The impact of Mr. Octavius Crumpett’s irresistible conviction began to have its effect on Sir Topman Murtle.
“Yes,” said Sir Topman Murtle, “for the moment I had almost allowed myself to forget the public. It is a merciful thing, Crumpett, that you recalled it to my mind in time. I agree with you that we ought not to allow a sentiment, which some might consider high-flown, to override a sense of duty.”
“And now, Murtle,” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett with gently heaving bosom, “I must expose the horns of my own dilemma.”
With profound emotion the chief of the house of Crumpett and Hawker unfolded the tragic and sordid story.
“I am a humane man, Murtle, as I hope, and trust and believe,” he concluded; “and I do not know how I could face anything in the nature of a scandal in regard to this house, but—but——”
“Crumpett,” said Sir Topman Murtle, “no one appreciates more fully than do I the painfulness of your position, but scruple may become vacillation, and vacillation may become weakness. Can it be possible, Crumpett, that you also are about to forget the duty you owe to the public?”
“No one has a profounder reverence, Murtle, than have I for those who make a practice of rendering unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s,” said Mr. Octavius Crumpett, who, unhappy as he was, spoke with the humility of a Christian gentleman; “but—but the misguided young man restored the money himself, and I have every reason to believe it is his first deviation from the path of strict rectitude.”
“Crumpett,” said Sir Topman Murtle, placing his own white and fleshy hand, whose finger-nails were carefully trimmed, upon the shoulder of his friend with a firmness that was remarkable, “your scruples do honour to your good heart, but I feel sure they are misplaced. Whatever it may cost you, you must discharge your duty to the State. That duty must necessarily be distasteful—to the sensitive mind it always is; but pray remember, Crumpett, that you will not be the only martyr to the inexorable cause of the public. And it has always seemed to me, Crumpett, that the greater the pain we incur in following a given course of action, the more imperative, the more sacred the need for that course of action becomes.”
Mr. Octavius Crumpett heaved a profound sigh.
“Yes, Murtle,” he said, with the meekness of one at the feet of Gamaliel, “you have worked out that beautiful idea in The Angel’s Bride; but really I would that this question were one that a stronger and wiser and more competent nature had to decide.”