In the course of that day Mr. Wharton went to the offices of the San Juan mine and asked to see the Director. He was shown up into a half-furnished room, two stories high, in Coleman Street, where he found two clerks sitting upon stools;—and when he asked for the Director was shown into the back room in which sat the Secretary. The Secretary was a dark, plump little man with a greasy face, who had the gift of assuming an air of great importance as he twisted his chair round to face visitors who came to inquire about the San Juan Mining Company. His name was Hartlepod; and if the San Juan mine "turned out trumps," as he intended that it should, Mr. Hartlepod meant to be a great man in the City. To Mr. Hartlepod Mr. Wharton, with considerable embarrassment, explained as much of the joint history of himself and Lopez as he found to be absolutely necessary. "He has only left the office about half-an-hour," said Mr. Hartlepod.
"Of course you understand that he is my son-in-law."
"He has mentioned your name to us, Mr. Wharton, before now."
"And he is going out to Guatemala?"
"Oh yes;—he's going out. Has he not told you as much himself?"
"Certainly, sir. And he has told me that he is desirous of buying certain shares in the Company before he starts."
"Probably, Mr. Wharton."
"Indeed, I believe he cannot go unless he buys them."
"That may be so, Mr. Wharton. No doubt he has told you all that himself."
"The fact is, Mr. Hartlepod, I am willing, under certain stipulations, to advance him the money." Mr. Hartlepod bowed. "I need not trouble you with private affairs between myself and my son-in-law." Again the Secretary bowed. "But it seems to be for his interest that he should go."