in selling
it again--that is called making a corner in sugar or cotton.  I intend
to make a corner in diamonds."

"Of course, I know what a corner is," Ezra said impatiently.  "But how
on earth are you going to buy all the diamonds in?  You would want the
capital of a Rothschild?"

"Not so much as you think, my boy, for there are not any great amount of
diamonds in the market at any one time.  The yield of the South African
fields regulates the price.  I have had this idea in my head for some
time, and have studied the details.  Of course, I should not attempt to
buy in all the diamonds that are in the market.  A small portion of them
would yield profit enough to float the firm off again."

"But if you have only a part of the supply in your hands, how are you to
regulate the market value?  You must come down to the prices at which
other holders are selling."

"Ha! Ha!  Very good! very good!" the old merchant said, shaking his head
good-humouredly.  "But you don't quite see my plan yet.  You have not
altogether grasped it.  Allow me to explain it to you."

His son lay back upon the sofa with a look of resignation upon his face.
Girdlestone continued to stand upon the hearth-rug and spoke very slowly
and deliberately, as though giving vent to thoughts which had been long
and carefully considered.

"You see, Ezra," he said, "diamonds, being a commodity of great value,
of which there is never very much in the market at one time, are
extremely sensitive to all sorts of influences.  The value of them
varies greatly from time to time.  A very little thing serves to
depreciate their price, and an equally small thing will send it up
again."

Ezra Girdlestone grunted to show that he followed his father's remarks.

"I did some business in diamonds myself when I was a younger man, and so
I had an opportunity of observing their fluctuations in the market.
Now, there is one thing which invariably depreciates the price of
diamonds.  That is the rumour of fresh discoveries of mines in other
parts of the world.  The instant such a thing gets wind the value of the
stones goes down wonderfully.  The discovery of diamonds in Central
India not long ago had that effect very markedly, and they have never
recovered their value since.  Do you follow me?"

An expression of interest had come over Ezra's face, and he nodded to
show that he was listening.

"Now, supposing," continued the senior partner, with a smile on his thin
lips, "that such a report got about.  Suppose, too, that we were at this
time, when the market was in a depressed condition, to invest a
considerable capital in them.  If these rumours of an alleged discovery
turned out to be entirely unfounded, of course the value of the stones
which we held would go up once more, and we might very well sell out for
double or treble the sum that we invested.  Don't you see the sequence
of events?"

"There seems to me to be rather too much of the 'suppose' in it,"
remarked Ezra.  "How do we know that such rumours will get about; and if
they do, how do we know that they will prove to be unfounded?"

"How are we to know?" the merchant cried, wriggling his long lank body
with amusement.  "Why, my lad, if we spread the rumours ourselves we
shall have pretty good reason to believe that they are unfounded.
Eh, Ezra?  Ha! ha!  You see there are some brains in the old man yet."

Ezra looked at his father in considerable surprise and some admiration.
"Why, damn it!" he exclaimed, "it's dishonest.  I'm not sure that it's
not actionable."

"Dishonest!  Pooh!" The merchant snapped his fingers.  "It's finesse, my
boy, commercial finesse.  Who's to trace it, I should like to know.
I haven't worked out all the details--I want your co-operation over
that--but here's a rough sketch of my plan.  We send a man we can depend
upon to some distant part of the world--Chimborazo, for example, or the
Ural Mountains.  It doesn't matter where, as long as it is out of the
way.  On arriving at this place our agent starts a report that he has
discovered a diamond mine.  We should even go the length, if he
considers it necessary, of hiding a few rough stones in the earth, which
he can dig up to give colour to his story.  Of course the local press
would be full of this.  He might present one of the diamonds to the
editor of the nearest paper.  In course of time a pretty coloured
description of the new diamond fields would find its way to London and
thence to the Cape.  I'll answer for it that the immediate effect is a
great drop in the price of stones.  We should have a second agent at the
Cape diamond fields, and he would lay our money out by buying in all
that he could while the panic lasted.  Then, the original scare having
proved to be all a mistake, the prices naturally go up once more, and we
get a long figure for all that we hold.  That's what I mean by making 'a
corner in diamonds.'  There is no room in it for any miscalculation.  It
is as certain as a proposition of Euclid, and as easily worked out."

"It sounds very nice," his son remarked thoughtfully.  "I'm not so sure
about its working, though."

"It must work well.  As far as human calculation can go there is no
possibility of failure.  Besides, my boy, never lose sight of the fact
that we shall be speculating with other people's money.  We ourselves
have nothing to lose, absolutely nothing."

"I am not likely to lose sight of it," said Ezra angrily, his mind
coming back to his grievance.

"I reckon that we can raise from forty to fifty thousand pounds without
much difficulty.  My name is, as you know, as good as that of any firm
in the City.  For nearly forty years it has been above stain or
suspicion.  If we carry on our plans at once, and lay this money out
judiciously, all may come right."

"It's Hobson's choice," the young man remarked.  "We must try some bold
stroke of the sort.  Have you chosen the right sort of men for agents?
You should have men of some standing to set such reports going.
They would have more weight then."

John Girdlestone shook his head despondingly.  "How am I to get a man of
any standing to do such a piece of business?" he said.

"Nothing easier," answered Ezra, with a cynical laugh.  "I could pick
out a score of impecunious fellows from the clubs who would be only too
glad to earn a hundred or two in any way you can mention.  All their
talk about honour and so forth is very pretty and edifying, but it's not
meant for every day use.  Of course we should have to pay him."

"Them, you mean?"

"No, we should only want one man."

"How about our purchaser at the diamond fields?"

"You don't mean to say," Ezra said roughly, "that you would be so absurd
as to trust any man with our money.  Why, I wouldn't let the Archbishop
of Canterbury out of my sight with forty thousand pounds of mine.  No, I
shall go myself to the diamond fields--that is, if I can trust you here
alone."

"That is unkind, Ezra," said his father.  "Your idea is an excellent
one.  I should have proposed it myself but for the discomforts and
hardships of such a journey."

"There's no use doing things by halves," the young man remarked.  "As to
our other agent, I have the very man--Major Tobias Clutterbuck.  He is a
shrewd, clever fellow, and he's always hard up.  Last week he wanted to
borrow a tenner from me.  The job would be a godsend to him, and his
social rank would be a great help to our plan.  I'll answer for his
jumping at the idea."

"Sound him on the subject, then."

"I will."

"I am glad," said the old merchant, "that you and I have had this
conversation, Ezra.  The fact of my having speculated without your
knowledge, and deceived you by a false ledger, has often weighed heavily
upon my conscience, I assure you.  It is a relief to me to have told you
all."

"Drop the subject, then," Ezra said curtly.  "I must put up with it, for
I have no redress.  The thing is done and nothing can undo it; but I
consider that you have willfully wasted the money."

"Believe me, I have tried to act for the best.  The good name of our
firm is everything to me.  I have spent my whole life in building it up,
and if the day should come when it must go, I trust that I may have gone
myself.  There is nothing which I would not do to preserve it."

"I see they want our premiums," Ezra said, glancing at the open letter
upon the table.  "How is it that none of those ships go down?
That would give us help."

"Hush! hush!" John Girdlestone cried imploringly.  "Speak in a whisper
when you talk of such things."

"I can't understand you," said Ezra petulantly.  "You persistently
over-insure your ships, year after year.  Look at the _Leopard_; it is
put at more than twice what she was worth as new.  And the _Black
Eagle_, I dare say, is about the same.  Yet you never have an accident
with them, while your two new uninsured clippers run each other down."

"Well, what more can I do?" replied the merchant "They are thoroughly
rotten.  I have done nothing for them for years.  Sooner or later they
must go.  I cannot do any more."

"I'd make 'em go down quick enough," muttered Ezra, with an oath.
"Why don't you make old Miggs bore a hole in them, or put a light to a
barrel of paraffin?  Bless your soul! the thing's done every day.
What's the use of being milk-and-watery about it?"

"No, no, Ezra!" cried his father.  "Not that--not that.  It's one thing
letting matters take their course, and it is another thing giving
positive orders to scuttle a ship.  Besides, it would put us in Miggs'
power.  It would be too dangerous."

"Please yourself," said Ezra, with a sneer.  "You've got us into the
mess and you must take us out again.  If the worst comes to the worst
I'll tell you what I'll do.  I'll marry Kate Harston, wash my hands of
the firm, leave you to settle matters with the creditors, and retire
with the forty thousand pounds;" with which threat the junior partner
took up his hat and swaggered out of the office.

After his departure, John Girdlestone spent an hour in anxious thought,
arranging the details of the scheme which he had just submitted to his
son.  As he sat, his eye chanced to fall upon the two letters lying on
his desk, and it struck him that they had better be attended to.  It did
not suit his plans to fall back upon his credit just yet.  It has been
already shown that he was a man of ready resource.  He rang the bell and
summoned his senior clerk.

"Good morning, John," he said affably.

"Good morning, Mr. Girdlestone, good morning, sir," said wizened little
John Gilray, rubbing his thin yellow hands together, as a sign of his
gratification.

"I hear, John, that you have come into a legacy lately," Mr. Girdlestone
said.

"Yes, sir.  Fifteen hundred pounds, sir.  Less legacy duty and
incidental expenses, fourteen hundred and twenty-eight six and
fourpence.  My wife's brother Andrew left it, sir, and a very handsome
legacy too."

John Girdlestone smiled with the indulgent smile of one to whom such a
sum was absolutely nothing.

"What have you done with the money, then, John?" he asked carelessly.

"Banked it, sir, in the United Metropolitan."

"In the United Metropolitan, John?  Let me see.  Their present rate of
interest is three and a half?"

"Three, sir," said John.

"Three!  Dear me, John, that is poor interest, very poor indeed.  It is
most fortunate that I made these inquiries.  I was on the point of
drawing fourteen hundred pounds from one of my correspondents as a
temporary convenience.  For this I should pay him five per cent.  I have
no objection, John, as you are an old servant of the firm, to giving you
the preference in this matter.  I cannot take more than fourteen
hundred--but I shall be happy to accommodate you up to that sum at the
rate named."

John Gilray was overwhelmed by this thoughtful and considerate act.  "It
is really too generous and kind, sir," he said.  "I don't know how to
thank you."

"Don't mention it, John," the senior partner said grandly.  "The firm is
always glad to advance the interests of its employees in any reasonable
manner.  Have you your cheque-book with you?  Fill it up for fourteen
hundred.  No more, John; I cannot oblige you by taking any more."

The head clerk having made out his cheque for the amount, and having
signed his name to it in a cramped little quaint handwriting, which
reminded one of his person, was duly presented with a receipt and
dismissed to his counting-house.  There he entertained the other clerks
by a glowing description of the magnanimity of his employer.

John Girdlestone took some sheets of blue official paper from a drawer,
and his quill pen travelled furiously over them with many a screech and
splutter.

"Sir," he said to the bank manager, "I enclose fourteen hundred pounds,
which represents the loose cash about the office.  I shall make a heavy
deposit presently.  In the meantime, you will, of course, honour
anything that may be presented.--Yours truly, JOHN GIRDLESTONE."

To Lloyd's Insurance Agency he wrote:--"Sir,--Enclosed you will find
cheque for 241 pounds seven shillings and sixpence, being amount due as
premium on the _Leopard_, _Black Eagle_, and _Maid of Athens_.  Should
have forwarded cheque before, but with so many things of importance to
look after these trifles are liable to be overlooked."

These two epistles having been sealed, addressed, and despatched, the
elder Girdlestone began to feel somewhat more easy in his mind, and to
devote himself once more to the innocent amusement of planning how a
corner might best be created in diamonds.

CHAPTER XIII.

SHADOW AND LIGHT.

John Girdlestone's private residence in Eccleston Square was a large and
substantial house in a district which the wave of fashion had passed
over in its westward course.  It might still, however, be said to be
covered by a deposit of eminent respectability.  The building was stern
and hard, and massive in its external appearance, but the interior was
luxury itself, for the old merchant, in spite of his ascetic appearance,
was inclined to be a sybarite at heart, and had a due appreciation of
the good things of this world.  Indeed, there was an oriental and almost
barbarous splendour about the great rooms, where the richest of
furniture was interspersed with skins from the Gaboon, hand-worked ivory
from Old Calabar, and the thousand other strange valuables which were
presented by his agents to the African trader.

After the death of his friend, Girdlestone had been as good as his word.
He had taken Kate Harston away from the desolate house at Fulham and
brought her to live with him.  From the garrets of that palatial edifice
to the cellars she was at liberty to roam where she would, and do what
she chose.  The square garden too, with its smoke-dried trees and faded
lawn, was at her disposal, in which she might walk, or work, or read.
No cares or responsibilities were imposed upon her.  The domestic
affairs were superintended by a stern housekeeper, who bore a quaint
resemblance to Girdlestone himself in petticoats, and who arranged every
detail of housekeeping.  The young girl had apparently only to exist and
to be happy.

Yet the latter item was not so easy as it might seem.  It was not a
congenial atmosphere.  Her whole society consisted of the stern,
unemotional merchant and his vulgar, occasionally brutal, son.
At first, while the memory of her father was still fresh, she felt her
new surroundings acutely, contrasting, as they did, with her happy
Fulham home.  Gradually, however, as time deadened the sting, she came
to accommodate herself to circumstances.  The two men left her very much
to her own devices.  Girdlestone was so engrossed in his business that
he had little time to inquire into her pursuits, and Ezra, being
addicted to late hours, was seldom seen except at breakfast-time, when
she listened with awe to his sporting slang and cynical comments upon
men and manners.

John Girdlestone had been by no means overjoyed upon the return of the
Dimsdales from Edinburgh to learn that his ward had been thrown into the
company of her young cousin.  He received her coldly and forbade her to
visit Phillimore Gardens for some time to come.  He took occasion also
to speak of Tom, and to assure her that he had received very serious
accounts as to his spiritual state.  "He is addicted to all manner of
debasing pursuits," he remarked, "and it is my particular wish that you
should avoid him."  Learning that young Dimsdale was in London, he even
took the precaution of telling off a confidential footman to walk behind
her on all occasions, and to act either as an escort or as a sentry.

It chanced, however, that one day, a few weeks after her return, Kate
found an opportunity of recovering her freedom.  The footman had been
despatched upon some other duty, so she bethought herself that a book
was to be bought and some lace to be matched, and several other
important feminine duties to be fulfilled.  It happened, however, that
as she walked sedately down Warwick Street, her eyes fell upon a very
tall and square-shouldered young man, who was lounging in her direction,
tapping his stick listlessly against the railings, as is the habit of
idle men.  At this Kate forgot incontinently all about the book and the
lace, while the tall youth ceased to tap the railings, and came striding
towards her with long springy footsteps and a smiling face.

"Why Cousin Tom, who would have thought of meeting you here?" she
exclaimed, when the first greetings had been exchanged.  "It is a most
surprising thing."

It is possible that the incident would not have struck her as so very
astonishing after all, had she known that Tom had spent six hours a day
for the last fortnight in blockading the entrances to Eccleston Square.

"Most remarkable!" said the young hypocrite.  "You see, I haven't
anything to do yet, so I walk about London a good deal.  It was a lucky
chance that sent me in this direction."

"And how is the doctor?" Kate asked eagerly.  "And Mrs. Dimsdale, how is
she?  You must give my love to them both."

"How is it that you have never been to see us?" Tom asked reproachfully.

"Mr. Girdlestone thinks that I have been too idle lately, and that I
should stay at home.  I am afraid it will be some little time before I
can steal away to Kensington."

Tom consigned her guardian under his breath to a region warmer even than
the scene of that gentleman's commercial speculations.

"Which way are you going?" he asked.

"I was going to Victoria Street to change my book, and then to Ford
Street."

"What a strange thing!" the young man exclaimed; "I was going in that
direction too."  It seemed the more strange, as he was walking in the
opposite direction when she met him.  Neither seemed inclined to make
any comment upon the fact, so they walked on together.  "And you have
not forgotten the days in Edinburgh yet?" Tom asked, after a long pause.

"No, indeed," his companion answered with enthusiasm.  "I shall never
forget them as long as I live."

"Nor I," said Tom earnestly.  "You remember the day we had at the
Pentlands?"

"And the drive round Arthur's Seat."

"And the time that we all went to Roslin and saw the chapel."

"And the day at Edinburgh Castle when we saw the jewels and the armoury.
But you must have seen all these things many times before?  You could
not have enjoyed it as much as we did for the first time."

"Oh yes, I did," Tom said stoutly, wondering to himself how it was that
the easy grace with which he could turn compliments to maidens for whom
he cared nothing had so entirely deserted him.  "You see, Kate--well--you
were not there when I saw them before."

"Ah," said Kate demurely, "what a beautiful day it is?  I fancied in the
morning that it was going to rain."

Tom was not to be diverted from his subject by any meteorological
observations.  "Perhaps some time your guardian will allow the dad to
take you on another little holiday," he said hopefully.

"I'm afraid he won't," answered Kate.

"Why not?"

"Because he seemed so cross when I came back this last time."

"Why was he cross?" asked Tom.

"Because--" She was about to say that it was because she had been
brought in contact with him; but she recollected herself in time.

"Because what?"

"Because he happened to be in a bad temper," she answered.

"It is too bad that you should have to submit to any one's whims and
tempers," the young man said, switching his stick angrily backwards and
forwards.

"Why not?" she asked, laughing.  "Everybody has some one over them.
If you hadn't, you would never know right from wrong."

"But he is unkind to you."

"No, indeed," said Kate, with decision.  "He is really very kind to me.
He may appear a little stern at times, but I know that he means it for
my own good, and I should be a very foolish girl if I resented it.
Besides, he is so pious and good that what may seem a little fault to us
would appear a great thing in his eyes."

"Oh, he is very pious and good, then," Tom remarked, in a doubtful
voice.  His shrewd old father had formed his own views as to John
Girdlestone's character, and his son had in due course imbibed them from
him.

"Yes, of course he is," answered Kate, looking up with great wondering
eyes.  "Don't you know that he is the chief supporter of the Purbrook
Street Branch of the Primitive Trinitarians, and sits in the front pew
three times every Sunday?"

"Ah!" said Tom.

"Yes, and subscribes to all the charitable funds, and is a friend of
Mr. Jefferson Edwards, the great philanthropist.  Besides, look how good
he has been to me.  He has taken the place of my father."

"Hum!" Tom said dubiously; and then, with a little pang at his heart,
"Do you like Ezra Girdlestone too?"

"No, indeed," cried his companion with energy.  "I don't like him in the
least.  He is a cruel, bad-hearted man."

"Cruel! You don't mean cruel to you, of course."

"No, not to me.  I avoid him as much as I can, and sometimes for weeks
we hardly exchange a word.  Do you know what he did the other day?
It makes me shudder even to think of it.  I heard a cat crying pitifully
in the garden, so I went out to see what was the matter.  When I got
outside I saw Ezra Girdlestone leaning out of a window with a gun in his
hands--one of those air-guns which don't make any noise when they go
off.  And there, in the middle of the garden, was a poor cat that he had
tied to a bush, and he had been practising at it for ever so long.
The poor creature was still alive, but oh! so dreadfully injured."

"The brute! What did you do?"

"I untied it and brought it inside, but it died during the night."

"And what did he say?"

"He put up his gun while I was untying it, as if he had half a mind to
take a shot at me.  When I met him afterwards he said that he would
teach me to mind my own business.  I didn't mind what he said though, as
long as I had the cat."

"Spoke like that, did he?" said Tom savagely, flushing up to his eyes.
"I wish I saw him now.  I'd teach him manners, or--"

"You'll certainly get run over if you go on like that," interrupted
Kate.

Indeed, the young man in his indignation was striding over a crossing
without the slightest heed of the imminent danger which he ran from the
stream of traffic.

"Don't be so excitable, Cousin Tom," she said, laying her gloved hand
upon his arm; "there is nothing to be cross about."

"Isn't there?" he answered furiously.  "It's a pretty state of things
that you should have to submit to insults from a brutal puppy like that
fellow Ezra Girdlestone."  The pair had managed by this time to get
half-way across the broad road, and were halting upon the little island
of safety formed by the great stone base of a lamp-post.  An
interminable stream of 'buses--yellow, purple, and brown--with vans,
hansoms, and growlers, blocked the way in front of them.  A single
policeman, with his back turned to them, and his two arms going like an
animated semaphore, was the only human being in their immediate
vicinity.  Amid all the roar and rattle of the huge city they were as
thoroughly left to themselves as though they were in the centre of
Salisbury Plain.

"You must have a protector," Tom said with decision.

"Oh, Cousin Tom, don't be foolish; I can protect myself very well."

"You must have some one who has a right to look after you." The young
man's voice was husky, for the back part of his throat had become
unaccountably dry of a sudden.

"You can pass now, sir," roared the constable, for there was a momentary
break in the traffic.

"Don't go for a moment," Tom cried, desperately detaining his companion
by the sleeve of her jacket.  "We are alone here and can talk.  Don't
you think--don't you think you could like me a little bit if you were to
try?  I love you so, Kate, that I cannot help hoping that my love is not
all lost."

"All clear now, sir," shouted the constable once more.

"Don't mind him," said Tom, still detaining her on the little-island.
"Since I met you in Edinburgh, Kate, I have seemed to be walking in a
dream.  Do what I will, go where I will, I still have you before my eyes
and hear your sweet voice in my ears.  I don't believe any girl was ever
loved more dearly than I love you, but I find it so hard to put into
words the thoughts that I have in my mind.  For Heaven's sake, give me
some little gleam of hope to carry away with me.  You don't dislike me,
Kate, do you?"

"You know that I don't, Cousin Tom," said the young lady, with downcast
eyes.  He had cornered her so skilfully against the great lamp that she
could move neither to the right nor to the left.

"Do you like me, then, Kate?" he asked eagerly, with a loving light in
his earnest grey eyes.

"Of course I do."

"Do you think you could love me?" continued this persistent young man.
"I don't mean all at once, and in a moment, because I know very well
that I am not worthy of it.  But in time don't you think you could come
to love me?"

"Perhaps," murmured Kate, with averted face.  It was such a very little
murmur that it was wonderful that it should be audible at all; yet it
pealed in the young man's ears above the rattle and the clatter of the
busy street.  His head was very near to hers at the time.

"Now's your time, sir," roared the semaphoric policeman.

Had Tom been in a less exposed position it is possible that he might
have acted upon that well-timed remark from the cunning constable.
The centre of a London crossing is not, however, a very advantageous
spot for the performance of love passages.  As they walked on, threading
their way among the vehicles, Tom took his companion's hand in his, and
they exchanged one firm grip, which each felt to be of the nature of a
pledge.  How sunny and bright the dull brick-lined streets appeared to
those two young people that afternoon.  They were both looking into a
future which seemed to be one long vista of happiness and love.  Of all
the gifts of Providence, surely our want of knowledge of the things
which are to come upon us is the most merciful, and the one we could
least dispense with!

So happy and so light-hearted were these two lovers that it was not
until they found themselves in Warwick Street once more that they came
down from the clouds, and realized that there were some commonplace
details which must be dealt with in one way or another.

"Of course, I may tell my own people, dearest, about our engagement?"
Tom said.

"I wonder what your mother will say?" answered Kate, laughing merrily.
"She will be awfully astonished."

"How about Girdlestone?" asked Tom.

The thought of the guardian had never occurred to either of them before.
They stared at each other, and Kate's face assumed such an expression of
dismay that her companion burst out laughing.

"Don't be frightened, darling," he said.  "If you like, I'll go in and
'beard the lion in his den.'  There is no time like the present."

"No, no, dear Tom," she cried eagerly.  "You must not do that." It was
impossible for her to tell him how especially Girdlestone had cautioned
her against him, but she felt that it would never do to allow the two to
meet.  "We must conceal our engagement from Mr. Girdlestone."

"Conceal our engagement!"

"Yes, Tom.  He has warned me so often against anything of the sort, that
really I don't know what he would do if he knew about it.  He would
certainly make it very uncomfortable for me to live with him.  Remember
I am nearly twenty now, so in a little more than a year I shall be
entirely free.  That is not very long."

"I don't know about that," Tom said doubtfully.  "However, if you will
be more comfortable, of course that settles the question.  It seems
rather hard, though, that we should have to conceal it, simply in order
to pacify this old bear."

"It's only for a time, Tom; and you may tell them at home by all means.
Now, good-bye, dear; they will see you from the windows if you come
nearer."

"Good-bye, my darling."

They shook hands and parted, he hurrying away with the glad tidings to
Phillimore Gardens, she tripping back to her captivity with the lightest
heart that she had felt for a weary time.  Passers-by glanced back at
the bright little face under the bright little bonnet, and Ezra
Girdlestone, looking down at her from the drawing-room window, bethought
him that if the diamond speculation should fail it would be no hardship
to turn to his father's word.

CHAPTER XIV.

A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING.

The revelation of the real state of the firm's finances was a terrible
blow to Ezra Girdlestone.  To a man of his overbearing, tempestuous
disposition failure and poverty were bitter things to face.  He had been
wont to tread down before him all such little difficulties and obstacles
as came across him in his former life.  Now he encountered a great
barrier which could not be passed so easily, and he raged and chafed
before it.  It made him still more wroth to think that the fault was
none of his.  All his life he had reckoned, as a matter of course, that
when his father passed away he would be left almost a millionaire.  A
single half-hour's conversation had shattered this delusion and left him
face to face with ruin.  He lost his sleep and became restless and
hollow-eyed.  Once or twice he was seen the worse for drink in the
daytime.

He was a man of strong character, however, and though somewhat
demoralized by the sudden shock, he threw away no point in the game
which he and his father were playing.  He saw clearly that only a bold
stroke could save them.  He therefore threw himself heart and soul into
the diamond scheme, and worked out the details in a masterly manner.
The more he looked into it the more convinced he became, not only of its
feasibility, but of its absolute safety.  It seemed as though it were
hardly possible that it should fail.

Among other things he proceeded to qualify himself as a dealer in
diamonds.  It happened that he was acquainted with one of the partners
of the firm of Fugger & Stoltz, who did the largest import trade in
precious stones.  Through his kindness he received practical
instructions in the variety and value of diamonds, and learned to detect
all those little flaws and peculiarities which are only visible to the
eye of an expert, and yet are of the highest importance in determinating
the price of a stone.  With such opportunities Ezra made rapid progress,
and within a few weeks there were not many dealers in the trade who had
a better grasp of the subject.

Both the Girdlestones recognized that the success of their plan depended
very largely upon their choice of an agent, and both were of the opinion
that in Major Tobias Clutterbuck they had just the man that they were in
want of.  The younger merchant had long felt vaguely that the major's
social position, combined with his impecuniosity and the looseness of
his morality, as inferred from his mode of life, might some day make him
a valuable agent under delicate circumstances.  As to the old soldier's
own inclinations, Ezra flattered himself that he knew the man's nature
to a nicety.  It was simply a question of the price to be paid.  No
doubt the figure would be substantial, but he recognized with a trader's
instinct that the article was a superior one, and he was content to
allow for the quality in estimating the value.

Early one April afternoon the major was strutting down St. James's
Street, frock-coated and kid-gloved, with protuberant chest and
glittering shoes which peeped out from beneath the daintiest of gaiters.
Young Girdlestone, who had been on the look-out from a club window, ran
across and intercepted him.

"How are you, my dear major?" he cried, advancing upon him with
outstretched hand and as much show of geniality as his nature permitted.

"How d'ye do?  How d'ye do?" said the other somewhat pompously.  He had
made up his mind that nothing was to be done with the young man, and yet
he was reluctant to break entirely with one whose purse was well lined
and who had sporting proclivities.

"I've been wishing to speak with you for some days, major," said Ezra.
"When could I see you?"

"You'll niver see me any plainer than you do at this very moment," the
old soldier answered, taking a sidelong glance of suspicion at his
companion.

"Ah, but I wish to speak to you quietly on a matter of business," the
young merchant persisted.  "It's a delicate matter which may need some
talking over, and, above all, it is a private matter."

"Ged!" said the major, with a wheezy laugh, "you'd have thought I
wanted to borrow money if I had said as much.  Look here now, we'll go
into White's private billiard-room, and I'll let you have two hunthred
out of five for a tinner--though it's as good as handing you the money
to offer you such odds.  You can talk this over while we play."

"No, no, major," urged the junior partner.  "I tell you it is a matter
of the greatest importance to both of us.  Can you meet me at Nelson's
Cafe at four o'clock?  I know the manager, and he'll let us have a
private room."

"I'd ask you round to me own little place," the major said, "but it's
rather too far.  Nelson's at four.  Right you are!  'Punctuality is next
to godliness,' as ould Willoughby of the Buffs used to say.  You didn't
know Willoughby, eh?  Gad, he was second to a man at Gib in '47.
He brought his man on the ground, but the opponents didn't turn up.
Two minutes after time Willoughby wanted his man to leave.  'Teach 'em
punctuality,' he said.  'Can't be done,' said his man.  '_Must_ be
done,' said Willoughby.  'Out of the question,' said the man, and
wouldn't budge.  Willoughby persisted; there were high words and a
quarrel.  The docther put 'em up at fifteen paces, and the man shot
Willoughby through the calf of the leg.  He was a martyr to punctuality.
Four o'clock-bye, bye!" The major nodded pleasantly and swaggered away,
flourishing his little cane jauntily in the air.

In spite of his admiration of punctuality, as exemplified in the person
of Willoughby of the Buffs, the major took good care to arrive at the
trysting-place somewhat behind the appointed time.  It was clear to him
that some service or other was expected of him, and it was obviously his
game therefore to hang back and not appear to be too eager to enter into
young Girdlestone's views.  When he presented himself at the entrance of
Nelson's Cafe the young merchant had been fuming and chafing in the
sitting-room for five and twenty minutes.

It was a dingy apartment, with a single large horse-hair chair and half
a dozen small wooden dittoes, placed with mathematical precision along
the walls.  A square table in the centre and a shabby mirror over the
mantelpiece completed the furniture.  With the instinct of an old
campaigner the major immediately dropped into the arm-chair, and,
leaning luxuriously back, took a cigar from his case and proceeded to
light it.  Ezra Girdlestone seated himself near the table and twisted
his dark moustache, as was his habit when collecting himself.

"What will you drink?" he asked,

"Anything that's going."

"Fetch in a decanter of brandy and some seltzer water," said Ezra to the
waiter; "then shut the door and leave us entirely to ourselves."

When the liquor was placed upon the table he drank off his first glass
at a gulp, and then refilled it.  The major placed his upon the
mantelpiece beside him without tasting it.  Both were endeavouring to be
at their best and clearest in the coming interview, and each set about
it in his own manner.

"I'll tell you why I wanted to have a chat with you, major," Ezra said,
having first opened the door suddenly and glanced out as a precaution
against eavesdroppers.  "I have to be cautious, because what I have to
say affects the interest of the firm.  I wouldn't for the world have any
one know about it except yourself."

"What is it, me boy?" the major asked, with languid curiosity, puffing
at his weed and staring up at the smoke-blackened ceiling.

"You understand that in commercial speculations the least breath of
information beforehand may mean a loss of thousands on thousands."

The major nodded his head as a sign that he appreciated this fact.

"We have a difficult enterprise on which we are about to embark," Ezra
said, leaning forward and sinking his voice almost to a whisper.
"It is one which will need great skill and tact, though it may be made
to pay well if properly managed.  You follow me?"

His companion nodded once more.

"For this enterprise we require an agent to perform one of the principal
parts.  This agent must possess great ability, and, at the same time, be
a man on whom we can thoroughly rely.  Of course we do not expect to
find such qualities without paying for them."

The major grunted a hearty acquiescence.

"My father," continued Ezra, "wanted to employ one of our own men.
We have numbers who are capable in every way of managing the business.
I interfered, however.  I said that I had a good friend, named Major
Tobias Clutterbuck, who was well qualified for the position.
I mentioned that you were of the blood of the old Silesian kings.  Was I
not right?"

"Begad you were not.  Milesian, sir; Milesian!"

"Ah, Milesian.  It's all the same."

"It's nothing of the sort," said the major indignantly.

"I mean it was all the same to my father.  He wouldn't know the
difference.  Well, I told him of your high descent, and that you were a
traveller, a soldier, and a man of steady and trustworthy habits."

"Eh?" ejaculated the major involuntarily.  "Well, all right.  Go on!"

"I told him all this," said Ezra slowly, "and I pointed out to him that
the sum of money which he was prepared to lay out would be better
expended on such a man than on one who had no virtues beyond those of
business."

"I didn't give you credit for so much sinse!" his companion exclaimed
with enthusiasm.

"I said to him that if the matter were left entirely in your hands we
could rely upon its being done thoroughly.  At the same time, we should
have the satisfaction of knowing that the substantial sum which we are
prepared to pay our agent had come into worthy hands."

"You hit it there again," murmured the veteran.

"You are prepared, then," said Ezra, glancing keenly at him, "to put
yourself at our orders on condition that you are well paid for it?"

"Not so fast, me young friend, not so fast!" said the major, taking his
cigar from between his lips and letting the blue smoke curl round his
head.  "Let's hear what it is that you want me to do, and then I'm riddy
to say what I'll agree to and what I won't.  I remimber Jimmy Baxter in
Texas--"

"Hang Jimmy Baxter!" Ezra cried impatiently.

"That's been done already," observed the major calmly.  "Lynched for
horse-stealing in '66.  However, go on, and I'll promise not to stop you
until you have finished."

Thus encouraged, Ezra proceeded to unfold the plan upon which the
fortunes of the House of Girdlestone depended.  Not a word did he say of
ruin or danger, or the reasons which had induced this speculation.
On the contrary, he depicted the affairs of the firm as being in a most
nourishing condition, and this venture as simply a small insignificant
offshoot from their business, undertaken as much for amusement as for
any serious purpose.  Still, he laid stress upon the fact that though
the sum in question was a small one to the firm, yet it was a very large
one in other men's eyes.  As to the morality of the scheme, that was a
point which Ezra omitted entirely to touch upon.  Any comment upon that
would, he felt, be superfluous when dealing with such a man as his
companion.

"And now, major," he concluded, "provided you lend us your name and your
talents to help us in our speculation, the firm are prepared to meet you
in a most liberal spirit in the matter of remuneration.  Of course your
voyage and your expenses will be handsomely paid.  You will have to
travel by steamer to St. Petersburg, provided that we choose the Ural
Mountains as the scene of our imaginary find.  I hear that there is high
play going on aboard these boats, and with your well-known skill you
will no doubt be able to make the voyage a remunerative one.  We
calculate that at the most you will be in Russia about three months.
Now, the firm thought that it would be very fair if they were to
guarantee you two hundred and fifty pounds, which they would increase to
five hundred in case of success; of course by that we mean complete
success, such as would be likely to attend your exertions."

Now, had there been any third person in the room during this long
statement of the young merchant's, and had that third person been a man
of observation, he might have remarked several peculiarities in the
major's demeanour.  At the commencement of the address he might have
posed as the very model and type of respectable composure.  As the plan
was gradually unfolded, however, the old soldier began to puff harder at
his cigar until a continuous thick grey cloud rose up from him, through
which the lurid tip of the havannah shone like a murky meteor.
From time to time he passed his hand down his puffy cheeks, as was his
custom when excited.  Then he moved uneasily in his chair, cleared his
throat huskily, and showed other signs of restlessness, all of which
were hailed by Ezra Girdlestone as unmistakable proofs of the
correctness of his judgment and of the not unnatural eagerness of the
veteran on hearing of the windfall which chance had placed in his way.

When the young man had finished, the major stood up with his face to the
empty fire-place, his legs apart, his chest inflated, and his body
rocking ponderously backwards and forwards.

"Let me be quite sure that I understand you," he said.  "You wish me to
go to Russia?"

"Quite so," Ezra remarked, rubbing his hands pleasantly.

"You have the goodness to suggist that on me way I should rook me
fellow-passengers in the boat?"

"That is to say, if you think it worth your while."

"Quite so, if I think it worth me while.  I am then to procade across
the counthry to some mountains--"

"The Urals."

"And there I am to pretind to discover certain diamond mines, and am to
give weight to me story by the fact that I am known to be a man of good
birth, and also by exhibiting some rough stones which you wish me to
take out with me from England?"

"Quite right, major," Ezra said encouragingly.

"I am then to tilegraph or write this lie to England and git it inserted
in the papers?"

"That's an ugly word," Ezra remonstrated.  "This 'report' we will say.
A report may be either true or false, you know."

"And by this report, thin," the major continued, "you reckon that the
market will be so affected that your father and you will be able to buy
and sell in a manner that will be profitable to you, but by which you
will do other people out of their money?"

"You have an unpleasant way of putting it," said Ezra, with a forced
laugh; "but you have the idea right."

"I have another idea as well," roared the old soldier, flushing purple
with passion.  "I've an idea that if I was twinty years younger I'd see
whether you'd fit through that window, Master Girdlestone.  Ged!  I'd
have taught you to propose such a schame to a man with blue blood in his
veins, you scounthrel!"

Ezra fell back in his chair.  He was outwardly composed, but there was a
dangerous glitter in his eye, and his face had turned from a healthy
olive to a dull yellow tint.

"You won't do it?" he gasped.

"Do it!  D'ye think that a man who's worn Her Majesty's scarlet jacket
for twinty years would dirty his hands with such a trick?  I tell ye, I
wouldn't do it for all the money that iver was coined.  Look here,
Girdlestone, I know you, but, by the Lord, you don't know me!"

The young merchant sat silently in his chair, with the same livid colour
upon his face and savage expression in his eyes.  Major Tobias
Clutterbuck stood at the end of the table, stooping forward so as to
lean his hands upon it, with his eyes protuberant and his scanty grey
fringe in a bristle with indignation.

"What right had you to come to me with such a proposal?  I don't set up
for being a saint, Lord knows, but, be George! I've some morals, such as
they are, and I mean to stick to them.  One of me rules of life has been
niver to know a blackgaird, and so, me young friend, from this day forth
you and I go on our own roads.  Ged!  I'm not particular, but 'you must
draw the line somewhere,' as me frind, Charlie Monteith, of the Indian
Horse, used to say when he cut his father-in-law.  I draw it at you."

While the major was solemnly delivering himself of these sentiments,
Ezra continued to sit watching him in a particularly venomous manner.
His straight, cruel lips were blanched with passion, and the veins stood
out upon his forehead.  The young man was a famous amateur bruiser, and
could fight a round with any professional in London.  The old soldier
would be a child in his hands.  As the latter picked up his hat
preparatory to leaving the room, Ezra rose and bolted the door upon the
inside.  "It's worth five pounds in a police court," he muttered to
himself, and knotting up his great hands, which glittered with rings, he
approached his companion with his head sunk upon his breast, his eyes
flashing from under his dark brows, and the slow, stealthy step of a
beast of prey.  There was a characteristic refinement of cruelty about
his attack, as though he wished to gloat over the helplessness of his
victim, and give him time to realize his position before he set upon
him.

If such were his intention he failed signally in producing the desired
effect.  The instant the major perceived his manoeuvre he pulled himself
up to his full height, as he might have done on parade, and slipping his
hand beneath the tails of his frock-coat, produced a small glittering
implement, which he levelled straight at the young merchant's head.

"A revolver!" Ezra gasped, staggering back.

"No, a derringer," said the veteran blandly.  "I got into the thrick of
carrying one when I was in Colorado, and I have stuck to it ever since.
You niver know when it may be useful."  As he spoke he continued to hold
the black muzzle of his pistol in a dead line with the centre of the
young man's forehead, and to follow the latter's movements with a hand
which was as steady as a rock.  Ezra was no coward, but he ceased his
advance and stood irresolute.

"Now, thin," cried the major, in sharp military accents, "undo that
door."

The young merchant took one look at the threatening apoplectic face of
his antagonist, and another at the ugly black spot which covered him.
He stooped, and pushed back the bolt.

"Now, open it!  Ged, if you don't look alive I'll have to blow a hole in
you afther all.  You wouldn't be the first man I've killed, nor the last
maybe."

Ezra opened the door precipitately.

"Now walk before me into the strate."

It struck the waiters at Nelson's well-known restaurant as a somewhat
curious thing that their two customers should walk out with such very
grave faces and in so unsociable a manner.  "C'est la froideur
Anglaise!" remarked little Alphonse Lefanue to a fellow exile as they
paused in the laying of tables to observe the phenomenon.  Neither of
them noticed that the stout gentleman behind with his hand placed
jauntily in the breast of his coat, was still clutching the brown handle
of a pistol.

There was a hansom standing at the door and Major Clutterbuck stepped
into it.

"Look ye here, Girdlestone," he said, as the latter stood looking
sulkily up and down the street.  "You should learn a lesson from this.
Never attack a man unless you're sure that he's unarmed.  You may git
shot, if you do."

Ezra continued to stare gloomily into vacancy and took no notice of his
late companion's remark.

"Another thing," said the major.  "You must niver take it for granted
that every man you mate is as great a blackgaird as yourself."

The young merchant gave him a malignant glance from his dark eyes and
was turning to go, but the gentleman in the cab stretched out his hand
to detain him.

"One more lesson," he said.  "Never funk a pistol unless you are sure
there's a carthridge inside.  Mine hadn't.  Drive on, cabby!"
With which parting shot the gallant major rattled away down Piccadilly
with a fixed determination never again to leave his rooms without a few
of Eley's No 4 central fires in his pocket.

CHAPTER XV.

AN ADDITION TO THE HOUSE.

There were rejoicings in Phillimore Gardens over Tom's engagement, for
the two old people were both heartily fond of Kate--"our Kate," as they
were wont proudly to call her.  The physician chafed at first over the
idea of keeping the matter a secret from Girdlestone.  A little
reflection served to show him, however, that there was nothing to be
gained by informing him, while Kate's life, during the time that she was
forced to remain under his roof, would be more tolerable as long as he
was kept in ignorance of it.  In the meanwhile the lovers saw little of
each other, and Tom was only consoled by the thought that every day
which passed brought him nearer to the time when he could claim his
prize without concealment or fear.  He went about as happy and as
light-hearted a man as any in all London.  His mother was delighted at
his high spirits, but his bluff old father was not so well satisfied.
"Confound the lad!" he said to himself.  "He is settling down to a life
of idleness.  It suits him too well.  We must get him to choose one way
or the other."

Accordingly, after breakfast one morning, the doctor asked his son to
step with him into the library, where he lit his long cherry-wood pipe,
as was his custom after every meal, and smoked for some time in silence.

"You must do something to keep you from mischief, my boy," he said at
last brusquely.

"I'm ready for anything, dad," replied Tom, "but I don't quite see what
I'm fitted for."

"First of all, what do you think of this?" the doctor asked abruptly,
handing a letter over to his son, who opened it and read as follows:--

    "DEAR SIR,--

    "It has come to my knowledge through my son that your boy has
     abandoned the study of medicine, and that you are still
     uncertain as to his future career. I have long had the
     intention of seeking a young man who might join in our
     business, and relieve my old shoulders of some of the
     burden.  Ezra urges me to write and propose that your
     son should become one of us. If he has any taste for
     business we shall be happy to advance his interest in
     every way.  He would, of course, have to purchase a share
     in the concern, which would amount to seven thousand pounds,
     on which he would be paid interest at the rate of five
     per cent.  By allowing this interest to accumulate, and
     investing also his share of the profits, he might in time
     absorb a large portion of the business. In case he joined
     us upon this footing we should have no objection to his
     name appearing as one of the firm. Should the idea commend
     itself to you, I should be most happy to talk over details,
     and to explain to you the advantages which the firm can offer,
     at my office in Fenchurch Street, any day between ten and four."

    "With kind regards to your family, and hoping that they enjoy
     the great blessing of health, I remain sincerely yours,"

                                       "JOHN GIRDLESTONE."

"What d'ye think of that?" the doctor asked, when his son had finished
reading it.

"I hardly know," said Tom; "I should like a little time to think it
over."

"Seven thousand pounds is a good round sum.  It is more than half the
total capital which I have invested for you.  On the other hand, I have
heard those who ought to know say there is not a sounder or better
managed concern in London.  There's no time like the present, Tom.
Get your hat, and we'll go down to Fenchurch Street together and look
into it."

While father and son were rattling along in a cab from Kensington to the
City, the young man had time to turn the matter over in his mind.
He wanted to be at work, and why not take this up as well as anything
else.  It is true that he disliked what he had seen of both the
Girdlestones, but, on the other hand, by becoming a member of the firm
he would probably be thrown in the way of meeting the old merchant's
ward.  This last consideration decided the matter, and long before the
cab had pulled up at the long and dirty passage which led to the offices
of the great African firm, the party principally interested had fully
made up his mind as to the course he should adopt.

They were duly ushered into the small sanctum adorned with the dissected
ships, the maps, the charts, the lists of sailing, and the water-colour
picture of the barque _Belinda_, where they were received by the head of
the firm.  With a charming personal modesty, tempered by a becoming
pride in the great business which he had himself created, he discoursed
upon its transactions and its importance.  He took down ledgers and
flashed great rows of figures before the eyes of the good doctor,
explaining, at the same time, how month after month their receipts
increased and their capital grew.  Then he spoke touchingly of his own
ripe years, and of the quiet and seclusion which he looked forward to
after his busy lifetime.

"With my young friend here," he said, patting Tom affectionately on the
shoulder, "and my own boy Ezra, both working together, there will be
young blood and life in the concern.  They'll bring the energy, and when
they want advice they can come to the old man for it.  I intend in a
year or so, when the new arrangement works smoothly, to have a run over
to Palestine.  It may seem a weakness to you, but all my life I have
hoped some day to stand upon that holy ground, and to look down on those
scenes which we have all imagined to ourselves.  Your son will start
with a good position and a fair income, which he will probably double
before he is five years older.  The money invested by him is simply to
ensure that he shall have a substantial interest in promoting the
affairs of the firm." Thus the old man ran on, and when Tom and his
father left the office with the sound of great sums of money, and huge
profits, and heavy balances, and safe investments, all jostling each
other in their brains, they had both made up their minds as to the
future.

Hence in a couple of days there was a stir in the legal house of Jones,
Morgan, & Co., with much rustling of parchment, and signing of names,
and drinking of inferior sherry.  The result of all which was that the
firm of Girdlestone & Co. were seven thousand pounds the richer, and
Thomas Dimsdale found himself a recognized member of a great commercial
house with all the rights and privileges appertaining thereto.

"A good day's work, Tom," said the old doctor, as they left the lawyer's
office together.  "You have now taken an irrevocable step in life, my
boy.  The world is before you.  You belong to a first-class firm and you
have every chance.  May you thrive and prosper."

"If I don't it won't be my fault," Tom answered with decision.  "I shall
work with my whole heart and soul."

"A good day's work, Ezra," the African merchant was remarking at that
very moment in Fenchurch Street.  "The firm is pinched again for working
expenses.  This will help;" and he threw a little slip of green paper
across the table to his son.

"It will help us for a time," Ezra said, gloomily, glancing at the
figures.  "It was fortunate that I was able to put you on his track.
It is only a drop in the ocean, however.  Unless this diamond spec.
comes off, nothing can save us."

"But it shall come off," his father answered resolutely.  He had
succeeded in obtaining an agent who appeared to be almost as well fitted
for the post as the recalcitrant major.  This worthy had started off
already for Russia, where the scene of his operations was to lie.

"I hope so," said Ezra.  "We have neglected no precaution.  Langworthy
should be at Tobolsk by this time.  I saw that he had a bag of rough
stones with him which would do well enough for his purpose."

"We have your money ready, too.  I can rely upon rather over thirty
thousand pounds.  Our credit was good for that, but I did not wish to
push it too far for fear of setting tongues wagging."

"I am thinking of starting shortly in the mail boat _Cyprian_," said
Ezra.  "I should be at the diamond fields in little more than a month.
I dare say Langworthy won't show any signs for some time yet, but I may
as well be there as here.  It will give me a little while to find my
way about.  You see, if the tidings and I were to come almost
simultaneously, it might arouse suspicions.  In the meantime, no one
knows our little game."

"Except your friend Clutterbuck."

A dark shadow passed over Ezra's handsome face, and his cruel lip
tightened in a way which boded little good to the old soldier should he
ever lie at his mercy.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FIRST STEP.

It was a proud day for the ex-medical student when he first entered the
counting-house of the African firm and realized that he was one of the
governing powers in that busy establishment.  Tom Dimsdale's mind was an
intensely practical one, and although he had found the study of science
an irksome matter, he was able to throw himself into business with
uncommon energy and devotion.  The clerks soon found that the sunburnt,
athletic-looking young man intended to be anything but a sleeping
partner, and both they and old Gilray respected him accordingly.

The latter had at first been inclined to resent the new arrangement as
far as his gentle down-trodden nature could resent anything.  Hitherto
he had been the monarch of the counting-house in the absence of the
Girdlestones, but now a higher desk had been erected in a more central
portion of the room, and this was for the accommodation of the new
comer.  Gilray, after his thirty years of service, felt this usurpation
of his rights very keenly; but there was such a simple kindness about
the invader, and he was so grateful for any assistance in his new
duties, that the old clerk's resentment soon melted away.

A little incident occurred which strengthened this kindly feeling.
It chanced that some few days after Tom's first appearance in the office
several of the clerks, who had not yet quite gauged what manner of man
this young gentleman might be, took advantage of the absence of the
Girdlestones to take a rise out of the manager.  One of them, a great
rawboned Scotchman, named McCalister, after one or two minor exhibitions
of wit concluded by dropping a heavy ruler over the partition of the old
man's desk in such a way that it crashed down upon his head as he sat
stooping over his writing.  Tom, who had been watching the proceedings
with a baleful eye, sprang off his stool and made across the office at
the offender.  McCalister seemed inclined for a moment to brazen it out,
but there was a dangerous sling about Tom's shoulders and a flush of
honest indignation upon his face.  "I didn't mean to hurt him," said the
Scotchman.  "Don't hit him, sir!" cried the little manager.  "Beg his
pardon," said Tom between his teeth.  McCalister stammered out some lame
apology, and the matter was ended.  It revealed the new partner,
however, in an entirely novel light to the inmates of the
counting-house.  That under such circumstances a complaint should be
carried to the senior was only natural, but that the junior should
actually take the matter into his own hands and execute lynch law then
and there was altogether a new phenomenon.  From that day Tom acquired a
great ascendancy in the office, and Gilray became his devoted slave.
This friendship with the old clerk proved to be very useful, for by
means of his shrewd hints and patient teaching the new comer gained a
grasp of the business which he could not have attained by any other
method.

Girdlestone called him into the office one day and congratulated him
upon the progress which he was making.  "My dear young man," he said to
him in his patriarchal way, "I am delighted to hear of the way in which
you identify yourself with the interests of the firm.  If at first you
find work allotted to you which may appear to you to be rather menial,
you must understand that that is simply due to our desire that you
should master the whole business from its very foundations."

"There is nothing I desire better," said Tom.

"In addition to the routine of office work, and the superintendence of
the clerks, I should wish you to have a thorough grasp of all the
details of the shipping, and of the loading and unloading of our
vessels, as well as of the storage of goods when landed.  When any of
our ships are in, I should wish you to go down to the docks and to
overlook everything which is done."

Tom bowed and congratulated himself inwardly upon these new duties,
which promised to be interesting.

"As you grow older," said the senior partner, "you will find it of
inestimable value that you have had practical experience of what your
subordinates have to do.  My whole life has taught me that.  When you
are in doubt upon any subject you can ask Ezra for assistance and
advice.  He is a young man whom you might well take as an example, for
he has great business capacity.  When he has gone to Africa you can come
to me if there is anything which you do not understand."
John Girdlestone appeared to be so kindly and benevolent during this and
other interviews, that Tom's heart warmed towards him, and he came to
the conclusion that his father had judged the old merchant harshly.
More than once, so impressed was he by his kindness, that he was on the
point of disclosing to him his engagement to his ward, but on each
occasion there arose within him a lively recollection of Kate's
frightened face when he had suggested such a course, and he felt that
without her consent he had no right to divulge the secret.

If the elder Girdlestone improved upon acquaintance it was exactly the
reverse with his son Ezra.  The dislike with which Tom had originally
regarded him deepened as he came in closer contact, and appeared to be
reciprocated by the other, so that they held but little intercourse
together.  Ezra had taken into his own charge all the financial part of
the concern, and guarded it the more jealously when he realized that the
new partner was so much less simple than he had expected.  Thus Tom had
no opportunity of ascertaining for himself how the affairs of the firm
stood, but believed implicitly, as did Gilray, that every outlay was
bringing in a large and remunerative return.  Very much astonished would
both of them have been had they realized that the working expenses were
at present being paid entirely from their own capital until such time as
the plot should ripen which was to restore the fortunes of the African
company.

In one respect Tom Dimsdale was immeasurably the gainer by his
connection with the firm, for without that it is difficult to say how he
could have found opportunities for breaking through the barrier which
separated him from Kate.  The surveillance of the merchant had become
stricter of late, and all invitations from Mrs. Dimsdale or other
friends who pitied the loneliness of the girl were repulsed by
Girdlestone with the curt intimation that his ward's health was not such
as to justify him in allowing her to incur any risk of catching a chill.
She was practically a prisoner in the great stone cage in Eccleston
Square, and even on her walks a warder in the shape of a footman was, as
we have seen, told off to guard her.  Whatever John Girdlestone's
reasons may have been, he had evidently come to the conclusion that it
was of the highest importance that she should be kept secluded.

As it was, Tom, thanks to his position as one of the firm, was able
occasionally, in spite of every precaution to penetrate through the old
man's defensive works.  If a question of importance arose at Fenchurch
Street during the absence of the senior partner, what more natural than
that Mr. Dimsdale should volunteer to walk round to Eccleston Square in
order to acquaint him with the fact.  And if it happened that the
gentleman was not to be found there, how very natural that the young man
should wait half an hour for him, and that Miss Harston should take the
opportunity of a chat with an old friend?  Precious, precious interviews
those, the more so for their rarity.  They brightened the dull routine
of Kate's weary life and sent Tom back to the office full of spirit and
hope.  The days were at hand when the memory of them was to shine out
like little rifts of light in the dark cloud of existence.

And now the time was coming when it was to be decided whether, by a last
bold stroke, the credit of the House of Girdlestone was to be saved, or
whether the attempt was to plunge them into deeper and more hopeless
ruin.  An unscrupulous agent named Langworthy had, as already indicated,
been despatched to Russia well primed with instructions as to what to do
and how to do it.  He had been in the employ of an English corn merchant
at Odessa, and had some knowledge of the Russian language which would be
invaluable to him in his undertaking.  In the character of an English
gentleman of scientific tastes he was to establish himself in some
convenient village among the Ural Mountains.  There he was to remain
some little time, so as to arouse confidence in the people before making
his pretended discovery.  He was then to carry his rough diamonds to
Tobolsk, as the nearest large town, and to exhibit them there, backing
up his assertion by the evidence of villagers who had seen him dig them
up.  The Girdlestones knew that that alone would be sufficient when
telegraphed to England to produce a panic in the sensitive diamond
market.  Before any systematic inquiry could be made, Langworthy would
have disappeared, and their little speculation would have come off.
After that the sooner the people realized that it was a hoax the better
for the conspirators.  In any case, there seemed to be no possibility
that the origin of the rumour could be traced.  Meanwhile, Ezra
Girdlestone had secured his passage in the Cape mail steamer _Cyprian_.
On the night that he left he sat up late in the library at Eccleston
Square talking over the matter for the last time with his father.

The old man was pale and nervous.  The one weak point in his character
was his affection for his son, an affection which he strove to hide
under an austere manner, but which was none the less genuine.  He had
never before parted with him for any length of time, and he felt the
wrench keenly.  As to Ezra, he was flushed and excited at the thought of
the new scenes which lay before him and the daring speculation in which
he was about to embark.  He flung himself into a chair and stretched his
thick, muscular limbs out in front of him.

"I know as much about stones," he said exultantly, "as any man in
London.  I was pricing a bag of rough ones at Van Helmer's to-day, and
he is reckoned a good judge.  He said that no expert could have done it
better.  Lord bless you! pure or splints, or cracked, or off colour, or
spotted, or twin stones, I'm up to them all.  I wasn't a pound out in
the market value of any one of them."

"You deserve great credit for your quickness and perseverance," replied
his father.  "Your knowledge will be invaluable to you when you are at
the fields.  Be careful of yourself when you are there, my son, if only
for my sake.  There are rough fellows at such places, and you must give
them soft words.  I know that your temper is quick, but remember those
wise words, 'He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a
city.'"

"Never fear for me, dad," said Ezra, with a sinister smile, pointing to
a small leather case which lay among his things.  "That's the best
six-shooter I could get for money.  I've taken a tip, you see, from our
good friend, the major, and have six answers for any one that wants to
argue with me.  If I had had that the other day he wouldn't have bounced
me so easily."

"Nay, but Ezra, Ezra," his father said, in great agitation, "you will
promise to be careful and to avoid quarrels and bloodshed.  It is
against the great law, the new commandment."

"I won't get into any rows if I can help it," his son answered.
"That's not my game."

"But if you think that there is no mistake, if your opponent is
undoubtedly about to proceed to extremities, shoot him down at once, my
dear lad, before he has time to draw.  I have heard those who have been
out there say that in such cases everything depends upon getting the
first shot.  I am anxious about you, and shall not be easy until I see
you again."

"Blessed if he hasn't tears in his eyes!" Ezra exclaimed to himself,
much astonished at this unprecedented occurrence.

"When do you go?" his father asked.

"My train leaves in an hour or so.  I reach the steamer at Southampton
about three in the morning, and she starts with the full tide at six."

"Look after your health," the old man continued.  "Don't get your feet
wet, and wear flannel next your skin.  Don't forget your religious
duties either.  It has a good effect upon those among whom you do
business."

Ezra sprang from his chair with an exclamation of disgust and began to
pace up and down.  "I wish to Heaven you would drop that sort of gammon
when we are alone," he said irritably.

"My dear boy," said the father, with a mild look of surprise upon his
face, "you seem to be under a misapprehension in this matter.
You appear to consider that we are embarking upon some unjustifiable
undertaking.  This is not so.  What we are doing is simply a small
commercial ruse--a finesse.  It is a recognized maxim of trade to
endeavour to depreciate the price of whatever you want to buy, and to
raise it again when the time comes for selling."

"It's steering very close to the law," his son retorted.
"No speculating, now, while I am away; whatever comes in must go towards
getting us out of this scrape, not to plunging us deeper in the mire."

"I shall not expend an unnecessary penny."

"Well, then, good-bye." said the young man, rising up and holding out
his hand.  "Keep your eye on Dimsdale and don't trust him."

"Good-bye, my son, good-bye--God bless you!"

The old merchant was honestly moved, and his voice quivered as he spoke.
He stood motionless for a minute or so until the heavy door slammed, and
then he threw open the window and gazed sorrowfully down the street at
the disappearing cab.  His whole attitude expressed such dejection that
his ward, who had just entered the room, felt more drawn towards him
than she had ever done before.  Slipping up to him she placed her warm
tender hand upon his sympathetically.

"He will soon be back, dear Mr. Girdlestone," she said.  "You must not
be uneasy about him."

As she stood beside him in her white dress, with a single red ribbon
round her neck and a band of the same colour round her waist, she was as
fair a specimen of English girl-hood as could have been found in all
London.  The merchant's features softened as he looked down at her fresh
young face, and he put out his hand as though to caress her, but some
unpleasant thought must have crossed his mind, for he assumed suddenly a
darker look and turned away from her without a word.  More than once
that night she recalled that strange spasmodic expression of something
akin to horror which had passed over her guardian's features as he gazed
at her.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE LAND OF DIAMONDS.

The anxious father had not very long to wait before he heard tidings of
his son.  Upon the first of June the great vessel weighed her anchor in
the Southampton Water, and steamed past the Needles into the Channel.
On the 5th she was reported from Madeira, and the merchant received
telegrams both from the agent of the firm and from his son.  Then there
was a long interval of silence, for the telegraph did not extend to the
Cape at that time, but, at last on the 8th of August, a letter announced
Ezra's safe arrival.  He wrote again from Wellington, which was the
railway terminus, and finally there came a long epistle from Kimberley,
the capital of the mining district, in which the young man described his
eight hundred miles drive up country and all the adventures which
overtook him on the way.

"This place, Kimberley," he said in his letter, "has grown into a
fair-sized town, though a few years ago it was just a camp.  Now there
are churches, banks, and a club in it.  There are a sprinkling of
well-dressed people in the streets, but the majority are grimy-looking
chaps from the diggings, with slouched hats and coloured shirts, rough
fellows to look at, though quiet enough as a rule.  Of course, there are
blacks everywhere, of all shades, from pure jet up to the lightest
yellow.  Some of these niggers have money, and are quite independent.
You would be surprised at their impertinence.  I kicked one of them in
the hotel yesterday, and he asked me what the devil I was doing, so I
knocked the insolent scoundrel down.  He says that he will sue me, but I
cannot believe that the law is so servile as to bolster up a black man
against a white one.

"Though Kimberley is the capital of the dry diggings, it is not there
that all the actual mining is done.  It goes on briskly in a lot of
little camps, which are dotted along the Vaal River for fifty or sixty
miles.  The stones are generally bought by licensed agents immediately
after they have been found, and are paid for by cheques on banks in
Kimberley.  I have, therefore, transferred our money to the Standard
Bank here, and have taken my licence.  I start to-morrow for Hebron,
Klipdrift, and other of the mining centres to see for myself how
business is done and to make friends with the miners, so as to get
myself known.  As soon as the news comes I shall buy in all that offers.
Keep your eyes on that fellow Dimsdale, and let him know nothing of what
is going on."

He wrote again about a fortnight afterwards, and his letter, as it
crossed the Atlantic, passed the outward mail, which bore the news of
the wonderful diamond find made by an English geologist among the Ural
Mountains.

"I am now on a tour among the camps," he said.  "I have worked right
through from Hebron to Klipdrift, Pniel, Cawood's Hope, Waldeck's Plant,
Neukirk's Hope, Winterrush, and Bluejacket.  To-morrow I push on to
Delparte's Hope and Larkin's Flat.  I am well received wherever I go,
except by the dealers, who are mostly German Jews.  They hear that I am
a London capitalist, and fear that I may send up the prices.
They little know!  I bought stones all the way along, but not very
valuable ones, for we must husband our resources.

"The process of mining is very simple.  The men dig pits in loose gravel
lying along the banks of the river, and it is in these pits that the
diamonds are found.  The black men, or 'boys,' as they call them, do all
the work, and the 'baas,' or master, superintends.  Everything that
turns up belongs to the 'baas,' but the boys have a fixed rate of wages,
which never varies, whether the work is paying or not.  I was standing
at Hebron watching one of the gangs working when the white chap gave a
shout, and dived his hand into a heap of stuff he had just turned over,
pulling out a dirty looking little lump about the size of a marble.
At his shout all the other fellows from every claim within hearing
gathered round, until there was quite a crowd.

"'It's a fine stone,' said the man that turned it up.

"'Fifty carats if it's one,' cried another, weighing it in the palm of
his hand.

"I had my scales with me, so I offered to weigh it.  It was sixty-four
and a half carats.  Then they washed it and examined it.  There was a
lot of whispering among them and then the one who had found it came
forward.

"'You deal, don't you, Mr. Girdlestone?' he said.

"'Now and then,' I answered, 'but I'm not very keen about it.  I came
out here more for pleasure than business.

"'Well,' he said, 'you may go far before you see a finer stone than
this.  What will you bid for it?'

"I looked at it.  'It's off-coloured,' I said.

"'It's white,' said he and one or two of his chums.

"'Gentlemen,' I said, 'it is not white.  There are two shades of yellow
in it.  It is worth little or nothing.'

"'Why, if it is yellow it makes it all the more valuable,' said a big
fellow with a black beard and corduroy trousers.  'A yellow stone's as
good as a white.'

"'Yes,' I answered, 'a pure yellow stone is.  But this is neither one
nor the other.  It's off-colour, and you know that as well as I.'

"'Won't you bid for it, then?' said one of them.

"'I'll bid seventy pounds,' I said, 'but not a penny more.'

"You should have heard the howl they all set up.  'It's worth five
hundred,' the fellow cried.

"'All right,' I said, 'keep it and sell it for that; good day,' and I
went off.  The stone was sent after me that evening with a request for