“Where are you going, my good fellows?” said I.
“To the quay, sir, with the cargo for the Betsy.”
“My God!” cried I. “Stop. Can’t you stop a minute? I thought the Betsy was not to sail till to-morrow. Stop one minute.”
“No, sir,” said they, “that we can’t; for the captain bade us make what haste we could to the quay to load her.”
I ran into the house; the captain of the Betsy was bawling in the hall, with his hat on the back of his head; Mr. Croft on the landing-place of the warehouse-stairs with open letters in his hand, and two or three of the under-clerks were running different ways with pens in their mouths.
“Mr. Basil! the invoice!” exclaimed all the clerks at once, the moment I made my appearance.
“Mr. Basil Lowe, the invoice and the copy, if you please,” repeated Mr. Croft. “We have sent three messengers after you. Very extraordinary to go out at this time of day, and not even to leave word where you were to be found. Here’s the captain of the Betsy has been waiting this half hour for the invoice. Well, sir! Will you go for it now? And at the same time bring me the copy, to enclose in this letter to our correspondent by post.”
I stood petrified. “Sir, the invoice, sir!—Good Heavens! I forgot it entirely.”
“You remember it now, sir, I suppose. Keep your apologies till we have leisure. The invoices, if you please.”
“The invoices! My God, sir! I beg ten thousand pardons! They are not drawn out.”