“I always said I would some day pay off my father’s debts, Mr Jabez,” I said; and then my words brought up such a flood of sad recollections, that I was about to eagerly change the subject, when Mr Jabez leaned over to me and took my hand.
“Good lad,” he said, shaking it up and down. “Good lad. I like that. I don’t believe you ever will pay them, you know; but I like the sound of it all the same.”
He kept on shaking my hand some time, and only left it to take another pinch of snuff.
“And has Mr Lister quite gone from the firm?”
“Oh, yes, quite, my lad. He was up to his eyes in debt, and when he didn’t marry that girl, and get her money to pay himself off clear, he went smash at once. Lucky escape for her. I’m afraid he was a bad one.”
“And what is he doing now?”
“What, Lister? Set up a rival shop on borrowed money; doing all he can to cut down his old partner, but he’ll do no good. Can’t get on. Hasn’t got a man on the premises who can read.”
“Indeed!” I said.
“Not a soul, Grace. Why, you wouldn’t believe it, my lad,” he continued, tapping me in the shirt-front with his snuff-box, “but I had one of their Chancery-bills in the other day—big quarto, you know, pica type—and there were two turned n’s for u’s in the second page.”
“Never?” I said, to humour him.