This was the individual to whom Phillip applied in his emergency.
“Again?” asked Sir Andrew, when he recognized his visitor; “come again, so soon? Why, dear me, Phillip, what can the matter be? Take a seat. Oh, that’s it, eh? want £5,000 for a week! Phew! young man, you talk as if pounds could be picked up in the street. Why, bless you, I haven’t got such a sum by me; besides, you owe me £10,000 already, for which you have given nothing but promissory notes, with interest, on the death of your father, and that event looks as distant as ever, judging by his ruddy countenance and activity on ’Change the other day. Your father is speculating very extensively of late; but no one knows, in these squally times, how speculations may turn out. Things are not what they used to be, Mr. Phillip; every man with two or three hundreds in his pocket, gambles in stock now, and, if things continue as they have been going on for the past six months, I shouldn’t be at all surprised to hear of our banks closing, and to go ‘popping’ off all round us like fire crackers. It can’t be done, sir; I have been unwise in lending you money at all, perhaps, on such precarious terms; and really, if I were to speak the truth, Mr. Phillip, a little less of horse-racing, wine parties, ‘ladies’ in satin, and so forth, would greatly improve you, both morally and physically. But young men will be young men, you know,” added old Sir Andrew, with a peculiar look which gave the lie to all his affected modesty and sanctity. “Why not try the Jews? Your worthy father’s name is good, you know,” added the money-lender, with a grin; “but I suppose you have written his name instead of your own sufficiently often, perhaps, eh? Ha! ha! Well, well, don’t fret and bite your nails. You wish he was in heaven, you meant to say. Well, I hope we shall all get there one of these days, but it is very tight times on ’Change, I can assure you. Why, a young man like you should have ingenuity enough, I think, to raise such an amount as that, without much trouble! There are plenty of men who would jump at the chance of obliging you, Phillip; particularly as you will be very rich one of these days. Ha! ha!”
Despite the utmost importunity, old Sir Andrew was inexorable, and smiled at the disappointment, rage, and revenge, which evidently flashed from the young man’s eyes; for, although he begged for favours which were not granted, and loathed the very person from whom he had expected to receive them, yet he dared not give vent to his almost suffocating fury, for old Sir Andrew, mild-spoken, and perfectly at ease, held forged papers in his possession, which hung over Phillip’s head as the sword of Damocles.
“I wish I could poison the old miser,” muttered the youth, walking back towards his apartments in high dudgeon. “I’ll make a ‘smash’ somewhere before the week is out, if I swing for it.”
He must have cash from somewhere, he thought, so determined to do that which many “very smart” men had the reputation for having done during life—namely, to get money by any adroit means that should escape detection and proof, or, at most, only injure his “name”—for your greatest rogues, after all, he thought, are usually the greatest “sticklers” for so-called “honour” and “reputation.”
“What’s the difference if you are not found out?” he muttered. “Who can point out to one honest man? The true secret of success is to get all you can, and keep all you get. How many can say the foundation of their prosperity was laid in undisputed honesty?
“How would the best of us fare if justice was fairly meted out to all?
“‘Go as close to the gaol as you please; but don’t go in!’ is the maxim in our times. Rich men’s knavery consigns them to the ease and luxuriance of a palace. Poor men, for the same, may rot in dungeons. ‘Do whatever you please, but don’t get found out,’ is the practical philosophy of the day. Those who succeed, retire upon large fortunes, and are austere bigots and pillars of hypocrisy; those who fail, are cuffed and kicked, and never stop rolling until they roll into the grave.”
Thus mused Mr. Phillip Redgill, bent on fresh crime.