The Way We Live Now by Anthony Trollope (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

was and generally indifferent to his debts, liked to have what belonged to him. It had all been arranged. £5,000 would pay off all his tradesmen’s debts and leave him comfortably possessed of money in hand, while the other £20,000 would make his own property free. There was a charm in this which awakened even Dolly, and for the time almost reconciled him to his father’s society. But now a shade of impatience was coming over him. He had actually gone down to Caversham to arrange the terms with his father⁠—and had in fact made his own terms. His father had been unable to move him, and had consequently suffered much in spirit. Dolly had been almost triumphant⁠—thinking that the money would come on the next day, or at any rate during the next week. Now he came to his father early in the morning⁠—at about two o’clock⁠—to enquire what was being done. He had not as yet been made blessed with a single ten-pound note in his hand, as the result of the sale.

“Are you going to see Melmotte, sir?” he asked somewhat abruptly.

“Yes;⁠—I’m to be with him tomorrow, and he is to introduce me to the Board.”

“You’re going in for that, are you, sir? Do they pay anything?”

“I believe not.”

“Nidderdale and young Carbury belong to it. It’s a sort of Beargarden affair.”

“A bear-garden affair, Adolphus. How so?”

“I mean the club. We had them all there for dinner one day, and a jolly dinner we gave them. Miles Grendall and old Alfred belong to it. I don’t think they’d go in for it, if there was no money going. I’d make them fork out something if I took the trouble of going all that way.”

“I think that perhaps, Adolphus, you hardly understand these things.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t understand much about business, I know. What I want to understand is, when Melmotte is going to pay up this money.”

“I suppose he’ll arrange it with the banks,” said the father.

“I beg that he won’t arrange my money with the banks, sir. You’d better tell him not. A cheque upon his bank which I can pay in to mine is about the best thing going. You’ll be in the city tomorrow, and you’d better tell him. If you don’t like, you know, I’ll get Squercum to do it.” Mr. Squercum was a lawyer whom Dolly had employed of late years much to the annoyance of his parent. Mr. Squercum’s name was odious to Mr. Longestaffe.

“I beg you’ll do nothing of the kind. It will be very foolish if you do;⁠—perhaps ruinous.”

“Then he’d better pay up, like anybody else,” said Dolly as he left the room. The father knew the son, and was quite sure that Squercum would have his finger in the pie unless the money were paid quickly. When Dolly had taken an idea into his head, no power on earth⁠—no power at least of which the father could avail himself⁠—would turn him.

On that same day Melmotte received two visits in the city from two of his fellow directors. At the time he was very busy. Though his electioneering speeches were neither long nor pithy, still he had to think of them beforehand. Members of his Committee were always trying to see him. Orders as to the dinner and the preparation of the house could not be given by Lord Alfred without some reference to him. And then those gigantic commercial affairs which were enumerated in the last chapter could not be adjusted without much labour on his part. His hands were not empty, but still he saw each of these young men⁠—for a few minutes. “My dear young friend, what can I do for you?” he said to Sir Felix, not sitting down, so that Sir Felix also should remain standing.

“About that money, Mr. Melmotte?”

“What money, my dear fellow? You see that a good many money matters pass through my hands.”

“The thousand pounds I gave you for shares. If you don’t mind, and as the shares seem to be a bother, I’ll take the money back.”

“It was only the other day you had £200,” said Melmotte, showing that he could apply his memory to small transactions when he pleased.

“Exactly;⁠—and you might as well let me have the £800.”

“I’ve ordered the shares;⁠—gave the order to my broker the other day.”

“Then I’d better take the shares,” said Sir Felix, feeling that it might very probably be that day fortnight before he could start for New York. “Could I get them, Mr. Melmotte?”

“My dear fellow, I really think you hardly calculate the value of my time when you come to me about such an affair as this.”

“I’d like to have the money or the shares,” said Sir Felix, who was not specially averse to quarrelling with Mr. Melmotte now that he had resolved upon taking that gentleman’s daughter to New York in direct opposition to his written promise. Their quarrel would be so thoroughly internecine when the departure should be discovered, that any present anger could hardly increase its bitterness. What Felix thought of now was simply his money, and the best means of getting it out of Melmotte’s hands.

“You’re a spendthrift,” said Melmotte, apparently relenting, “and I’m afraid a gambler. I suppose I must give you £200 more on account.”

Sir Felix could not resist the touch of ready money, and consented to take the sum offered. As he pocketed the cheque he asked for the name of the brokers who were employed to buy the shares. But here Melmotte demurred. “No, my friend,” said Melmotte; “you are only entitled to shares for £600 pounds now. I will see that the thing is put right.” So Sir Felix departed with £200 only. Marie had said that she could get £200. Perhaps if he bestirred himself and wrote to some of Miles’s big relations he could obtain payment of a part of that gentleman’s debt to him.

Sir Felix going down the stairs in Abchurch Lane met Paul Montague coming up. Carbury, on the spur of the moment, thought that