“Ah, I have hurt your feelings, I see. I am so blunt and hasty. Hearty Wibraham is my name; and hearty enough I am, God knows; and perhaps a little too hearty. ‘Hasty Wibraham, you ought to be called, by Jove, you ought,’ said one of my friends last night, and by Gad I think he was right, sir.” “I am sure I donʼt know,” said Cradock; “how can I pretend to say, without myself being hasty?” “I suppose, Mr. Newman, you can command a little capital? It is not at all essential, you know, in a _bonâ fide_ case like yours.” “Thatʼs a good job,” said Cradock; “for my capital, like the new one of Canada, is below contempt.” “To a man imbued, Mr. Newman, with the genuine spirit of commerce, no sum, however small, but may be the key of fortune.” “My key of fortune, then, is about twenty pounds ten shillings.” “A very, very small sum, my dear sir; but I dare say some of your friends would assist you to make it, say fifty guineas. You Oxford men are so generous; always ready to help each other. That is why I canʼt help liking you so. Thoroughly fine fellows,” he added, in a loud aside, “thoroughly noble fellows, when a messmate is in trouble. Canʼt apply to his family, I see; but it would be mean in him not to let his friends help him. I do believe the highest privilege of human life is to assist a friend in difficulties.” Cradock, of course, could not reply to all this, because he was not meant to hear it; but he gazed with some admiration at the utterer of such exalted sentiments. Mr. Hearty Wibraham, now about forty–five years old, was rather tall and portly, with an aquiline face, a dark complexion, and a quick, decisive manner. His clothes were well made, and of good quality, unpretentious, neat, substantial. His only piece of adornment was a magnificent gold watch–chain, which rather shunned than courted observation. “No,” said Cradock, at last, “I have not a single friend in the world to whom I would think of applying for the loan of a sixpence.” “Well, we _are_ independent,” Mr. Wibraham still held discourse with himself; “but Hearty Wibraham likes and respects him the more for that. Heʼll get over his troubles, whatever they are. My good sir,” he continued, aloud, “I will not utter any opinion, lest you should think me inclined to flatter—the last thing in the world I ever would do. Nevertheless, in all manly candour, I am bound to tell you that my prepossession in your favour induces me to make you a most advantageous offer.” “I am much obliged to you. Pray, what is it?” “A clerkship in my counting–house, which I am just about to open, having formed a very snug little connexion to begin with.” “Oh!” cried Cradock, for, green as he was, he would rather have had to do with a business already established.