“Not enough to animate a kitten, I should imagine,” was the reply;—“not that the man’s a fool—indeed, in his own line he is said to be clever. He invented some dodge to simplify his machinery, by which he nearly doubled his fortune.”
“That was decidedly clever”—remarked Harry, busily engaged in dressing the “Skye” in a muslin “anti-macassar,” placed clean upon the sofa that morning.
“To come to the point, however,” continued Hazlehurst—“I want you to see the man, and try and find out what he’s made of.”
“Fool’s-flesh probably”—suggested Coverdale sotto voce.
“I wish you would try and be serious for five minutes,” returned Hazlehurst testily; “nothing is more provoking than small attempts at wit, when one wants a man to give his attention sensibly to that which one is saying.”
“I stand, or more properly sit, corrected: so continue, most sapient and surly brother!”—was the mocking answer.
Hazlehurst tried to look angry and dignified, but a glance at his friend’s handsome, merry, and, withal, slightly impudent face, disarmed his wrath, and muttering—“Confound you for a stupid, provoking, old humbug”—he burst into a fit of laughter. As soon as he had recovered his gravity, he resumed: “As I said before, I want you to come and make your observations on the cotton spinner, and if your opinion agrees with mine, you must back me up in making a serious remonstrance with the Governor. I know the old gentleman well, and am sure he’ll think twice as much of what I say when he finds that you, a man of the world and a large landed proprietor (that’ll tell with him immensely) look upon the matter in the same light. And now you know my reasons, what do you say?”
“Say! what can I say but that I—ahem!—respect the sacred call of friendship, and am prepared to sacrifice myself upon its altar: that’s the correct phraseology, isn’t it? I tell you what, though,” continued Harry gravely, “I make one condition, without which I don’t stir a peg: I’m at your service and that of the cotton spinner, as much as you please; but beyond the requirements of society, I’m not to be expected to concern myself about the women—I’m not to be forced into tête-a-tête drives in pony-chaises, or set to turn over music-books at the piano—I know what all that sort of thing leads to well: is it a bargain?”
“Of course it is,” returned Hazlehurst eagerly; “come to please me, and I leave you to please yourself when you get there.”
“Then, as Sam Weller says, ‘You may take down the bill, for I’m let to a single gentleman,’” was Coverdale’s reply—and so the affair was settled.