But, alas! it seemed as if no one would listen to the scheme which he felt convinced was calculated to return millions for the risk of a few thousands!
"Oh! I must retrieve myself—I must make a fortune!" he thought, as he hurried towards Moorgate Street. "One lucky stroke—and four-and-twenty hours shall see me rich again!"
This idea brought a smile to his lips; and, relaxing his pace, he composed his countenance as well as he could ere he entered the office of a wealthy stockbroker in Moorgate Street.
The stockbroker was lounging over the clerks' desk, conversing with a merchant whom Greenwood also knew; and the moment the ex-member for Rottenborough entered, the two City gentlemen treated him to a long, impertinent, and contemptuous stare.
"Ah!" said Greenwood, affecting a pleasant smile, which, God knows! did not come from the heart; "you do not appear to recollect me? Am I so very much changed as all that?"
"Well—it is Greenwood, pos-i-tive-ly!" drawled the stockbroker, turning towards his friend the merchant in a manner that was equivalent to saying, "I wonder at his impudence in coming here."
"Yes—it is Greenwood," observed the merchant, putting his glasses up to his eyes: "or rather the shadow of Greenwood, I should take it to be."
"Ah! ha! ha!" chuckled the stockbroker.
"You are disposed to be facetious, gentlemen," said the object of this intended witticism but really galling insult: "I presume that my long absence from the usual City haunts——"
"I can assure you, Greenwood," interrupted the stockbroker, "that the City has got on uncommonly well without you. The Bank hasn't stopped payment—bills are easy of discount—money is plentiful——"