Six o'clock, seven, and even eight struck; and yet no one came. The monotonous tread of the sentry on guard at the Castle gate and the occasional challenge to some passing stranger were the only sounds I heard above the distant hum of the city, which grew fainter gradually as evening fell. At last I heard the sound of a key moving in a lock, the bang of a door, and then came the noise of many voices as the footsteps mounted the stairs, amid which Bubbleton's was pre-eminently loud. The party entered the room next to where I sat, and from the tones I could collect that Major Barton and Mr. Cooke were of the number. Another there was, too, whose voice was not absolutely new or strange to my ears, though I could not possibly charge my memory where I had heard it before.
While I was thus musing, the door opened noiselessly, and Bubbleton entering without a word, closed it behind him, and approached me on tiptoe.
“All right, my boy; they're doing the needful outside; ready in ten minutes: never was such a piece of fortune; found out a glorious fellow; heard of him from Hicks the money-lender; he'll go security to any amount; knows your family well; knew your father, grandfather, I believe; delighted to meet you; says he 'd rather see you than fifty pounds.”
“Who is he, for Heaven's sake?” said I, impatiently; for it was a new thing to me to receive anything like kindness on the score of my father's memory.
“Eh! who is he? He 's a kind of a bill-broking, mortgaging, bail-giving, devilish good sort of fellow. I 've a notion he 'd do a bit of something at three months.”
“But his name? what 's he called?”
“His name is,—let me see,—his name is—But who cares for his name? He can write it, I suppose, on a stamp, my boy; that 's the mark. Bless your heart, I only spoil a stamp when I put my autograph across it; it would be worth prime cost till then. What a glorious thing is youth,—unfledged, unblemished youth,—to possess a name new to the Jews, a reputation against which no one has 'protested' I Tom Burke, my boy, I envy you. Now, when I write George Frederick Augustus Bubbleton on any bill, warrant, or quittance, straightway there 's a grin around the circle,—a kind of a damned impertinent sort of a half-civil smile, as though to say 'nulla bona,' payable nowhere. But hold! that was a tap at the door. Oh, they want us.”
So saying, the captain opened the door and introduced me.
“I say, Tom,” cried he, “come here, and thank our kind friend, Mr.—Mr.—”
“Mr. Basset!” said I, starting back, as my eyes beheld the pale, sarcastic features of the worthy attorney, who stood at the table, conversing in a low tone with the Under-Secretary.