"Your clock is there to carry out the wishes of a dead man."
"Ah!" Guidet understood at last. All the happiness vanished from his face. He regarded this man, who had chosen him from a number of applicants responding to an advertisement, as his benefactor, his saviour. "But not soon, not soon!" he cried with emotion.
Christopher was touched. The little man seemed to care, though their acquaintance was not three months old. Still, they had met almost daily in the room assigned to Guidet for his work, and the patron had taken an interest in the man as well as his genius.
"I cannot tell how soon, my friend," he said, "but we need not talk of it. Now tell me, Guidet, how much do I owe you?"
Guidet wiped his eyes. "One hundred and thirty pounds," he murmured, "and
I give you a thousand thanks, Mr. Craik."
"A hundred and thirty—that is the balance due on the clock itself?" inquired Christopher, filling in the date.
The other looked puzzled. "On everything, Mr. Craik."
"Don't you charge for your time?"
Guidet smiled and spread his hands. "Ah, you are not so unwell when you can make the jokes! Two hundred pounds was the price, and I have received seventy of it and the grandest, best holiday—"
"Your wife and children have had no holiday," said Christopher, continuing his writing.