"I think, young man, you said you were a cabinet-maker—though you look something better."
"Yes, I belong to that trade."
"Since when, may I ask, have cabinet-makers been so punctilious as to their promises?"
"The fact is," said Harry gravely, "we have turned over a new leaf, and are now all on the side of truth and honor."
"Humph! Then there is nothing to do but to give the man a receipt in full and a discharge. You are of age; you can do this if you like. Shall I draw it up for you, and receive the money, and take over the houses?"
This was settled, therefore, and in this way Harry became a rich man, with houses and money in the funds.
As for Bunker, he made the greatest mistake in his life when he sent his nephew to Mr. Pike. He should have known, but he was like the ostrich when he runs his head into the sand, and believes from the secure retreat that he is invisible to his hunters. For his own version of the incident was palpably absurd; and, besides, Mr. Pike heard Harry's account of the matter. Therefore, though Bunker thought to heap coals of fire upon his enemy's head, he only succeeded in throwing them under his feet, which made him kick—"for who can go upon hot coals and his feet not be burned?" The good man is now, therefore, laboring under a cloud of prejudice which does not seem to lift, though perhaps he will live it down. Other events have happened since, which have operated to his prejudice. Everybody knows how he received his nephew; what wicked things he said everywhere about him; and what rumors he spread about Miss Kennedy: everybody knows that he had to disgorge houses—actually, houses—which he had appropriated. This knowledge is common property; and it is extremely unpleasant for Mr. Bunker when he takes his walks abroad to be cruelly assailed by questions which hit harder than any brickbat: they are hurled at him by working-men and by street boys. "Who stole the 'ouse?" for instance, is a very nasty thing to be said to a gentleman who is professionally connected with house property. I know not how this knowledge came to be so generally known. Certainly Harry did not spread it abroad. People, however, are not fools, and can put things together; where the evil-doings and backslidings of their friends are concerned they are surprisingly sharp.
Now when the ownership of the house in Stepney Green became generally known, there immediately sprang up, as always happens on occasions of discovery, rooting-out of facts, or exposure of wickedness, quite a large crop of old inhabitants ready to declare that they knew all along that the house on Stepney Green was one of those belonging to old Mr. Coppin. He bought it, they said, of Mr. Messenger, who was born there; and it was one of three left to Caroline, who died young. Who would believe that Mr. Bunker could have been so wicked? Where is faith in brother man since so eminent a professor of honesty has fallen?
Mr. Bunker suffers, but he suffers in silence; he may be seen any day in the neighborhood of Stepney Green, still engaged in his usual business; people may talk behind his back, but talk breaks no bones; they don't dare talk before his face; though he has lost two thousand pounds, there is still money left—he feels that he is a warm man, and has money to leave behind him; it will be said of him that he cut up well. Warmth of all kinds comforts a man; but he confesses with a pang that he did wrong to send his nephew to that lawyer, who took the opportunity, when he drew up the discharge and receipt, of giving him an opinion—unasked and unpaid for—as to his conduct in connection with the trust. There could be no mistake at all about the meaning and force of that opinion. And, oddly enough, whenever Mr. Bunker sees the queen's omnibus—that dark painted vehicle, driven by a policeman—pass along the road, he thinks of Mr. Pike, and that opinion returns to his memory, and he feels just exactly as if a bucket of cold water was trickling down his back by the nape of the neck. Even in warm weather this is disagreeable. And it shows that the lawyer must have spoken very strong words indeed, and that although Mr. Bunker, like the simple ones and the scorners, wished for none of the lawyer's counsel, unlike them he did not despise their reproof. Yet he is happier, now that the blow has fallen, than he was while he was awaiting it and dreaming of handcuffs.