“In Paternoster Street, at the money changer’s?” Christopher looked up a little. “And my simple signature is sufficient? How is it I never thought of it! Shall I go there?”
When Otto Füger was left alone, he took his spectacles off, breathed on them and while he wiped them kept them quite close to his eyes. He sat down to the writing-table. Slowly he began to draw on the blotter. First he drew flourishes which became by degrees the letter U ... Ulwing & Co. These were the words he wrote finally and he thought that he would be the Co. He would work, but no more in the dark, no more for others, like Augustus Füger, for whom he felt an intimate contempt. His father had the nature of an old-fashioned servant, who grows old in the yoke, remains a beggar for ever and works for another man’s pocket.
He effaced what he had written on the blotter and got up respectfully from the table. John Hubert was crossing the room. The head of the firm waved his hand amicably. Otto Füger wrinkled his eyebrows. “What an old hand he has. The whole man is old. Won’t last long.” And he looked after him with the slow, strangled hatred that is only felt by the poor who have to sell their brains to enrich the rich.
“He can’t last long. And the other?...” He started anew writing on the pad. Ulwing & Co. He wrote it many times and erased it carefully.
That afternoon Christopher brought Anne a small gold chain. He bought Mamsell Tini a silver-plated statue of St. Anthony, gave Florian some money and sent him to the circus. He was generous and whistled happily.
At the money changers’ in Paternoster Street everybody bowed respectfully when he mentioned that his name was Christopher Ulwing. They never asked for any security, nor did they make any enquiries. The pen trembled slightly between his fingers, but the owl-faced little clerk who presented the bill of exchange never noticed it.
Now he was going to pay all his debts. He began to count. How much would there be left over? He owed money to two usurers in King Street. He would take his watch out of pawn. He thought of the suspicious old hag who waited for nightfall to open her door at the bottom of the courtyard of a disreputable house. He had promised a bracelet to a girl. Greater sums began to come to his mind. Many old debts he had forgotten. He whistled no more. He tried to suppress the unpleasant thoughts; they had no justification, for had he not plenty of money in his pocket? Somehow he would manage to get his house in order. As for cards, he would never touch them again.
Then he stared wearily into space; he felt irritated. He had lost all faith in his own pledges. He had broken as many promises as he had made. He must pledge his word to somebody else. Where was Anne?
Anne stood outside near the stairs and, leaning against the balustrade, looked into the porch. She did not change her attitude when her brother stepped beside her.
“What are you doing here?” asked Christopher to attract her attention. He needed her, he wanted to speak to her. Now, at once, because later on he might not have the courage to do so.