"How came that project to fail," asked Tomlinson, "when it was calculated to benefit so many poor families?"
"Simply because so few of those poor families ever had any Sunday dinners to cook at all," replied Alderman Sniff. "Nevertheless, the subscriptions which were received paid all the outlay, and remunerated me for my trouble. I therefore met with some little encouragement in all I did for the benefit of my fellow-creatures; and, more than that," added the philanthropist, slapping his left breast," I enjoyed the approval, Mr. Tomlinson, of my conscience."
The stock-broker sighed:—not that he envied any inward feelings which Mr. Alderman Sniff could have experienced as the results of the speculations referred to; but the thoughts occasioned by the mere mention of the word "Conscience" aroused painful emotions in the breast of James Tomlinson.
"While I was thus engaged in the behoof of the poorer classes of the community," continued Alderman Sniff, "I was gaining influence with my fellow citizens. I became the Treasurer of no end of charitable institutions, was elected Churchwarden of my parish, and soon became Deputy of the Ward. Fortunately my parish, as you well know, is governed by a Select Vestry—properly consisting of three individuals; but as two of the last-elected trio have died, and as I have ever stedfastly and successfully opposed the nomination of other parishioners to replace the deceased, we have now a Select Vestry of One. This gentleman is my most intimate friend; and it would do your heart good to see the parochial solemnity and official dignity with which he annually proposes me to himself as a candidate for the place of Churchwarden, and then proceeds to second the nomination, put the question, lift up his hand, and declare me duly elected without a dissentient voice. In due time I was chosen Alderman of the Ward; and every thing has gone well with me. I have been eminently successful. My 'British Marble Company' was a glorious hit, as you well know."
"Yes—a glorious hit for you," said Tomlinson, with a faint smile. "You yourself were Managing Director, and you sold your quarry—or rather your supposed quarry—to yourself;—you were Auditor and Secretary, and consequently examined and passed your own accounts;—you were also the Treasurer, and paid yourself. You had the best of it in every way."
"Come, Mr. Tomlinson," exclaimed Sniff, chuckling audibly, "I allowed you to reap a decent profit on the shares which you sold; so you need not complain."
"Oh! I do not complain," observed the stock-broker. "But how do you get on with the accounts of your parish?"
"Mr. Tomlinson," said the Alderman, almost sternly, "I never will give any accounts at all to those refractory parishioners of mine. The Select Vestry of One has met regularly every year, and resolved himself into a Committee to investigate my accounts—and that is sufficient. And, after all," added the civic functionary, sinking his voice to a mysterious whisper, "even if the accounts were produced,—although they run over such a long period of years, you might put them all into your waistcoat-pocket without finding it stick out more than it now does with your small French watch."[[34]]
With these words, Mr. Alderman Sniff, who had merely looked in to have a chat and talk of himself to one with whom there was no necessity to maintain any secrecy in respect to his antecedents,—Mr. Alderman Sniff retired.
A few minutes afterwards Mr. Greenwood was introduced.