XII
A crier with a bell advanced through Dock Street; as the tongue monotonously galing-galanged against the sides of the bell, the man chanted with equal monotony:
"A hogshead of rum! To whom it may concern: a hogshead of fine Jamaica rum will be sold at vendue at the warehouse of William Stone, in Mulberry Street, at two o'clock to-day."
"Another damned cutthroat must be asking for his pound of flesh!" grumbled a gentleman, whose bulbous nose was pinched blue with the snap of the cold. "Stone's interest is no doubt due, and he's forced to send out a crier and sell a hogshead of liquor to keep the shark from turning over on his back."
Mr. Sparhawk, who bore the blue-nosed gentleman company, smiled dryly.
"Mr. Stone, from what I hear of his affairs, need not bother himself. He's so safely in the hands of Bulfinch and his handsome sons that he has no more chance of escape, Mr. Stroude, than the north star has of falling out of the sky."
Mr. Stroude swore eloquently.
"Bulfinch is a villain," announced he. "And I wish his sons were at the devil!"
"There are a great many who are equally pious with regard to them," said Mr. Sparhawk, "but at the same time the stairs leading to their den are wearing thinner and thinner under the tread of these same gentlemen's feet."
"I have merchandise to the value of eight thousand dollars," protested Mr. Stroude gloomily, "and with it I have a good name in business. But can I borrow two thousand dollars in a reputable way? I can't! Will any institution in the city take my note on any terms that correspond with my position as a merchant? They will not! And why?" demanded Mr. Stroude of the world, as he swept it with his eye. "Why not? It is because the law permits them but a fair interest, but if they can force me to go to their secret co-worker, Bulfinch, they can make me pay as many times that as my necessity compels."
"Bulfinch is, I know, much favored among some financial people," admitted Mr. Sparhawk, with the perky manner of a small bird. "He has at command any sum that can be reasonably asked of him. And, for an accommodation like that, he feels bound to make his demands."
"But my heart's blood!" said Mr. Stroude, his nose going a very deep blue, indeed. "Must he have that?"
"Perhaps," soothed Mr. Sparhawk, "he will not go so far. At any rate, here we are, and you shall soon know."
Off Dock, at Third Street, was a group of old buildings, none in very good repair; through these a brick-paved thoroughfare cut its way. This was Harmony Court, and here a second group of buildings crouched behind the first, as though to avoid the full glare of day. There were a number of shabby tin signs upon a shutter, and perhaps the shabbiest of all bore the inscription: "Amos Bulfinch, Broker."
"So it's here our gentleman keeps himself," grumbled Mr. Stroude. "I knew it was in this neighborhood, but I didn't think it would give quite so dirty a promise."
Mr. Sparhawk led the way into a dim passage which smelt musty, and the walls of which were greasy with the touch of generations. When the perky gentleman said the steps leading to the place of business of Amos Bulfinch had been thinned by the tread of his patrons, he spoke the truth; for thin they were, and very dirty as well. A dim oil lamp, on a landing, lighted the way; and at the top of the steps was a door upon which the money-lender's name occurred once more. They went in.
"Good morning," said Mr. Sparhawk, to a gangling-looking man who sat at a table upon which was spread a quantity of much-handled papers. "This is Mr. Nathaniel Bulfinch, son of Amos," to Stroude.
"Yes, I know," said Stroude. "Glad to see you."
Mr. Nathaniel Bulfinch smiled; his teeth were large, and there were wide spaces between them; his hands were enormous and covered with freckles; he had outstanding ears, an unruly thatch of coarse hair, and pale, watchful eyes.
"What name?" asked Mr. Nathaniel, as he shuffled eagerly among the dirty documents. "Is something due? Eh?"
"Not yet," said Stroude. "No, not yet."
"But," insinuated Mr. Sparhawk, "Mr. Stroude is hopeful."
Mr. Nathaniel laughed.
"They are always that," said he. "It's surprising how much hope is brought into this place."
"And very little is ever taken out again, I'll venture," mumbled Stroude, to himself. He looked about at the dirty walls, the worn furniture, the dusty files of papers hanging from hooks; the air of mean sordidness chilled him. "No," he thought, "no one ever took anything out of this place, unless it was a curse."
"I do not see your brother," said Mr. Sparhawk, of Nathaniel. "Where is Rehoboam?"
"He is going his rounds," said Nathaniel. "No one pays unless they're made to, and Rehoboam is apt at explaining the law. He knows its regulations very well," admiringly. "There are few solicitors who have a defter turn for it. He can tell to the breadth of a hair how much a man may delay in the matter of a debt before the prison keepers may put their hands upon him."
"A pretty talent!" said Stroude. Then, in his thoughts, he added, "I wonder what length of time a man must serve as the devil's acolyte before he reaches so much wisdom as that."
Sparhawk and Stroude sat down, and Nathaniel began thumbing his dirty papers with much the same enjoyment a gourmand shows in eating a dainty dish. There was a soothing voice lifted in an inner room, dimly heard, yet full of assuring sweetness.
"That," whispered Sparhawk to Stroude, "is old Amos."
"I know," nodded Stroude. "I've heard him before, though he's never had occasion to use his honey on me."
Answering the money-lender was a quavering voice, decidedly French in accent, and pitched to a note of anxiety.
"I am not known here," said the quavering voice, "except by Rufus Stevens' Sons. With them I have moneys invested. But there are reasons why I should ask no favors of them."
"To get a name upon the back of a note is no favor," explained the sweet voice. "No favor at all. It is a matter of business."
"There is no one but them; and to them I will not go," said the quavering voice, with a deal of native decision. "I am sorry to have intruded upon you, monsieur, and taken your time."
There was a scraping of chair-legs upon the floor; then the money-lender was heard to say:
"Wait! do not be in haste, Monsieur Lafargue. Let us consider. Mr. Tarrant sent you here, and Mr. Tarrant is my very good friend. I would go greatly out of my way to oblige him. Of course, to have Rufus Stevens' Sons upon your note would be desirable; but as this is an exceptional case we'll say no more about it. What sum did you say you required?"
Nathaniel paused in his thumbing of his documents; his wide mouth hung open, surprisedly, as he listened.
"What?" whispered Stroude. "What? Old Bulfinch lend money without a sponsor?"
But Sparhawk, whose perky manner seemed suddenly frozen into one of interest, motioned him to be still.
"One thousand dollars," said Monsieur Lafargue, "for six months."
"It is a good sum," said the money-lender. "It's a round sum. But, as Mr. Tarrant speaks for you—"
"Wait," said the old Frenchman. "Let it be understood, sir, that Mr. Tarrant does not vouch for me. My acquaintance with him has been quite brief."
"Mr. Tarrant vouch for you!" the money-lender was heard to laugh; and his gangling son, outside, giggled, and winked his pale eyes in great enjoyment. "No, I understand that, monsieur. But I have heard that you were this nation's friend when it needed a friend in France during our days of struggle; also it's been said that you helped forward the cause of the people in your own country; and these things mean a deal to a republican like me."
Stroude seemed stupefied by these virtuous sentiments; Sparhawk pursed up his lips and closed his eyes reflectively. The jaw of Nathaniel once more hung open in surprise.
"Sign your name to that," resumed the money-lender, "and you shall have the money in hand."
There was a sound of some one getting up, the snapping back of locks, and the groaning of heavy hinges. Papers rustled and gold chinked on a table. Then the strong box was closed and the bolts were re-shot into their sockets.
"Well, now," said the soothing voice, "that is done with. There I have your note of hand, monsieur, and you have my money."
"With the conditions what they are," said Monsieur Lafargue, "I am astonished at your generous treatment of me. We do not transact business upon such principles in France."
"No more do we here," said the money-lender, "except upon such occasions as this. But we must do our best by our French friends, more especially when they, in turn, are friends of so distinguished a patriot as Citizen Genêt." Sparhawk, who had continued to sit with closed eyes, now opened them, narrowly; his breath all but stopped. "You are a friend of the citizen's, are you not?" asked the money-lender in his sweetest voice.
"We have known each other many years," said Lafargue.
"To know a patriot like that must give a deal of satisfaction," said the money-lender. "A great deal of satisfaction, indeed."
A few moments later the door of the inner room opened, and Monsieur Lafargue, infirm but holding his white head up with his customary air, came out. Following him was Amos Bulfinch.
"Mr. Sparhawk," said the latter with a little bow, "I'm pleased to see you here. And you, sir," urbanely, to the frowning Stroude. Then turning to Nathaniel, he added, "My son, the stairs are dark and not quite safe for a gentleman of Monsieur Lafargue's years. Will you go with him, down into the court?"
Monsieur Lafargue protested; but Nathaniel reared himself up to his gangling height and took one of the old Frenchman's arms in his clutch.
"It's no trouble," grinned he, showing his large teeth, with the spaces between. "I'll have you down in a moment."
Their steps were still sounding upon the stairs when Amos Bulfinch turned his mild look upon Mr. Sparhawk and then upon Stroude; and a close observer would have noticed that it rested longer and with greater interest upon Stroude.
"A trifling matter of business," explained Mr. Sparhawk. "Mr. Stroude desired me to introduce him. You've heard of him, maybe."
"Often," said Amos in his sweet voice. "Glass, and crockery, and imported ware in Mulberry Street. A fine, profitable business, very active, and not overcrowded."
Stroude was about to answer this, but Sparhawk stopped him.
"You are quite right," said Mr. Sparhawk. "It's an excellent business, and prospering. But there come times in mercantile life," with a little gesture of regret, "when ready money must be reckoned with."
"That is true, Mr. Sparhawk," said Amos soothingly. "Not a day passes but that is brought home to me."
"What would you say," added Mr. Sparhawk, "to loaning Mr. Stroude a matter of three thousand dollars—gold?"
"How soon?" asked Amos Bulfinch, looking at Stroude in a most beneficent manner.
"To-day," said the merchant.
"To-day? Impossible! That is the way with all of them," to Mr. Sparhawk. "They think I have only to pick the money up. What security is there?"
Mr. Stroude displayed some documents, which Amos studied minutely. Nathaniel reëntered just then; and he also gave the matter the closest attention.
"And what names?" asked the money-lender. "Of course, they must be good ones."
Stroude grudgingly mentioned one or two; and father and son shook their heads at each other.
"We have them already," said Amos.
"A half-dozen times," said Nathaniel. "They won't do."
"My people object to the same name so often," said Amos. "They are very strict. And when they object the rate goes up."
Stroude writhed at this, and Sparhawk asked:
"How high?"
The money-lender, who still had Stroude's paper in his hand, folded it one third.
"Oh, no," said Sparhawk. "Oh, dear, no!"
"There are, besides, interests, costs, and other things," said Amos in his honeyed way. "It is too bad. Maybe your friend had better go somewhere else."
"They may treat him better," suggested Nathaniel with disbelief.
Stroude's blue nose paled.
"But a charge like that!" protested he. "It's monstrous!"
"Added to it," said Amos, still fingering the paper, "there are apt to be brokerage charges, besides, there is my small portion to be fixed upon it finally."
He folded the paper in two and stood creasing it between thumb and forefinger while Stroude began to choke and to pull at his neck-cloth feebly.
"Perhaps you'd better not favor us," said Amos. "We never advise anything."
"Terms are always plainly stated," said Nathaniel; "and patrons are left to use their own judgment."
"Well?" asked Mr. Sparhawk of Stroude.
"Can I get the money to-day?" asked the merchant, his trembling hand still fumbling with the neck-cloth. "To-day, without fail?"
"It will be at your office in one hour," said Amos Bulfinch, soothingly. "I will send for it at once." Under his father's directions, Nathaniel sat down at his table and made out the note; when it was ready, it was passed over to Stroude, who read and buttoned it up in his breast pocket.
"My son, Rehoboam, will pay the money over to you," said the leech; "and I would ask, Mr. Stroude, that you have the necessary signatures ready affixed, to avoid delay."
Stroude stumbled a little as he went down the stairs; and the perky little Mr. Sparhawk carried a wrinkle of interrogation between his eyes as he went with him.