Part 12 (1/2)

Presently the old man turned round and whispered, 'I know your face. I have seen you before--but I forget where. Are you in trade? Have you got a shop?'

'No. I have no shop,'

'You come from the country? No? A bankrupt, perhaps? No? Going to make him your attorney?' He shook his head with some vehemence and pointed to the door with his pen. 'Fly,' he said. 'There is still time.'

'I am not going to make him or anyone else my attorney,'

'You come to borrow money? If so'--again he pointed to the door with the feathery end of the quill. 'Fly! There is still time.'

'Then you owe him money. Young man--there is still time. Buy a stone at the pavior's--spend your last penny upon it; then tie it round your neck and drop into the river. Ah! It is too late--too late--' For just then Mr. Probus rang a bell. 'Follow me, Sir. Follow me. Ah! That paving stone!'

Mr. Probus sat at a table covered with papers. He did not rise when I appeared, but pointed to a chair.

'You wish to see me, Mr. William,' he began. 'May I ask with what object?'

'I come in reply to your letter, Mr. Probus,'

'My letter? My letter?' He pretended to have forgotten the letter. 'I write so many, and sometimes--ay--ay--surely. The letter about the trifling debt due to the estate of David Camlet Deceased. Yes--yes, I am administering the worthy man's estate. One of many--very many--who have honoured me with their confidence.'

'That letter, Mr. Probus, is the reason why I have called.'

'You are come to discharge your obligation. It is what I expected. You are not looking well, Mr. William. I am sorry to observe marks--are they of privation?--on your face. Our worthy cousin, on the other hand, has a frame of iron. He will live, I verily believe, to ninety.'

'Never mind my cousin, Mr. Probus. He will live as long as the Lord permits.'

'When last I saw you Sir, you foolishly rejected a most liberal offer.

Well: youth is ignorant. We live and learn. Some day, too late, you will be sorry. Now, Sir, for this debt. Fifty-five pounds. Ay.

Fifty-five pounds. And my costs, which are trifling.'

'I have come to tell you, Mr. Probus, that your letter was written under a misapprehension.'

'Truly? Under a misapprehension? Of what kind, pray?'

The harpsichord was a gift made by Mr. David Camlet. I did not buy it.'

Mr. Probus lifted his eyebrows. 'A gift? Really? You have proof, no doubt, of this a.s.sertion?'

'Certainly.'

'Well, produce your proofs. If you have proofs, as you say, I shall be the first to withdraw my client's claim. But makers of musical instruments do not usually give away their wares. What are your proofs, Sir?'

'My word, first.'

'Ta--ta--ta. Your word. By such proof every debtor would clear himself.

What next?'

'The word of my wife who with me received the instrument from Mr.

Camlet.'