“Just come inside—will you?” said Lopez. Now within Mr. Parker’s very small office there was a smaller office in which there were a safe, a small rickety Pembroke table, two chairs, and an old washing-stand with a tumbled towel. Lopez led the way into this sanctum as though he knew the place well, and Sexty Parker followed him.
“Beastly day, isn’t it?” said Sexty.
“Yes—a nasty east wind.”
“Cutting one in two, with a hot sun at the same time. One ought to hibernate at this time of the year.”
“Then why don’t you hibernate?” said Lopez.
“Business is too good. That’s about it. A man has to stick to it when it does come. Everybody can’t do like you;—give up regular work, and make a better thing of an hour now and an hour then, just as it pleases you. I shouldn’t dare go in for that kind of thing.”
“I don’t suppose you or anyone else know what I go in for,” said Lopez, with a look that indicated offence.
“Nor don’t care,” said Sexty;—“only hope it’s something good for your sake.” Sexty Parker had known Mr. Lopez well, now for some years, and being an overbearing man himself—somewhat even of a bully if the truth be spoken—and by no means apt to give way unless hard pressed, had often tried his “hand” on his friend, as he himself would have said. But I doubt whether he could remember any instance in which he could congratulate himself on success. He was trying his hand again now, but did it with a faltering voice, having caught a glance of his friend’s eye.
“I dare say not,” said Lopez. Then he continued without changing his voice or the nature of the glance of his eye, “I’ll tell you what I want you to do now. I want your name to this bill for three months.”
Sexty Parker opened his mouth and his eyes, and took the bit of paper that was tendered to him. It was a promissory note for £750, which, if signed by him, would at the end of the specified period make him liable for that sum were it not otherwise paid. His friend Mr. Lopez was indeed applying to him for the assistance of his name in raising a loan to the amount of the sum named. This was a kind of favour which a man should ask almost on his knees—and which, if so asked, Mr. Sextus Parker would certainly refuse. And here was Ferdinand Lopez asking it—whom Sextus Parker had latterly regarded as an opulent man—and asking it not at all on his knees, but, as one might say, at the muzzle of a pistol. “Accommodation bill!” said Sexty. “Why, you ain’t hard up; are you?”
“I’m not going just at present to tell you much about my affairs, and yet I expect you to do what I ask you. I don’t suppose you doubt my ability to raise £750.”
“Oh, dear, no,” said Sexty, who had been looked at and who had not borne the inspection well.
“And I don’t suppose you would refuse me even if I were hard up, as you call it.” There had been affairs before between the two men in which Lopez had probably been the stronger, and the memory of them, added to the inspection which was still going on, was heavy upon poor Sexty.
“Oh, dear, no;—I wasn’t thinking of refusing. I suppose a fellow may be a little surprised at such a thing.”
“I don’t know why you need be surprised, as such things are very common. I happen to have taken a share in a loan a little beyond my immediate means, and therefore want a few hundreds. There is no one I can ask with a better grace than you. If you ain’t—afraid about it, just sign it.”
“Oh, I ain’t afraid,” said Sexty, taking his pen and writing his name across the bill. But even before the signature was finished, when his eye was taken away from the face of his companion and fixed upon the disagreeable piece of paper beneath his hand, he repented of what he was doing. He almost arrested his signature halfway. He did hesitate, but had not pluck enough to stop his hand. “It does seem to be a d⸺d odd transaction all the same,” he said as he leaned back in his chair.
“It’s the commonest thing in the world,” said Lopez picking up the bill in a leisurely way, folding it and putting it into his pocketbook. “Have our names never been together on a bit of paper before?”
“When we both had something to make by it.”
“You’ve nothing to make and nothing to lose by this. Good day and many thanks;—though I don’t think so much of the affair as you seem to do.” Then Ferdinand Lopez took his departure and Sexty Parker was left alone in his bewilderment.
“By George—that’s queer,” he said to himself. “Who’d have thought of Lopez being hard up for a few hundred pounds? But it must be all right. He wouldn’t have come in that fashion, if it hadn’t been all right. I oughtn’t to have done it though! A man ought never to do that kind of thing;—never—never!” And Mr. Sextus Parker was much discontented with himself, so that when he got home that evening to the wife of his bosom and his little family at Ponders End, he by no means made himself agreeable to them. For that sum of £750 sat upon his bosom as he ate his supper, and lay upon his chest as he slept—like a nightmare.
II
Everett Wharton
On that same day Lopez dined with his friend Everett Wharton at a new club called the Progress, of which they were both members. The Progress was certainly a new
