“And you thought right, Stanney, my boy,” said the old gentleman heartily; “I have a ship going to sail for India in a few weeks, and we have not yet appointed a surgeon. You shall have that berth if it suits you.”
At this point they were interrupted by the entrance of a servant maid with the announcement that there was a man in the lobby who wished to see Mr Durant.
“I’ll be back shortly,” said the old gentleman to Stanley as he rose; “go to the drawing-room, girls, and give Mr Hall some music. You’ll find that my Katie sings and plays very sweetly, although she won’t let me say so. Fanny joins her with a fine contralto, I believe, and Queeker, too, he sings—a—a what is it, Queeker?—a bass or a baritone—eh?”
Without waiting for a reply, Mr Durant left the room, and found Morley Jones standing in the lobby, hat in hand.
The old gentleman’s expression changed instantly, and he said with much severity—
“Well, Mr Jones, what do you want?”
Morley begged the favour of a private interview for a few minutes. After a moment’s hesitation, Mr Durant led him into his study.
“Another loan, I suppose?” said the old gentleman, as he lit the gas.
“I had expected to have called to pay the last loan, sir,” replied Mr Jones somewhat boldly, “but one can’t force the market. I have my sloop down here loaded with herrings, and if I chose to sell at a loss, could pay my debt to you twice over; but surely it can scarcely be expected of me to do that. I hear there is a rise in France just now, and mean to run over there with them. I shall be sure to dispose of ’em to advantage. On my return, I’ll pay your loan with interest.”
Morley Jones paused, and Mr Durant looked at him attentively for a few seconds.