London's Heart: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

"Security!" stammered Alfred.

"Yes, this is a matter of business. You don't expect any man to lend you money without security, do you? Have you got prospects--expectations? I've lent money to a good many swells upon their own and their friends' names, but then they have expectations, and are sure to come into property; so that the money is certain to be paid one day."

"I haven't any expectations that I know of," said Alfred gloomily: "but I'll be sure to pay you. Do you think I'd borrow money without being sure that I can pay it back?"

"I don't know," responded Con dryly; "some people do. What do you want the money for? To pay betting debts? They're not recoverable in law; and even if they were, isn't it as well for you to owe money to one man as to another?"

"But they're debts of honour," said Alfred, with a not uncommon but very miserable assumption of high-mindedness; "no gentleman can afford not to pay his debts of honour."

"It seems you can't afford to pay them," observed Con mercilessly, somewhat relishing the sport, "or you wouldn't come to me."

If he had not been in a very miserable plight indeed, Alfred would have replied hotly. But he was frightened and completely cowed. In truth, if Con Staveley failed him, he did not know which way to turn. And he dared not confess the truth; he dared not confess that, taking advantage of his position in the office of his employers, he had committed the common indiscretion of "borrowing" money for a few days. If he did not replace it at once—well, he was terrified to think what might occur. The minutes were very precious to him. Discovery hung above him on a hair; any moment it might fall and overwhelm him. These reflections kept him silent, and he suffered a very agony of terror and remorse in the slight pause that followed Con Staveley's taunt.

"The only way in which you can get the money is by giving a bill for it--to be paid in three months, say. Have you got a responsible friend--somebody who is worth something--who will endorse the bill for you!"

"No," faltered Alfred, "I don't know anybody, except Mr. Sheldrake."

"I don't want his name--he's good enough for any amount--but he would most likely have to pay the bill when it's due (excuse my saying so), and it wouldn't be friendly on my part to take it from him. The same thing occurred last year. I accommodated a friend of his with three hundred pounds; I did it only because Sheldrake persuaded me. Well, the fellow didn't pay, and Sheldrake insisted on cashing up, though I hadn't the slightest claim upon him. There's not one man in ten thousand would have done it; but it was like Sheldrake all over. I took the money, of course; it was business, you know, but it wasn't friendly. I don't want the same thing to occur again. Sheldrake thinks too well of people. He has a right to do as he pleases with his money, but hang me if I like to be a party to his throwing it away. Then, what do I know of you? It isn't reasonable of Sheldrake to expect me to do this; upon my soul it isn't! Are you in business? Is your father worth anything? Would he cash up if you put the screw on?"