The result was that the business fell to the next-of-kin,—Mrs Foster, whose son, in the natural course of things, stepped into his uncle’s shoes. The result of this was that poor Denham’s good resolves, and a great many more good resolves than Denham could ever have conceived of, were carried out in a way that would have amazed him had he been there to see it, and that almost took the breath away from old Mr Crumps.
A glance at Guy in his office, not long after his uncle’s death, will show the reader how things were managed by the new head of the firm.
Guy was seated in Denham’s chair, at Denham’s desk, reading and writing what, in former days, would have been Denham’s letters. Presently Mr Crumps entered.
“I was just going to ask you to consult with me,” said Guy; “pray sit down, sit down, Mr Crumps.”
The old man in his modesty meant to stand, as, in former days, he would have stood before Denham.
“Here is a letter from a friend,” continued Guy, “asking for a contribution towards the establishment of a lifeboat on the coast of Wales. He reminds me that I myself was once indebted to the services of a lifeboat when my life was in great danger, and hopes that I will respond liberally to his appeal. His name is Clelland. He was on board the old ‘Trident,’ when she was wrecked in Saint Margaret’s Bay. I made his acquaintance then. Now, what do you think we ought to give? I should like to have your advice on this point, and on several other matters of a similar nature, Mr Crumps, because there has been no regular ‘Charity’ account in our ledger, I find, and I would like to open one. Don’t you think it would be as well to open one?”
Mr Crumps thought it would, and—being a man of naturally charitable and liberal impulses, who had been constantly snubbed by Mr Denham for many years past—he felt overjoyed at the prospect of a new era opening up before him.
“Well, what shall we send to Mr Clelland?” pursued Guy. Mr Crumps, unable all at once to get over old habits and associations, suggested fifty pounds, timidly.
“The district is a poor one,” said Guy; “perhaps, that being the case—”
“Say a hundred,” put in Crumps eagerly (and then, in a partially apologetic tone), “the business can afford it, my dear sir. Heaven knows it is but little that—”