Penfold brought in a leathern case, like an enormous bill-book. It had thirty vertical compartments; and the names of various cities and seaports, with which Wardlaw & Son did business, were printed in gold letters on some of these compartments; on others the names of persons; and on two compartments the word "Miscellaneous." Michael brought this machine in, filled with a correspondence enough to break a man's heart to look at.
This was one of the consequences of Wardlaw's position. He durst not let his correspondence be read, and filtered, in the outer office. He opened the whole mass; sent some back into the outer office; then touched a hand-bell, and a man emerged from the small apartment adjoining his own.
This was Mr. Atkins, his shorthand writer. He dictated to this man some twenty letters, which were taken down in short-hand; the man retired to copy them, and write them out in duplicate from his own notes, and this reduced the number to seven. These Wardlaw sat down to write himself, and lock up the copies.
While he was writing them, he received a visitor or two, whom he dispatched as quickly as his letters.
He was writing his last letter, when he heard in the outer office a voice he thought he knew. He got up and listened. It was so. Of all the voices in the city, this was the one it most dismayed him to hear in his office at the present crisis.
He listened on, and satisfied himself that a fatal blow was coming. He then walked quietly to his table, seated himself, and prepared to receive the stroke with external composure.
Penfold announced, "Mr. Burtenshaw."
"Show him in," said Wardlaw quietly.
Mr. Burtenshaw, one of the managers of Morland's bank, came in, and Wardlaw motioned him courteously to a chair, while he finished his letter, which took only a few moments.
While he was sealing it, he half turned to his visitor, and said, "No bad news? Morland's is safe, of course."
"Well," said Burtenshaw, "there is a run upon our bank--a severe one. We could not hope to escape the effects of the panic."
He then, after an uneasy pause, and with apparent reluctance, added, "I am requested by the other directors to assure you it is their present extremity alone, that-- In short, we are really compelled to beg you to repay the amount advanced to you by the bank."
Wardlaw showed no alarm, but great surprise. This was clever; for he felt great alarm, and no surprise.
"The 81,000 pounds," said he. "Why, that advance was upon the freight of the _Proserpine._ Forty-five thousand ounces of gold. She ought to be here by this time. She is in the Channel at this moment, no doubt."
"Excuse me; she is overdue, and the underwriters uneasy. I have made inquiries."
"At any rate, she is fully insured, and you hold the policies. Besides, the name of Wardlaw on your books should stand for bullion."
Burtenshaw shook his head. "Names are at a discount to-day, sir. We can't pay you down on the counter. Why, our depositors look cross at Bank of England notes."
To an inquiry, half ironical, whether the managers really expected him to find 81,000 pounds cash, at a few hours' notice, Burtenshaw replied, sorrowfully, that they felt for his difficulty while deploring their own; but that, after all, it was a debt. And, in short, if he could find no means of paying it, they must suspend payment for a time, and issue a statement--and--"
He hesitated to complete his sentence, and Wardlaw did it for him.
"And ascribe your suspension to my inability to refund this advance?" said he, bitterly.
"I am afraid that is the construction it will bear."
Wardlaw rose, to intimate he had no more to say.
Burtenshaw, however, was not disposed to go without some clear understanding. "May I say we shall hear from you, sir?"
"Yes."
And so they wished each other good-morning; and Wardlaw sank into his chair.
In that quiet dialogue, ruin had been inflicted and received without any apparent agitation; ay, and worse than ruin--exposure.
Morland's suspension, on account of money lost by Wardlaw & Son, would at once bring old Wardlaw to London, and the affairs of the firm would be investigated, and the son's false system of bookkeeping be discovered.
He sat stupefied awhile, then put on his hat and rushed to his solicitor; on the way, he fell in with a great talker, who told him there was a rumor the _Shannon_ was lost in the Pacific.
At this he nearly fainted in the street; and his friend took him back to his office in a deplorable condition. All this time he had been feigning anxiety about the _Proserpine,_ and concealing his real anxiety about the _Shannon._ To do him justice, he lost sight of everything in the world now but Helen. He sent old Penfold in hot haste to Lloyd's, to inquire for news of the ship; and then he sat down sick at heart; and all he could do now was to open her portrait, and gaze at it through eyes blinded with tears. Even a vague rumor, which he hoped might be false, had driven all his commercial maneuvers out of him, and made all other calamities seem small.
And so they all are small, compared with the death of the creature we love.
While he sat thus, in a stupor of fear and grief, he heard a well-known voice in the outer office; and, next after Burtenshaw's, it was the one that caused him the most apprehension. It was his father's.
Wardlaw senior rarely visited the office now; and this was not his hour.
So Arthur knew something extraordinary had brought him up to town. And he could not doubt that it was the panic, and that he had been to Morland's, or would go there in course of the day; but, indeed, it was more probable that he had already heard something, and was come to investigate.
Wardlaw senior entered the room.
"Good-morning, Arthur," said he. "I've got good news for you."
Arthur was quite startled by an announcement that accorded so little with his expectations.
"Good news--for _me?"_ said he, in a faint, incredulous tone.
"Ay, glorious news! Haven't you been anxious about the _Shannon?_ I have; more anxious than I would own."
