Geoffrey drew his chair closer.
“Do you mean this, Mr Penwynn?”
“I never joke over business-matters, Mr Trethick,” said the banker.
“Mr Penwynn,” said Geoffrey, rising, and by his words chasing away from the banker’s mind any lingering doubt of his energy, “I have so much faith in making that mine pay, that I’ll do what you ask for nothing, but be content with a percentage on future profits.”
“No, Mr Trethick, I never work in that way,” said Mr Penwynn. “I ask your services on what I suppose to be a fortnight or three weeks’ task. I want your best energies, and a truthful and just report, not highly coloured, rather the reverse. If you will do this for me, I will give you a fee of five-and-twenty guineas. Will that do?”
“Do? Yes!” cried Geoffrey, flushing. “When shall I begin?”
“When you please,” said the banker, smiling at his earnestness.
“And you place funds at my disposal?”
“Yes, to the amount of a hundred pounds. If that is not enough, you may spend another fifty. Then stop. But mind you are doing this under orders. I do not wish to appear in the matter yet. If it were known that I was going in for such a mad venture, as people would call it, I should lose all credit in the place. Not that it would much matter,” he added, with a contemptuous smile. “Well, Mr Trethick, shall we draw up a memorandum to the effect that you will give me your best services in this commission? I trust to you, implicitly.”
“If you like,” said Geoffrey, grimly, as he once more rose and took an excited stride up and down the room. “Mr Penwynn,” he exclaimed, stopping short before the banker, “you have given me new life in this display of confidence. There’s my memorandum and bond, sir,” he cried, stretching out his broad, firm hand, and gripping that of the banker. “You sha’n’t repent it, come what may.”