As though it had been a glass of brown sherry that he swallowed, Mr. Dunn felt “better” after he had uttered these fine words. He experienced a proud satisfaction in thinking what a generous heart beat within his own waistcoat; and thus reassured, he thought well of the world at large.
“And Ossory, Mr. Hankes,—how is Ossory?”
“A hundred and fourteen, with a look upwards,” responded Mr. Hankes. “Since the day of 'the run' deposits have largely increased. Indeed, I may say we are now the great country gentry bank of the midland. We discount freely, too, and we lend generously.”
“I shall want some ready money soon, Hankes,” said Dunn, as he paced the room with his hands behind his back, and his head bent forward. “You 'll have to sell out some of those Harbor shares.”
“Bantry's, sir? Glumthal's have them as securities!”
“So they have; I forgot. Well, St Columbs, or the Patent Fuel, or that humbug discovery of Patterson's,—the Irish Asphalt There's an American fellow, by the way, wants that.”
“They're very low,—very low, all these, sir,” said Hankes, lugubriously. “They sank so obstinately that I just withdrew our name quietly, so that we can say any day we have long ceased any connection with these enterprises.”
“She 'll scarcely make any delay in Malta, Hankes. Your message ought to be there by Thursday at latest” And then, as if ashamed of showing where his thoughts were straying, he said, “All kinds of things—odds and ends of every sort—are jostling each other in my brain to-night.”
“You want rest, sir; you want nine or ten hours of sound sleep.”
“Do I look fatigued or harassed?” asked Dunn, with an eagerness that almost startled the other.