The Vicar's People. George Manville Fenn

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Chapter Four.

       Table of Contents

      The Wrong Place for the Right Man.

      “Well, Chynoweth,” said Mr. Penwynn, entering his office which was used as a branch of the Felsport bank, “any thing fresh?”

      Mr. Chynoweth, the banker’s manager, generally known as “The Jack of Clubs,” was a little man, dark, and spare, and dry. He was probably fifty, but well preserved, having apparently been bound by nature in vellum, which gave him quite, a legal look, while it made him thick-skinned enough to bear a good many unpleasantries in his daily life. He was rather bald, but very shiny on the crown. His face was cleanly shaved, and he had a habit of bending down his head, and gazing through his shaggy eyebrows at whosoever spoke, and also when he took up his parable himself.

      Mr. Chynoweth had been busy inside his desk when he heard his principal’s step, and there was plenty of room beneath the broad mahogany flap for him to do what he pleased unseen.

      What Mr. Chynoweth pleased that morning was to play over again a hand of whist, as near as he could remember—one that had been played at Dr. Rumsey’s house the night before, when one of the guests, Mr. Paul, had, to use his own words, “picked the game out of the fire,” Mr. Chynoweth being, in consequence, five shillings out of pocket.

      He kept a pack of cards and a whist guide in this desk, and it was frequently his habit to shuffle, cut, and deal four hands, spread them below the flap, and play them out by himself for practice, the consequence being that he was an adversary to be feared, a partner to be desired, at the snug little parties held at two or three houses in Carnac.

      On this particular morning he had just arrived at the point where he felt that he had gone astray, when Mr. Penwynn’s step was heard, the mahogany flap was closed, and “The Jack of Clubs” was ready for business.

      “Fresh? Well, no. Permewan’s time’s up, and he wants more. Will you give it?”

      “No: he has made no effort to pay his interest. Tell Tregenna to foreclose and sell.”

      Mr. Chynoweth rapidly made an entry upon an ordinary school slate on one side, and then crossed off an entry upon the other, refreshing his memory from it at the same time.

      “Dr. Rumsey wants an advance of a hundred pounds,” he said next, gazing through his shaggy eyebrows.

      “Hang Dr. Rumsey! He’s always wanting an advance. What does he say?”

      “Pilchard fishery such a failure. Tin so low that he can’t get in his accounts.”

      “Humph! What security does he offer?”

      “Note of hand.”

      “Stuff! What’s the use of his note of hand? Has he nothing else?”

      “No,” said Mr. Chynoweth. “He says you hold every thing he has.”

      “Humph! Yes, suppose I do.”

      “Without you’d consider half-a-dozen children good security?”

      “Chynoweth, I hate joking over business-matters.”

      “Not joking,” said Mr. Chynoweth, stolidly. “That’s what he said.”

      “Rubbish! Can’t he get some one else to lend his name?”

      “Said he had asked every one he could, and it was no use.”

      “Confound the fellow! Tut-tut-tut! What’s to be done, Chynoweth?”

      “Lend him the money.”

      “No, no. There, I’ll let him have fifty.”

      “Not half enough. Better let him have it. You’ll be ill, or I shall, one of these days, and if you don’t let him have the money, he might give it us rather strongly.”

      “Absurd. He dare not.”

      “Well, I don’t know,” said Chynoweth. “When one’s on one’s back one is in the doctor’s hands, you know.”

      “There: let him have the money, but it must be at higher interest. But stop a moment,” continued Mr. Penwynn, as his managing man’s pencil gave its first grate on the slate. “You’re a great friend of Rumsey: why not lend him your name to the note?”

      Mr. Chynoweth had no buttons to his trousers pockets, but he went through the process of buttoning them, and looked straight now at his employer.

      “How long would you keep me here if you found me weak enough to do such a thing as that, Mr. Penwynn? No, no,” he said, lowering his head once more, and looking through his eyebrows, “I never lend, and I never become security for any man. I shall put it down that he can have the money.”

      Mr. Penwynn nodded, and his manager wrote down on one side and marked off on the other.

      “Any thing else?”

      “Wheal Carnac’s for sale.”

      “Well, so it has been for a long time.”

      “Yes, but they mean to sell now, I hear; and they say it would be worth any one’s while to buy it.”

      “Yes, so I suppose,” said Mr. Penwynn, smiling; “but we do not invest in mines, Chynoweth. We shall be happy to keep the account of the company, though, who start. How many have failed there?”

      “Three,” said Chynoweth. “There has been a deal of money thrown down that place.”

      Mr. Penwynn nodded and entered his private room, when Chynoweth gave one ear a rub, stood his slate upon the desk, raised the flap and let it rest on his head, and then proceeded to finish his hand at whist, evidently with satisfactory results, for he smiled and rubbed his hands, placed the cards in a corner, and next proceeded to write two or three letters, one of which, concluded in affectionate terms, he afterwards tore up.

      Some hours passed, when a clerk brought in a card.

      “For Mr. Penwynn, sir.”

      “Geoffrey Trethick,” said Mr. Chynoweth, reading. “Take it in.”

      The clerk obeyed, and a few minutes later he ushered the new visitor to Carnac into Mr. Penwynn’s private room, where the banker and the stranger looked hard at each other for a few moments before the former pointed to a chair, his visitor being quite a different man from what he had pictured.

      “Glad to see you, Mr. Trethick,” he said. “I have read the letters you left for me, and shall be happy to oblige my correspondent if I can; but they seem to be quite under a misapprehension as to my powers. In the first place, though, what can I do for you?”

      “Do for me?” said Geoffrey, smiling. “Well, this much. I come to you, a СКАЧАТЬ