HKB
your wife and boy, little Archibald, his godson. You he has not much compassion for, inasmuch as he attributes your misfortunes entirely to mismanagement, and the want of common prudence."
"Candid, certainly," grumbled out Mr. Jesse Andrews; "but an odd sort of good news!"
"His deeds are kinder than his words. He will allow, till Archibald attains his majority--Let me see--how old is that boy of yours now?"
"Ten. He was two years old when his godfather went to India."
"Well, then, you will receive two hundred pounds per annum, payable half-yearly, in advance, for the next ten years--that is, of course, if your son lives--in order to enable you to bring him up, and educate him properly. After that period has elapsed, your cousin intimates that he will place the young man advantageously, and I do not doubt will do something for you, should you not by that time have conquered a fair position for yourself."
"Is that all?" said Mr. Andrews.
"All! Why, what did you expect?"
"Two or three thousand pounds to set me afloat again. I know of a safe speculation, that with, say three thousand pounds capital, would realize a handsome fortune in no time."
Mr. Jesse Andrews, I may observe, was one of that numerous class of persons who are always on the threshold of realizing millions--the only and constant obstacle being the want of a sufficient "capital."
I condoled with him upon his disappointment; but as words, however civil, avail little in the way of "capital," Mr. Jesse Andrews, having pocketed the first half-yearly installment of the annuity, made his exit in by no means a gracious or grateful frame of mind.
Two other half-yearly payments were duly paid him. When he handed me the receipt on the last occasion, he said, in a sort of off-hand, careless way, "I suppose, if Archy were to die, these payments would cease?"
"Perhaps not," I replied unthinkingly. "At all events, not, I should say, till you and your wife were in some way provided for. But your son is not ill?" I added.
"No, no; not at present," replied Andrews, coloring, and with a confusion of manner which surprised me not a little. It flashed across my mind that the boy was dead, and that Andrews, in order not to risk the withdrawal or suspension of the annuity, had concealed the fact from us.
"Let me see," I resumed, "we have your present address--Norton Folgate, I think?"
"Yes, certainly you have."
"I shall very likely call in a day or two to see Mrs. Andrew! and your son."
The man smiled in a reassured, half-sardonic manner. "Do," he answered. "Archy is alive, and very well, thank God!"
This confidence dispelled the suspicion I had momentarily entertained, and five or six weeks passed away, during which Andrews and his affairs were almost as entirely absent from my thoughts as if no such man existed.
About the expiration of that time, Mr. Jesse Andrews unexpectedly revisited the office, and as soon as I was disengaged, was ushered into my private room. He was habited in the deepest mourning, and it naturally struck me that either his wife or son was dead--an impression, however, which a closer examination of his countenance did not confirm, knowing as I did, how affectionate a husband and father he was, with all his faults and follies, reputed to be. He looked flurried, nervous, certainly; but there was no grief, no sorrow in the restless, disturbed glances which he directed to the floor, the ceiling, the window, the fire-place, the chairs, the table--everywhere, in fact, except towards my face.
"What is the matter, Mr. Andrews?" I gravely inquired, seeing that he did not appear disposed to open the conversation.
"A great calamity, sir--a great calamity," he hurriedly and confusedly answered, his face still persistently averted from me--"has happened! Archy is dead!"
"Dead!" I exclaimed, considerably shocked. "God bless me! when did this happen?"
"Three weeks ago," was the reply. "He died of cholera."