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

a species of paper peculiarly plentiful and very unattractive on these commercial occasions. Paul Montague hitherto had never given an I.O.U. at the Beargarden⁠—nor of late had our friend Sir Felix. On the present occasion Montague won, though not heavily. Sir Felix lost continually, and was almost the only loser. But Mr. Fisker won nearly all that was lost. He was to start for Liverpool by train at 8:30 a.m., and at 6 a.m. he counted up his bits of paper and found himself the winner of about £600. “I think that most of them came from you, Sir Felix,” he said⁠—handing the bundle across the table.

“I dare say they did, but they are all good against these other fellows.” Then Fisker, with most perfect good humour, extracted one from the mass which indicated Dolly Longestaffe’s indebtedness to the amount of £50. “That’s Longestaffe,” said Felix, “and I’ll change that of course.” Then out of his pocketbook he extracted other minute documents bearing that M. G. which was so little esteemed among them⁠—and so made up the sum. “You seem to have £150 from Grasslough, £145 from Nidderdale, and £322 10s. from Grendall,” said the baronet. Then Sir Felix got up as though he had paid his score. Fisker, with smiling good humour, arranged the little bits of paper before him and looked round upon the company.

“This won’t do, you know,” said Nidderdale. “Mr. Fisker must have his money before he leaves. You’ve got it, Carbury.”

“Of course he has,” said Grasslough.

“As it happens I have not,” said Sir Felix;⁠—“but what if I had?”

“Mr. Fisker starts for New York immediately,” said Lord Nidderdale. “I suppose we can muster £600 among us. Ring the bell for Vossner. I think Carbury ought to pay the money as he lost it, and we didn’t expect to have our I.O.U.s brought up in this way.”

“Lord Nidderdale,” said Sir Felix, “I have already said that I have not got the money about me. Why should I have it more than you, especially as I knew I had I.O.U.s more than sufficient to meet anything I could lose when I sat down?”

“Mr. Fisker must have his money at any rate,” said Lord Nidderdale, ringing the bell again.

“It doesn’t matter one straw, my lord,” said the American. “Let it be sent to me to Frisco, in a bill, my lord.” And so he got up to take his hat, greatly to the delight of Miles Grendall.

But the two young lords would not agree to this. “If you must go this very minute I’ll meet you at the train with the money,” said Nidderdale. Fisker begged that no such trouble should be taken. Of course he would wait ten minutes if they wished. But the affair was one of no consequence. Wasn’t the post running every day? Then Herr Vossner came from his bed, suddenly arrayed in a dressing-gown, and there was a conference in a corner between him, the two lords, and Mr. Grendall. In a very few minutes Herr Vossner wrote a cheque for the amount due by the lords, but he was afraid that he had not money at his banker’s sufficient for the greater claim. It was well understood that Herr Vossner would not advance money to Mr. Grendall unless others would pledge themselves for the amount.

“I suppose I’d better send you a bill over to America,” said Miles Grendall, who had taken no part in the matter as long as he was in the same boat with the lords.

“Just so. My partner, Montague, will tell you the address.” Then bustling off, taking an affectionate adieu of Paul, shaking hands with them all round, and looking as though he cared nothing for the money, he took his leave. “One cheer for the South Central Pacific and Mexican Railway,” he said as he went out of the room.

Not one there had liked Fisker. His manners were not as their manners; his waistcoat not as their waistcoats. He smoked his cigar after a fashion different from theirs, and spat upon the carpet. He said “my lord” too often, and grated their prejudices equally whether he treated them with familiarity or deference. But he had behaved well about the money, and they felt that they were behaving badly. Sir Felix was the immediate offender, as he should have understood that he was not entitled to pay a stranger with documents which, by tacit contract, were held to be good among themselves. But there was no use now in going back to that. Something must be done.

“Vossner must get the money,” said Nidderdale. “Let’s have him up again.”

“I don’t think it’s my fault,” said Miles. “Of course no one thought he was to be called upon in this sort of way.”

“Why shouldn’t you be called upon?” said Carbury. “You acknowledge that you owe the money.”

“I think Carbury ought to have paid it,” said Grasslough.

“Grassy, my boy,” said the baronet, “your attempts at thinking are never worth much. Why was I to suppose that a stranger would be playing among us? Had you a lot of ready money with you to pay if you had lost it? I don’t always walk about with six hundred pounds in my pocket;⁠—nor do you!”

“It’s no good jawing,” said Nidderdale; “let’s get the money.” Then Montague offered to undertake the debt himself, saying that there were money transactions between him and his partner. But this could not be allowed. He had only lately come among them, had as yet had no dealing in I.O.U.s, and was the last man in the company who ought to be made responsible for the impecuniosity of Miles Grendall. He, the impecunious one⁠—the one whose impecuniosity extended to the absolute want of credit⁠—sat silent, stroking his heavy moustache.

There was a second conference between Herr Vossner and the two lords in another room, which ended in the preparation of a document by which Miles Grendall undertook to pay to Herr Vossner £450 at the end of three months, and this was endorsed by