“That is all very fine, Harley; but there are so many poor officers, and so little to give. It is the most difficult thing in the world that which you ask me. Indeed, I know nothing can be done: he has his half-pay?”
“I think not; or, if he has it, no doubt it all goes on his debts. That’s nothing to us: the man and his child are starving.”
“But if it is his own fault,—if he has been imprudent?”
“Ah, well, well; where the devil is Nero?”
“I am so sorry I can’t oblige you. If it were anything else—”
“There is something else. My valet—I can’t turn him adrift-excellent fellow, but gets drunk now and then. Will you find him a place in the Stamp Office?”
“With pleasure.”
“No, now I think of it, the man knows my ways: I must keep him. But my old wine-merchant—civil man, never dunned—is a bankrupt. I am under great obligations to him, and he has a very pretty daughter. Do you think you could thrust him into some small place in the Colonies, or make him a King’s Messenger, or something of the sort?”
“If you very much wish it, no doubt I can.”
“My dear Audley, I am but feeling my way: the fact is, I want something for myself.”