“Five quid,” he said, in a resolute sort of manner. “The first one, mind you, after half-past three. It wants two minutes to the half-hour now. All you’ve got to do, ma’am, is to stand where you are, and to judge whether I’m a man of a generous disposition or whether I’m the opposite.”
As the clock turned the half-hour an old woman came in and put down four farthings for snuff; when she had gone Mr. Ardwick mentioned that he knew for a fact that the clock was a trifle fast. An elderly gentleman in workhouse clothes came for a screw of tobacco; Mr. Ardwick pointed out to Mrs. Ingram that he never proposed to extend his offer to those supported by the State. Kimball arrived at twenty-five minutes to, and Mr. Ardwick glared at him privately for not keeping the appointment. Kimball bought a box of wooden matches, and was leaving the shop when Mr. Ardwick called him.
“My man,” he said, “your face and your general appearance suggest you are not one of those who are termed favourites of fortune. Tell me, now, have you ever been the recipient, so to speak, of a stroke of luck?”
“Not to my knowledge, sir,” said Kimball, answering very respectfully.
“Never had a windfall of any kind? No sudden descent of manna from above? Very well, then.” Mr. Ardwick took out his cheque-book and asked Mrs. I. for pen and ink. “Be so kind as to give me your full name, and it will be my pleasure to hand you over a handsome gift. I hope you will lay out the sum to the best advantage, and I trust it may prove a turning-point, a junction as it were, in your life!”
Mr. Ardwick was talking across the counter to Mrs. Ingram about the pleasures of exercising charity, and the duty of those who possessed riches towards them who had none, when a most horrible idea seemed to occur to him, and he darted out of the shop like a streak of lightning. In Kingsland Road he just caught a motor-omnibus that was going towards the City, and on the way through Shoreditch he complained, whilst he mopped his forehead, because the conductor did not make the bus go quicker. Near Cornhill there was a block of traffic, and he slipped down and ran for his life. As he came near the bank he caught sight of Kimball descending the steps. Mr. Ardwick threw himself, exhausted, across a dustbin on the edge of the pavement, and burst into tears.
He mentioned to me afterwards that it was not so much the loss of the money that affected him as the knowledge that a fellow man had broke his word. That was what upset Mr. Ardwick. He tried to explain all this at the time to a City constable.
“You get away home,” advised the City constable, “and try to sleep it off. That’s your best plan. Unless you want me to take you down to Cloak Lane for the night.”
Mr. Ardwick felt very much hurt at this insinuation on his character, because, partly on account of his principles and partly because he hated giving money away, he was strict teetotal; but the remark furnished him with an idea, and he acted on it without a moment’s delay. He returned to Dalston Junction, and there, by great good luck, he found Kimball—Kimball smoking a big cigar and trying to persuade a railway-porter to accept one. Mr. Ardwick went up to him and took the cigar.
“I congratulate you ’eartily,” he said, slapping Kimball on the shoulder in a jolly sort of way. “There isn’t many that could brag of having done Samuel Ardwick in the eye, but I always admit it when I come across my superior. There’s only one favour I want you to grant.”