CHAPTER XXXIX

THE INTERVIEW

“AH, my dear Mr. Goldspink!” exclaimed the Duke, advancing with outstretched hands with all the cheerful cordiality imaginable as our crab-actioned friend followed the smoothly gliding Mr. Garnett into the presence —“Ah, my dear Mr. Goldspink, this is indeed most kind and considerate. First neighbour that has come to greet us. How, may I ask, is your worthy wife and your excellent son?” taking both the banker’s hands and shaking them severely.

“Sivin and four’s elivin and sivinty-sivin’s eighty-eight, on the gammon and spinach tack I guess—thank your Grace—his Grace—my Grace, that is to say— they are both pretty well,—hope the Duchess and my Lord Marchhare——”

“The Duchess and Marchhare are both at this moment enjoying a quiet cup of tea in her pretty little boudoir, where I am sure they will be most happy to see Mr. Goldspink,” the Duke motioning him onwards to the gilt-moulded white door opposite.

“Sivin and four’s elivin and sivin’s eighteen, must stop him from that,” decided our friend, diving into his coat-pocket again for the ominous book. “I just called (hum), I just took the liberty of——”

“Ah! but you haven’t seen my new Swaneveldt!” interrupted the Duke; “grand Italian landscape, with peasants crossing a wooden bridge over a cascade which falls from a woody height,” now trying to turn the man of money to a door in another direction.

“Thank ’e, your Grace, thank ’e,” rejoined the Banker, backing instead of advancing. “I would just wish to speak one word with your Grace in private before we go.”

“By all means!” exclaimed the Duke, “by all means; only we can talk and look too, you know—got a new Velasquez as well—view of the Siena Morena; a château on the right, near a stream of water, with figures on a road —vast expanse of open country beyond enclosed by a mountainous background—painted with great spirit and masterly effect,” continued the Duke, still leading on to the other door.

“Sivin and four’s elivin, and sivinty-four’s eighty-five; wonder whether it’s paid for or not,” mused our friend, reluctantly following.

They then got into the picture-gallery—a noble apartment full of portraits, pictures, carvings, busts, crystals, bronzes, all the ingredients of indefinite expense; for though the Duke might not be able to pay for a horse, he could always purchase a Hobbema, if there happened to be one in the market. And as every one thinks his hobby is interesting to others, so the Duke kept stopping his visitor’s musing with Titians and Tenierses and Rubenses, and articles of virtù generally.

Though the Duke talked of the Duchess as an affable lady who would be glad to give Mr. Goldspink a friendly cup of tea, yet our Banker knew better, and was not going to be cajoled that way; so whenever his Grace desisted from praising a background or expatiating on the effects of light and shade, he at him with his wants in such a steady persevering way, that at last not even a Snyders with a peacock, a turkey cock, a cock and hen, rabbits and guinea-pigs, could parry his importunities, and the Duke was at length obliged to succumb and hear what he had to say. The Banker then at him with his open newly written-up passbook, with a terrible bringing forward, to which he pointed with his fat forefinger, declaring that “it was going to be the ruin of his bank—bank’stablished sivinteen ’underd and sivinty-four—and he really would be ’bleged to his Grace if he would take immediate steps for reducing the amount.”

“Oh dear! that’s nothing!” replied his Grace, taking a cursory glance at the figures. “That’s nothing. Why, Flint and Stone, of Friday Street, never notice an account until it gets into the teens of thousands.”

“True, your grace—true, I dare say it’s very true; but then they are people in a great way of business, with the Bank of England at their backs; whereas I’m a poor lonely individual, just able by the greatest caution and prudence to keep my head above water and no more. I ’sure your Grace,” continued the Banker, increasing in earnestness as he proceeded, “it’s with the greatest reluctance I trouble your Grace, but it really is a case of necessity, or I wouldn’t have come.”

“Well, well,” interrupted the Duke, “I’ll see what I can do for you against the rent-day—or speak to Mr. Acreage—he’s the Chancellor of the Exchequer; I only spend the money,—he finds it. Come now, let us go to the Duchess,” continued he, making another effort to disengage himself.

“Or,” continued the Banker, without noticing the invitation, “if it didn’t suit you to pay, I dare say I could get you a customer for some of those little outlying places of yours, that can be nothing but trouble and loss, and that would help to make matters square.”

“Well, then, that will be an affair for Mr. Docket,” replied the Duke, always ready to turn matters over to some one else.

“Shall I see Mr. Docket and try to arrange matters with him?” then asked the Banker, coming boldly up to the point.

“With all my heart!” replied the Duke, “with all my heart! Mr. Docket and you, I dare say, will soon arrange matters; so now let us go to the Duchess.”

The Banker, however, had exhausted his mission and declined; and the Duke, seeing he had pacified him, did not press any further politeness; but, taking leave, handed him over to Mr. Garnett to reconduct to his carriage; who having tucked and buttoned him in gave the word “home!” to the coachman, who forthwith aroused his drowsy horse with a longitudinal cut of his antediluvian whip, and getting him in motion went rumbling out of the courtyard, wondering what they had “all the places se strang for.” And the Banker went jolting home, alternately sivin and fouring a speech for Mr. Docket, and building mental villas on the property —Gothic, Doric, Ionic, Dutch, and Chinese.