When Doctor Walker had departed, the Admiral packed all his possessions
back into his sea chest with the exception of one little brass-bound
desk. This he unlocked, and took from it a dozen or so blue sheets of
paper all mottled over with stamps and seals, with very large V. R.'s
printed upon the heads of them. He tied these carefully into a small
bundle, and placing them in the inner pocket of his coat, he seized his
stick and hat.
"Oh, John, don't do this rash thing," cried Mrs. Denver, laying her
hands upon his sleeve. "I have seen so little of you, John. Only three
years since you left the service. Don't leave me again. I know it is
weak of me, but I cannot bear it."
"There's my own brave lass," said he, smoothing down the grey-shot hair.
"We've lived in honor together, mother, and please God in honor we'll
die. No matter how debts are made, they have got to be met, and what
the boy owes we owe. He has not the money, and how is he to find it? He
can't find it. What then? It becomes my business, and there's only one
way for it."
"But it may not be so very bad, John. Had we not best wait until after
he sees these people to-morrow?"
"They may give him little time, lass. But I'll have a care that I don't
go so far that I can't put back again. Now, mother, there's no use
holding me. It's got to be done, and there's no sense in shirking it."
He detached her fingers from his sleeve, pushed her gently back into an
arm-chair, and hurried from the house.
In less than half an hour the Admiral was whirled into Victoria Station
and found himself amid a dense bustling throng, who jostled and pushed
in the crowded terminus. His errand, which had seemed feasible enough in
his own room, began now to present difficulties in the carrying out, and
he puzzled over how he should take the first steps. Amid the stream of
business men, each hurrying on his definite way, the old seaman in his
grey tweed suit and black soft hat strode slowly along, his head sunk
and his brow wrinkled in perplexity. Suddenly an idea occurred to him.
He walked back to the railway stall and bought a daily paper. This he
turned and turned until a certain column met his eye, when he smoothed
it out, and carrying it over to a seat, proceeded to read it at his
leisure.
And, indeed, as a man read that column, it seemed strange to him that
there should still remain any one in this world of ours who should be in
straits for want of money. Here were whole lines of gentlemen who were
burdened with a surplus in their incomes, and who were loudly calling
to the poor and needy to come and take it off their hands. Here was the
guileless person who was not a professional moneylender, but who would
be glad to correspond, etc. Here too was the accommodating individual
who advanced sums from ten to ten thousand pounds without expense,
security, or delay. "The money actually paid over within a few hours,"
ran this fascinating advertisement, conjuring up a vision of swift
messengers rushing with bags of gold to the aid of the poor struggler. A
third gentleman did all business by personal application, advanced money
on anything or nothing; the lightest and airiest promise was enough to
content him according to his circular, and finally he never asked
for more than five per cent. This struck the Admiral as far the most
promising, and his wrinkles relaxed, and his frown softened away as
he gazed at it. He folded up the paper rose from the seat, and found
himself face to face with Charles Westmacott.