It happened then, that about eight or nine days after that riotous siege of Petty Wales, I was at work upon my high stool in Chequer Lane, where I was deeply engaged in computing the value of the several shares the merchants of our Company were willing to take, upon charter party with the owners of a certain ship called The Saracen's Head, Captain Spurrier, that was about to set forth upon a voyage into Argiers, and thereafter, unless otherwise ordered, yet further to the eastward. Being so occupied as I say, there entered the counting-house a servant of Sir Edward Osborne's that desired of Mr. Procter to tell him whether one Denis Cleeve were there in that place; to which he answering that he was, and that I was the man he inquired after, the servant saluted me very properly and bade me go with him to the Governor's, that is, to Sir Edward Osborne's, who expected me at his house.
Marvelling what this should intend, I nevertheless made haste to follow the servant, and was soon after ushered into a great chamber, wainscoted very high up with walnut-wood, and with a table at one end of it, whereon was a woollen cloth spread, very rich, and having the coat and crest of the knight's family woven into the midst of it. About the walls were hung many fair pictures, all of men save one, which was of a maid of about ten years, that had a very winsome smiling face and clustered curls about it. In this chamber I was left alone to wait for some small space, when after there came in to me Sir Edward, very gravely, together with his secretary, who straight sat him down at the table and mended his pen.
Upon their entering I did my courtesy, which the merchant quietly received, and then, motioning me to a chair, immediately commenced:
"I have sent for you, Mr. Cleeve," said he, sitting down also, "because I have had a good report of you from him in whose charge you work, Mr. Procter, who moreover hath made the addition that you are of a spirit somewhat higher than seemeth necessary a scrivener should have, they being for the most part a mild and inoffensive sort of men—what say you, Mr. Secretary?"
The man of the pen seemed greatly taken aback at this direct challenge to his manhood, and could but stammer out that secretaries were doubtless more faithful than arrogant, stealing at the same time such a spleenful look upon me as I thought he would have sent his quill and ink-horn after it.
"Faithful—ay," said Master Osborne, with a little smile about the eyes, "but nowise arrogant. I hope you be not arrogant either, Mr. Cleeve," he added, fixing his gaze upon me.
"I hope not, sir," said I, "nor think I am not either, for, as Mr. Procter hath often told me, there is nothing checks a man's pride like the book-keeping, that makes him put down a thing on both sides an accompt in a just balance; which pride forbids a man to do."
"It is as you say," cried the Governor, mighty pleased, "and you answer well. But now tell me—and it is necessary you should deal with me openly—do you truly love your ledger?"
I thought upon this question a few moments ere I replied that I could not say I loved it, but that I thought it a necessary book; that I sometimes found a singular delight in the pursuing of the intricacies of some great reckoning, but that I hated the casting of page upon page of moneys, which seemed to make a miser of my head though I was none by my pocket. In fine, that I honoured accountancy as a servant but could not live with it as a friend.
The merchant listened with no small amusement until I had done, and then sat still, dallying with a packet of papers he had on the table before him, from which at length he took one, and, running his eyes over it carelessly, said—