"Don't know, I'm sure, ma'am. I'll swear that he does what is right and
proper."
"That is what I usually pay--ten shillings in the hundred pounds. If
you see him before I do just ask him to get me five thousand in New
Zealands. It is at four just now, and I fancy it may rise."
"Five thousand!" exclaimed the Admiral, reckoning it in his own mind.
"Lemme see! That's twenty-five pounds commission. A nice day's work,
upon my word. It is a very handsome order, ma'am."
"Well, I must pay some one, and why not him?"
"I'll tell him, and I'm sure he'll lose no time."
"Oh, there is no great hurry. By the way, I understand from what you
said just now that he has a partner."
"Yes, my boy is the junior partner. Pearson is the senior. I was
introduced to him years ago, and he offered Harold the opening. Of
course we had a pretty stiff premium to pay."
Mrs. Westmacott had stopped, and was standing very stiffly with her Red
Indian face even grimmer than usual.
"Pearson?" said she. "Jeremiah Pearson?"
"The same."
"Then it's all off," she cried. "You need not carry out that
investment."
"Very well, ma'am."
They walked on together side by side, she brooding over some thought of
her own, and he a little crossed and disappointed at her caprice and the
lost commission for Harold.
"I tell you what, Admiral," she exclaimed suddenly, "if I were you I
should get your boy out of this partnership."
"But why, madam?"
"Because he is tied to one of the deepest, slyest foxes in the whole
city of London."
"Jeremiah Pearson, ma'am? What can you know of him? He bears a good
name."
"No one in this world knows Jeremiah Pearson as I know him, Admiral.
I warn you because I have a friendly feeling both for you and for your
son. The man is a rogue and you had best avoid him."
"But these are only words, ma'am. Do you tell me that you know him
better than the brokers and jobbers in the City?"
"Man," cried Mrs. Westmacott, "will you allow that I know him when I
tell you that my maiden name was Ada Pearson, and that Jeremiah is my
only brother?"
The Admiral whistled. "Whew!" cried he. "Now that I think of it, there
is a likeness."
"He is a man of iron, Admiral--a man without a heart. I should shock you
if I were to tell you what I have endured from my brother. My father's
wealth was divided equally between us. His own share he ran through in
five years, and he has tried since then by every trick of a cunning,
low-minded man, by base cajolery, by legal quibbles, by brutal
intimidation, to juggle me out of my share as well. There is no villainy
of which the man is not capable. Oh, I know my brother Jeremiah. I know
him and I am prepared for him."
"This is all new to me, ma'am. 'Pon my word, I hardly know what to say
to it. I thank you for having spoken so plainly. From what you say, this
is a poor sort of consort for a man to sail with. Perhaps Harold would
do well to cut himself adrift."
"Without losing a day."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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