“I am contented with moderate profits,” said I; “besides, the image of Selina overcame me. How goes it with Jobson and Grabbie?”
“Jobson has paid, and Grabbie compounded. Heckles—may he die an evil death!—has repudiated, become a lame duck, and waddled; but no doubt his estate will pay a dividend.”
“So, then, we are clear of the whole Glenmutchkin business, and at a handsome profit.”
“A fair interest for the outlay of capital—nothing more. But I’m not quite done with the concern yet.”
“How so? not another bearing operation?”
“No; that cock would hardly fight. But you forget that I am secretary to the company, and have a small account against them for services already rendered. I must do what I can to carry the bill through Parliament; and, as you have now sold your whole shares, I advise you to resign from the direction, go down straight to Glenmutchkin, and qualify yourself for a witness. We shall give you five guineas a-day, and pay all your expenses.”
“Not a bad notion. But what has become of M‘Closkie, and the other fellow with the jaw-breaking name?”
“Vich-Induibh? I have looked after their interests, as in duty bound, sold their shares at a large premium, and despatched them to their native hills on annuities.”
“And Sir Polloxfen?”