“He has mentioned your name to us, Mr. Wharton, before now.”
“And he is going out to Guatemala?”
“Oh yes;—he’s going out. Has he not told you as much himself?”
“Certainly, sir. And he has told me that he is desirous of buying certain shares in the Company before he starts.”
“Probably, Mr. Wharton.”
“Indeed, I believe he cannot go unless he buys them.”
“That may be so, Mr. Wharton. No doubt he has told you all that himself.”
“The fact is, Mr. Hartlepod, I am willing, under certain stipulations, to advance him the money.” Mr. Hartlepod bowed. “I need not trouble you with private affairs between myself and my son-in-law.” Again the Secretary bowed. “But it seems to be for his interest that he should go.”
“A very great opening indeed, Mr. Wharton. I don’t see how a man is to have a better opening. A fine salary! His expenses out paid! One of the very best things that has come up for many years! And as for the capital he is to embark in the affair, he is as safe to get 20 percent on it—as safe—as safe as the Bank of England.”
“He’ll have the shares?”
“Oh yes;—the scrip will be handed to him at once.”
“And—and—”
“If you mean about the mine, Mr. Wharton, you may take my word that it’s all real. It’s not one of those sham things that melt away like snow and leave the shareholders nowhere. There’s the prospectus, Mr. Wharton. Perhaps you have not seen that before. Take it away and cast your eye over it at your leisure.” Mr. Wharton put the somewhat lengthy pamphlet into his pocket. “Look at the list of Directors. We’ve three members of Parliament, a baronet, and one or two City names that are as good—as good as the Bank of England. If that prospectus won’t make a man confident I don’t know what will. Why, Mr. Wharton, you don’t think that your son-in-law would get those fifty shares at par unless he was going out as our general local manager. The shares ain’t to be had. It’s a large concern as far as capital goes. You’ll see if you look. About a quarter of a million paid up. But it’s all in a box as one may say. It’s among ourselves. The shares ain’t in the market. Of course it’s not for me to say what should be done between you and your son-in-law. Lopez is a friend of mine, and a man I esteem, and all that. Nevertheless I shouldn’t think of advising you to do this or that—or not to do it. But when you talk of safety, Mr. Wharton—why, Mr. Wharton, I don’t scruple to tell you as a man who knows what these things are, that this is an opportunity that doesn’t come in a man’s way perhaps twice in his life.”
Mr. Wharton found that he had nothing more to say, and went back to Lincoln’s Inn. He knew very well that Mr. Hartlepod’s assurances were not worth much. Mr. Hartlepod himself and his belongings, the clerks in his office, the look of the rooms, and the very nature of the praises which he had sung, all of them inspired anything but confidence. Mr. Wharton was a man of the world; and, though he knew nothing of City ways, was quite aware that no man in his senses would lay out £5,000 on the mere word of Mr. Hartlepod. But still he was inclined to make the payment. If only he could secure the absence of Lopez—if he could be sure that Lopez would in truth go to Guatemala, and if also he could induce the man to go without his wife, he would risk the money. The money would, of course, be thrown away—but he would throw it away. Lopez no doubt had declared that he would not go without his wife, even though the money were paid for him. But the money was an alluring sum! As the pressure upon the man became greater, Mr. Wharton thought he would probably consent to leave his wife behind him.
In his emergency the barrister went to his attorney and told him everything. The two lawyers were closeted together for an hour, and Mr. Wharton’s last words to his old friend were as follows:—“I will risk the money, Walker, or rather I will consent absolutely to throw it away—as it will be thrown away—if it can be managed that he shall in truth go to this place without his wife.”
LIV
Lizzie
It cannot be supposed that Ferdinand Lopez at this time was a very happy man. He had, at any rate, once loved his wife, and would have loved her still could he have trained her to think as he thought, to share his wishes, and “to put herself into the same boat with him,”—as he was wont to describe the unison and sympathy which he required from her. To give him his due, he did not know that he was a villain. When he was exhorting her to “get round her father” he was not aware that he was giving her lessons which must shock a well-conditioned girl. He did not understand that everything that she had discovered of his moral disposition since her marriage was of a nature to disgust her. And, not understanding all this, he conceived that he was grievously wronged by her in that she adhered to her father rather than to him. This made him unhappy, and doubly disappointed him. He had neither got the wife that he had expected nor the fortune. But he still thought that the fortune must come if he would only hold on to the wife which he had got.
And then everything had gone badly with him since his marriage. He was apt, when thinking over his affairs, to attribute all this to the fears and hesitation and parsimony of Sexty Parker. None of his late ventures with Sexty Parker had been successful. And now Sexty was
