Africa -- Fiction; Businessmen -- Fiction; Crime -- England -- Fiction; Criminals -- England -- Fiction
"It is deplorable, most deplorable. But we are not the people to apply
to. Your own good sense will tell you that, now that I have explained
it to you. Good morning. I wish you good fortune, and hope you will
let us know from time to time how you go on. We always take a keen
interest in the families of those who serve us." Mr. Girdlestone opened
the door, and the heart-sick little woman staggered away across the
office, still bearing her heavy child.
When she got into the open air she stared around her like one dazed.
The senior clerk looked anxiously at her as he stood at the open door.
Then he glanced back into the office. Ezra Girdlestone was deep in some
accounts, and his brother clerks were all absorbed in their work. He
stole up to the woman, with an apologetic smile, slipped something into
her hand, and then hurried back into the office with an austere look
upon his face, as if his whole mind were absorbed in the affairs of the
firm. There are speculations above the ken of business men. Perhaps,
Thomas Gilray, that ill-spared half-crown of yours may bring in better
interest than the five-and-twenty pounds of your employer.
CHAPTER IV.
CAPTAIN HAMILTON MIGGS OF THE "BLACK EAGLE."
The head of the firm had hardly recovered his mental serenity after the
painful duty of explaining her financial position to the Widow Hudson,
when his quick ear caught the sound of a heavy footstep in the
counting-house. A gruff voice was audible at the same time, which
demanded in rather more energetic language than was usually employed in
that orderly establishment, whether the principal was to be seen or not.
The answer was evidently in the affirmative, for the lumbering tread
came rapidly nearer, and a powerful double knock announced that the
visitor was at the other side of the door.
"Come in," cried Mr. Girdlestone, laying down his pen.
This invitation was so far complied with that the handle turned, and the
door revolved slowly upon its hinges. Nothing more substantial than a
strong smell of spirituous liquors, however, entered the apartment.
"Come in," the merchant repeated impatiently.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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