“Brothers will quarrel, Mr. Morley. It’s a way they have.”
The old gentleman shook his head.
“Ah, but the fault was Mr. Edwin’s. Mr. Philip is hot-tempered, but Mr. Edwin was always in the wrong.”
Leaning towards me, Mr. Morley whispered, under cover of his hand, “Once Mr. Philip thrashed him—broke his stick across his back, he did; Mr. Edwin must have been black and blue with bruises. Mr. Philip’s very quick when he’s roused, and he’s a better man than his brother. He was very sorry afterwards for what he had done—dear me! how sorry he was. He went to his brother and he asked him to forgive him, and Mr. Edwin did forgive him; I expect he got a good deal more money out of Mr. Philip, or he never would have done. He was unforgiving enough, was Mr. Edwin, unless it paid him to be otherwise; he’d wait for years for a chance of returning, with good thumping interest, what he thought was an injury; it was the only thing he ever did return with interest.”
The expression on Mr. Morley’s face as he said this did not itself suggest the charity which forgiveth all things.
“So it went on, for soon they were quarrelling again. But lately it has been worse than ever.”
Looking anxiously about him, Mr. Morley again resorted to the cover of his hand.
“There’s been—there’s been some trouble about some bills. Mr. Edwin’s been putting some bills on the market which weren’t quite what they ought to have been, and getting money on them. I’m afraid he’s been making an unauthorized use of his brother’s name.”
“Are you sure of what you say? At this point it is for me to follow Dr. Hume’s lead and warn you to be careful.”
“Oh, I’m sure enough. I’ve too much reason to be sure. Forgery, sir; that’s what it was, rank forgery. In his rage Mr. Philip let it all come out, so that there’s plenty of others who know of it, or I shouldn’t be speaking of it now. Mr. Philip has gone on dreadfully since he found it out. I’ve sometimes wondered if he was going mad.