CHAPTER IV.
HIS TURN!
Mr. Hinchford did not forget the foolish and out-of-the-way thought of Mattie's. It has been already said that his memory was retentive enough in all things that affected his son's welfare, and the new suggestion kept his mind busy as the days stole on, and Sidney brought back his cheerful face but no good news with him.
The old man's pride had kept him aloof from the brother for many years; he had been hurt by that brother's coldness, and he had resolved to show that he was able to work his own way in life, without that assistance which he had once solicited. He had kept his word; for his own sake it had been easy, but, for his son's, there was a temptation he could scarcely withstand. There might be a chance, there might not be; in his heart, he thought the odds were against Sid. He did not set much value upon the brother's visit to Great Suffolk Street; it might have been curiosity, or a spasm of affection which had rendered him eccentric for a day; he remembered his brother simply as a hard, inflexible being who, having formed an opinion, closed upon it with a snap, and was ever after that immovable. Still for Sidney's sake he thought at last that he would try. It should not be said of him that he neglected one chance to benefit his son, or that his pride stood in the way of Sid's advancement—that queer girl, whom he could scarcely make out, should not say that he had not done his best for Sidney.
He dressed himself in his best suit one day, seized his stick, and marched down to Camberwell Green, whence he took the omnibus to the City. Sidney had again departed in quest of "something"—on a visit to the news-rooms to search the papers there—and Mr. Hinchford was following in his wake shortly afterwards.
He had a nervous fear that he should meet Sidney in the City, at first, but the crowd which surrounded him there assured him that that event was not likely to ensue. He had not been in the City for many years and the place alarmed him; he almost guessed how weak and nervous he had become when he struggled with the mob of money-hunters in King William Street, and found it hard to fight against.
"All these hunting for places in one shape or another," he thought, "looking but for the best chance, and greedy of any one who gets in the way, and seems likely to deprive them of it, or add to their expenses. Why, where's all the places that hold these men and keep my Sid doing nothing?"
He turned into the narrow lanes branching out of the great thoroughfare leading to the Bank, and proceeded without any difficulty to the banking-house of his brother Geoffry. His memory was not in fault here; every short cut through the shady by-ways of the City he took by instinct—he had banked with his brother in days gone by, and it was like retracing his youthful steps to find himself once more in these old streets.
Before the swing glass doors of a quiet, old-fashioned banking-house he paused, changed the stick from his right hand to his left, gave a little tug to his stock, changed hands again with his stick, finally crossed over the way, and set his back against the dingy wall opposite. The pride which had held him aloof so long from his brother rose up again, that ruling passion which a struggling life had circumscribed. He became very red in the face, and looked almost fiercely at the banking-house in front of him. He felt that his brother would say "No" again, and the humiliation in store he should have courted by his own folly. But Sidney?—possibly Sidney might be of service there, and room found for him, if he asked; and if not; still, for Sidney's sake, he must attempt it—courage and forward!