CHAPTER VI.—THE NOBLE GUESTS.
“You have deserted me; where am I now?
Not in your heart, while care weighs on your brow;
No, no! you have dismissed me, and I go
From your breast houseless; ay, ay, it must be so,”
He answered.
—John Keats.
Mr. Grahame, though greatly agitated at the sudden appearance and abrupt disappearance of Nathan Gomer, at a moment of such dread importance, did not make any comment upon it to Mr. Chewkle. He felt unequal to such a task, and perhaps, too, he thought that it would be better not to suppose that the strange little moneyed man had either observed or suspected any foul play in the act he must have seen in commission. So he folded his arms, and remained silent, assuming the aspect of profound meditation.
Mr. Chewkle, finding the coast clear of the small enemy, would have given free vent to the feelings which were turbulent and in turmoil within him, but Mr. Grahame repressed the very first outbreak.
“Pray be silent on the matter,” he observed, hastily, as if aroused suddenly from a fit of abstraction, “our speculations upon the situation are worth nothing, and may lead us astray if suffered to have the rein. Keep what you know safely locked within your own breast. Trust the key in my keeping alone. Your reward shall not certainly be less than your expectations. Mr. Gomer doubtless saw me affixing a signature to a deed, and would presume it to be my own; he could not imagine the truth; and therefore, though startled at the moment, I do not, upon reflection, see any occasion for alarm. Let me see you again in a few days, my good friend, and in the meantime endeavour to suggest a mode of bringing that wretchedly obstinate old man, Wilton, to reason.”
Mr. Grahame rang a hand-bell sharply, and Whelks instantly was in the room. Mr. Chewkle “had a thing to say,” which had strong reference to an immediate pecuniary supply; but Mr. Grahame did not afford him the opportunity, for he addressed Whelks as he entered, and bade him escort Mr. Chewkle to the door. He tendered a finger to the commission agent as a parting salute, honoured him with a stiff bow, and retired promptly to the further end of the library.
“This way if you please!” exclaimed Whelks to Chewkle, as with head erect and shoulders back, he, with the stateliness of a Tartar soldier in an Astley’s drama, marched out of the room.
Mr. Chewkle glanced at Mr. Grahame and at Whelks; he had a pressing occasion for a few pounds; but though he had quite made up his mind to ask for and have a sum, and indeed in a private self-communion on his way thither that morning, he had composed the conversation which was to take place between himself and Mr. Grahame, and which was to terminate in a princely act of munificence towards him on the part of the latter personage, he found himself sneaking out, treading tip-toe on the shadow of Whelks, without having uttered a word or having obtained a penny.