“When will Broughton be here?”
“He may be in at any time;—I can’t say when. I suppose he’s down at the court now.”
“What court?”
“Capel Court.”
“I suppose I can see him there?” said Crosbie.
“If you catch him you can see him, of course. But what good will that do you, Mr. Crosbie? I tell you that we can’t do it for you. If Broughton was here this moment it couldn’t make the slightest difference.”
Now Mr. Crosbie had an idea that Mr. Musselboro, though he sat in Dobbs Broughton’s seat and kept on his hat, and balanced his chair on two legs, was in truth nothing more than a clerk. He did not quite understand the manner in which the affairs of the establishment were worked, though he had been informed that Mrs. Van Siever was one of the partners. That Dobbs Broughton was the managing man, who really did the business, he was convinced; and he did not therefore like to be answered peremptorily by such a one as Musselboro. “I should wish to see Mr. Broughton,” he said.
“You can call again—or you can go down to the court if you like it. But you may take this as an answer from me that the bill can’t be renewed by us.” At this moment the door of the room was opened, and Dobbs Broughton himself came into it. His face was not at all pleasant, and anyone might have seen with half an eye that the money-market was a great deal tighter than he liked it to be. “Here is Mr. Crosbie here—about that bill,” said Musselboro.
“Mr. Crosbie must take up his bill; that’s all,” said Dobbs Broughton.
“But it doesn’t suit me to take it up,” said Crosbie.
“Then you must take it up without suiting you,” said Dobbs Broughton.
It might have been seen, I said, with half an eye, that Mr. Broughton did not like the state of the money-market; and it might also be seen with the other half that he had been endeavouring to mitigate the bitterness of his dislike by alcoholic aid. Musselboro at once perceived that his patron and partner was half drunk, and Crosbie was aware that he had been drinking. But, nevertheless, it was necessary that something more should be said. The bill would be due tomorrow—was payable at Crosbie’s bankers; and, as Mr. Crosbie too well knew, there were no funds there for the purpose. And there were other purposes, very needful, for which Mr. Crosbie’s funds were at the present moment unfortunately by no means sufficient. He stood for a few moments thinking what he would do;—whether he would leave the drunken man and his office and let the bill take its chance, or whether he would make one more effort for an arrangement. He did not for a moment believe that Broughton himself was subject to any pecuniary difficulty. Broughton lived in a big house, as rich men live, and had a name for commercial success. It never occurred to Crosbie that it was a matter of great moment to Dobbs Broughton himself that the bill should be taken up. Crosbie still thought that Musselboro was his special enemy, and that Broughton had joined Musselboro in his hostility simply because he was too drunk to know better. “You might, at any rate, answer me civilly, Mr. Broughton,” he said.
“I know nothing about civility with things as they are at present,” said Broughton. “Civil by ⸻! There’s nothing so civil as paying money when you owe it. Musselboro, reach me down the decanter and some glasses. Perhaps Mr. Crosbie will wet his whistle.”
“He don’t want any wine—nor you either,” said Musselboro.
“What’s up now?” said Broughton, staggering across the room towards a cupboard, in which it was his custom to keep a provision of that comfort which he needed at the present moment. “I suppose I may stand a glass of wine to a fellow in my own room, if I like it.”
“I will take no wine, thank you,” said Crosbie.
“Then you can do the other thing. When I ask a gentleman to take a glass of wine, there is no compulsion. But about the bill there is compulsion. Do you understand that? You may drink, or let it alone; but pay you must. Why, Mussy, what d’ye think?—there’s Carter, Ricketts and Carter;—I’m blessed if Carter just now didn’t beg for two months, as though two months would be all the world to him, and that for a trumpery five hundred pounds. I never saw money like it is now; never.” To this appeal, Musselboro made no reply, not caring, perhaps, at the present moment to sustain his partner. He still balanced himself in his chair, and still kept his hat on his head. Even Mr. Crosbie began to perceive that Mr. Musselboro’s genius was in the ascendant in Hook Court.
“I can hardly believe,” said Crosbie, “that things can be so bad that I cannot have a bill for two hundred and fifty pounds renewed when I am willing to pay for the accommodation. I have not done much in the way of bills, but I never had one dishonoured yet.”
“Don’t let this be the first,” said Dobbs Broughton.
“Not if I can prevent it,” said Crosbie. “But, to tell you the truth, Mr. Broughton, my bill will be dishonoured unless I can have it renewed. If it does not suit you to do it, I suppose you can recommend me to someone who can make it convenient.”
“Why don’t you go to your bankers?” said Musselboro.
“I never did ask my bankers for anything of the kind.”
“Then you should try
