Not possessing a prompter’s whistle, we must use, as a substitute, the boatswain’s call, and, at his shrill pipe, we change the scene to a back parlour in one of the most confined streets at the east end of England’s proud and wealthy metropolis. The dramatis personae are an elderly and corpulent personage, with as little of fashion in his appearance as in his residence; and a young female of about twenty years of age, with expressive and beautiful features, but wanting “the damask on the cheek,” the true value of which the fair sex so well appreciate, that, if not indebted for it to nature, they are too apt to resort to art for an unworthy imitation.
The first-mentioned of these two personages was busy examining, through his spectacles, some papers which lay on the table before him—occasionally diverted from his task by the pertinacity of some flies, which seemed to have taken a particular fancy to his bald forehead and scalp, which, in spite of his constant brushing off, they thought proper to consider as a pleasant and smooth sort of coursing-plain, placed there (probably in their ideas) solely for their amusement. Part of a decanter of wine, and the remains of a dessert, crowded the small table at which he sat, and added to the general air of confinement which pervaded the whole.
“It’s very hot, my dear. Open the window, and let us have a little air.”
“Oh, father,” replied the young woman, who rose to throw up the sash, “you don’t know how I pine for fresh air. How long do you intend to continue this life of constant toil and privation?”
“How long, my dear? Why, I presume you do not wish to starve—you would not be very well pleased if, when you applied for money, as you do, every week at least, I were to tell you that the bag was empty.”
“Oh, nonsense—I know better, father; don’t think so poorly of me as to attempt to deceive me in that way.”
“And pray, Miss Susan, what do you know?” said the old gentleman, looking up at her through his spectacles, as she stood by the side of his chair.
“I know what you have taught me, sir. Do you recollect explaining to me the nature of the funds—what was the meaning of the national debt—all the varieties of stock, and what interest they all bore?”
“Well, and what then?”
“Why, then, father, I have often seen the amounts of the dividends which you have received every half-year, and have heard your orders to Wilmott to re-invest in the funds. Now, your last half-year’s dividend in the Three per Cents was—let me see—oh—841 pounds, 14 shillings, 6 pence, which, you know, doubled, makes itself an income of—”