“It’s the dibs as we want, Mr. Sowerby; that’s all,” were the last words which he spoke as the member of Parliament left the room.
Mr. Sowerby then got into another cab, and had himself driven to his sister’s house. It is a remarkable thing with reference to men who are distressed for money—distressed as was now the case with Mr. Sowerby—that they never seem at a loss for small sums, or deny themselves those luxuries which small sums purchase. Cabs, dinners, wine, theatres, and new gloves are always at the command of men who are drowned in pecuniary embarrassments, whereas those who don’t owe a shilling are so frequently obliged to go without them! It would seem that there is no gratification so costly as that of keeping out of debt. But then it is only fair that, if a man has a hobby, he should pay for it.
Any one else would have saved his shilling, as Mrs. Harold Smith’s house was only just across Oxford Street, in the neighbourhood of Hanover Square; but Mr. Sowerby never thought of this. He had never saved a shilling in his life, and it did not occur to him to begin now. He had sent word to her to remain at home for him, and he now found her waiting.
“Harriet,” said he, throwing himself back into an easy chair, “the game is pretty well up at last.”
“Nonsense,” said she. “The game is not up at all if you have the spirit to carry it on.”
“I can only say that I got a formal notice this morning from the duke’s lawyer, saying that he meant to foreclose at once;—not from Fothergill, but from those people in South Audley Street.”
“You expected that,” said his sister.
“I don’t see how that makes it any better; besides, I am not quite sure that I did expect it; at any rate I did not feel certain. There is no doubt now.”
“It is better that there should be no doubt. It is much better that you should know on what ground you have to stand.”
“I shall soon have no ground to stand on, none at least of my own,—not an acre,” said the unhappy man, with great bitterness in his tone.