"Well," he said again, "I don't think that Mr. Wesden's likely to object—but go on."
"And when I heard that the firm had failed, I began to wonder what he would do; for places are hard to get, even when one's clever now-a-days, and has a character to back him. And I wanted to ask you if you had thought of your brother, sir!"
"Why—what do you know of my brother?"
"He came one night to Great Suffolk Street to see you—don't you remember? I knew him by his likeness to yourself, before I saw his name upon his card."
"My brother!"
Mr. Hinchford gave a tug to his stock; it had not struck him before, and its very absurdity rather amused him. His brother, who turned a deaf ear to his own plaints, when misfortune was fresh upon him—when that brother's help might have saved him, as he thought, from all the troubles and adversities which had oppressed him since their bitter quarrel.
"And he's a rich man—I have been asking about him—he's a banker, sir, and keeps a great many hands."
"Yes, yes, I know," he said impatiently; "but it's no good. I wouldn't ask a favour of him for the world. If it hadn't been for him, my old age would not be like this!"
"He's an old man—perhaps he's altered very much," suggested Mattie; "he might know something that would suit Mr. Sidney."
"Don't speak of him again," Mr. Hinchford said, with some severity.