In softening a woman's heart, he should abuse her. 'But life has been so bitter with me for the last three years! I haven't had an hour of comfort;--not an hour. I don't know why I should trouble you with all this Butterwell. Oh--about the money; yes; that's just how I stand. Iowed Gazebee something over a thousand pounds which is arranged as Ihave told you. Then there were debts, due by my wife--at least some of them were, I suppose--and that horrid, ghastly funeral--and debts, Idon't doubt, due by the cursed old countess. At any rate, to get myself clear, I raised something over four hundred pounds, and now I owe five which must be paid, part tomorrow, and the remainder this day month.'
'And you've no security?'
'Not a rag, not a shred, not a line, not an acre. There's my salary, and after paying Gazebee what comes due to him, I can manage to let you have the money within twelve months--that is, if you can lend it to me.
I can just do that and live; and if you will assist me with the money, Iwill do so. That's what I've brought myself to by my own folly.'
'Five hundred pounds is such a large sum of money.'
'Indeed it is.'
'And without any security!'
'I know, Butterwell, that I've no right to ask for it. I feel that. Of course I should pay you what interest you please.'
'Money's about seven now,' said Butterwell.
'I've not the slightest objection to seven per cent.,' said Crosbie.
'But that's on security,' said Butterwell.
'You can name your own terms,' said Crosbie.
Mr Butterwell got out of his chair, and walked about the room with his hands in his pockets. He was thinking at the moment of what Mrs Butterwell would say to him. 'Will an answer do tomorrow morning?' he said. 'I would much rather have it today,' said Crosbie. Then Mr Butterwell took another turn about the room. 'I suppose I must let you have it.'
'Butterwell,' said Crosbie, 'I'm eternally obliged to you. It's hardly too much to say that you have saved me from ruin.'
'Of course I was joking about interest,' said Butterwell. 'Five per cent. is the proper thing. You'd better let me have a little acknowledgement. I'll give you the first half tomorrow.'
They were genuine tears which filled Crosbie's eyes, as he seized hold of the senior's hands. 'Butterwell,' he said, 'what am I to say to you?'
'Nothing at all--nothing at all.'
'Your kindness makes me feel that I ought not to have come to you.'
'Oh, nonsense. By-the-by, would you mind telling Thompson to bring those papers to me which I gave him yesterday? I promised Optimist Iwould read them before three, and it's past two now.' So saying he sat himself down at his table, and Crosbie felt that he was bound to leave the room.
Mr Butterwell, when he was left alone, did not read the papers which Thompson brought him; but said, instead, thinking of his five hundred pounds. 'Just put them down,' he said to Thompson. So the papers were put down, and there they lay all that day and all the next. Then Thompson took them away again, and it is to be hoped that somebody read them. Five hundred pounds! It was a large sum of money, and Crosbie was a man for whom Mr Butterwell in truth felt no very strong affection. 'Of course he must have it now,' he said to himself. 'But where should I be if anything should happen to him?' And then he remembered that Mrs Butterwell especially disliked Mr Crosbie--disliked him because she knew that he snubbed her husband. 'But it's hard to refuse, when one man has known another for more than ten years.' Then he comforted himself somewhat with the reflection, that Crosbie would no doubt make himself more pleasant for the future than he had done lately, and with a second reflection, that Crosbie's life was a good life--and with a third, as to his own great goodness, in assisting a brother officer. Nevertheless, as he sat looking out of the omnibus window, on his journey home to Putney, he was not altogether comfortable in his mind. Mrs Butterwell was a very prudent woman.
But Crosbie was very comfortable in his mind on that afternoon. He had hardly dared to hope for success, but he had been successful. He had not even thought of Butterwell as a possible fountain of supply, till his mind had been brought back to the affairs of the office, by the voice of Sir Raffle Buffle at the corner of the street. The idea that his bill would be dishonoured, and that tidings of his insolvency would be conveyed to the Commissioners at his Board, had been dreadful to him.
The way in which he had been treated by Musselboro and Dobbs Broughton had made him hate City men, and what he supposed to be City ways. Now there had come to him a relief which suddenly made everything feel light. He could almost think of Mr Mortimer Gazebee without disgust.
Perhaps after all there might be some happiness yet in store for him.
Might it not be possible that Lily would yet accept him in spite of the chilling letter--the freezing letter which he had received from Lily's mother? Of one thing he was quite certain. If ever he had the opportunity of pleading his own cause with her, he certainly would tell her everything respecting his money difficulties.
In that last resolve I think we may say that he was right. If Lily would ever listen to him again at all, she certainly would not be deterred from marrying him by his own story of his debts.