It was, indeed, a busy scene, since many who were there came as much sellers as buyers, giving all the complexity of barter to their several transactions. Here was a staid country-woman exchanging her spunyarn, or her “cloth,” as it is called, for various commodities in tea, candles, and such like; here a farmer, with a sample of seed-oats in his pocket-handkerchief, of which he wanted the value in certain farm utensils; here was another, with a stout roll of home-made frieze to dispose of; some were even fain to offer a goose or a hen as the medium for a little tobacco, or some equally tempting luxury of cottier life. But there was another class of customers, who, brushing their way through the throng, made for a small, dingy-looking chamber behind the shop, in which Mr. Nelligan performed the functions of banker and money-lender, discounting small bills, advancing loans, and transacting all the various duties of a petty capitalist,—means by which, it was alleged, he had already amassed a very ample fortune.
An announcement in writing on the glass door of this sanctum informed Massingbred that “bank-notes” were exchanged, and “small loans advanced on good security,” suggesting to him at once the means of opening an acquaintance with the interior. Without any very definite purpose, however, he now found himself one of a very closely packed crowd within the chamber. At a small desk, around which ran a railing of about a foot in height, serving, as it were, to “filter the stream” of solicitation that poured in upon him, sat a dark-eyed, bilious-looking man of about fifty; a black wig, cut in two deep arches over the temples, showed a strongly formed, massive head, very favorably in contrast to the features beneath it, which were only indicative of intense shrewdness and cunning. The eyes, in particular, were restless and furtive-looking, distrust and suspicion giving their entire expression,—qualities, it was to be owned, in very active employment in the intercourse of his daily life.
The anxious looks around him—careworn, eager, tremulous with anxiety as they were—seemed the very opposite to his own, full of the security that a strong purse bestows, and stern in the conscious strength of his affluence.
“It won't do, Hagan,” said he, with a half-smile, as he pushed back through the grating a very dirty, discolored piece of paper. “You 'll be off to America before it comes due. I would n't take the Lord-Lieutenant's note at six months, as times go.”
“See, now, Mr. Nelligan,” replied the other, pressing his face close to the cage, and talking with intense eagerness. “May I never see Christmas, but I 'll pay it 'T was marryin' the daughter left me low in cash; but with the blessing of God and your help—”
“I hope you 're more certain of the blessing than the help. What's this with the string round it?” continued Nelligan, addressing another applicant.
“'T is a roll of notes I wanted to ax your honor about. Molly never 'let on' she had them till Friday last; and now that James is going away, and wants a trifle to fit him out—”
“Why, they're French's Bank, man, that broke years ago,—they 're not worth a farthing!”
“Arrah, don't say so, and God reward you,” cried the poor fellow, while his eyes filled up and his lip trembled convulsively; “don't take the hope out of my heart all at onst. Look at them again, your honor, and maybe you 'll think different.”
“If I did, I 'd be as great a fool as yourself, Patsy. The bank is closed, and the banker dead this many a day; and I would n't give you sixpence for sixty thousand of them. Take him out in the fresh air,—give him a mouthful of water,” added he, hastily, as the wretched countryman staggered back, sick, and almost fainting with the sad tidings.