“He is too honest to do that.”
“Honest! Aye—‘honest George Monk’! Usually misfortune schools a man in worldly wisdom. But you....” Tucker smiled between contempt and sadness, leaving the phrase unfinished.
“I have told you that he will help me; that he has promised.”
“And you build upon his promises? Promises! They cost nothing. They are the bribes with which a trimmer puts off the importunate. Monk saw your need, as I see it. You carry the marks of it plainly upon you, in every seam of your threadbare coat. Forgive the allusion, Randal!” He set a conciliatory hand upon his friend’s arm, for the Colonel had reddened resentfully at the words. “I make it to justify myself of what I say.” And he resumed: “Monk’s revenues amount to thirty thousand pounds a year—such are the vails of trimmers. He was your friend, you say; he was your father’s friend, and owed much to your father, as all know. Did he offer you his purse to tide you over present stress, until opportunity permits him to fulfil his promise? Did he?”
“I could not have taken advantage of it if he had.”
“That is not what I ask you. Did he offer it? Of course he did not. Not he. Yet would not a friend have helped you at once and where he could?”
“He did not think of it.”
“A friend would have thought of it. But Monk is no man’s friend.”
“I say again, you are unjust to him. You forget that, after all, he was under no necessity to promise anything.”
“Oh, yes, he was. There was his Duchess, as you’ve told me. Dirty Bess can be importunate, and she commands him. He goes notoriously in terror of her. Yielding to her importunities he promised that which he will avoid fulfilling. I know George Monk, and all his leprous kind, of which this England is full to-day, battening upon her carcase with the foul greed of vultures. I....”