No one but a child would think him old. Many men lived to be eighty, and some even to ninety. And he was so well and strong. No, he need not think yet of that dark, chill river of death, the very thought of which made him shiver. But he reflected, and the thought caused him to breathe more than one heavy sigh, that when his time came to pass that river there would be no one to go with him to the brink, no loving voice to bid him farewell, no child to mourn for him as little Margery mourned for her father. There had been no time in his hard-working, self-centred, business absorbed life to cultivate love; but Michael Betts was beginning to feel that its absence made a sore and woeful lack in his life.
[CHAPTER V]
UNRIGHTEOUS GAIN
ON the following day, Michael was still busy with the late professor's books. As he examined them more fully, he was disposed to congratulate himself on the bargain he had made. There were several valuable old books in the lot, and others which, if less aged, were much in request. Michael foresaw that he would make money by them. It was true his returns would come in slowly; but nevertheless, he must in time gain a handsome profit on the sum he had expended.
As he reflected on this, Michael's spirits rose. He forgot the gloomy thoughts which had troubled him on the previous evening. He ceased to think with pity of little Margery and her mother. After all, theirs was the common lot. Men must die, and women must weep. It was an ill wind which blew nobody any good, and their wind of trouble had brought him a good investment. Nothing pleased Michael more than a prospect of making money. He loved to think that he was accumulating capital.
He cherished the hope that he should die a rich man, though he had no one to whom he could leave his savings when death called him hence. He had never made a will. It seemed so unnecessary to trouble about that yet. Some day he would make one, of course. He had no intention of dying intestate and letting the Crown seize his hardly earned money. No, he thought he would leave his property to charities. He had a vague idea that in this way he might make amends for an uncharitable life. But it was rarely that he gave the matter a serious thought. Why should he, when death seemed so remote?
Michael began to realize money from the professor's books sooner than he could have anticipated. Only a few days later a gentleman came to the shop and asked for a copy of an old but still valuable encyclopædia. Michael remembered that there was one amongst his newly-acquired stock of books. He looked for the work, and soon brought forward the two strongly-bound, bulky volumes which formed it. He was half afraid that his customer would be frightened at the somewhat high price he felt obliged to ask for them. But the gentleman made no demur. He seemed so pleased to obtain them, indeed, that Michael half wished he had asked more.
"I'll take them with me, if you will just put a piece of paper round them," the gentleman said. "But, stay what is this?"
He had been turning over the pages of one volume when he came upon an envelope which seemed as if it had been slipped between the leaves to mark a place.
"That, sir? Oh, I don't suppose it's anything of consequence," said Michael, as he took it. As he turned it over in his hand, he perceived, to his astonishment, what appeared to be bank-notes within the envelope. With his instinctive caution, however, he said nothing, but thrust the envelope quickly out of sight. The gentleman concluded that he had found its contents to be trivial, and said nothing more about it; and as he waited whilst Michael did up the parcel, he gave not another thought to the matter.