These reflections, which were neither profitable nor interesting to the parties immediately concerned, were interrupted by a peculiarly rigorous pull at the door bell. Pulls of a startling description had come so often, the previous ten minutes, that Mr. Whedell had quite ceased to notice them. But this long and strong pull caused him to start, and remark, "It must be Quigg."
It was Quigg, who had come to make his last appeal. He was by far the heaviest creditor. The unfortunate servant girl, acting under her general instructions, would fain have shown him into the parlor, where his fellow sufferers, having overrun the library and dining room, were already in strong force; but Quigg, having immense interests at stake, would stand no such nonsense.
"Where is Whedell?" said he. "I can't dance attendance on him all day."
It was always remarked that Quigg put off his slow and stately method of speech, when dealing with obstinate debtors.
The terrified Mary lost her presence of mind, and replied; "In the first floor, front." Quigg mounted the stairs with surprising agility, and gave a hard rap at the door of the first floor front.
Mr. Whedell said, in a voice calm with despair, "Come in." In the few minutes that had elapsed since the retirement of Chiffield, Mr. Whedell had privately determined to give up everything to his creditors, leaving them to divide the spoils among themselves, and then to go out, expend his last quarter on a dose of poison, and end his existence. This resolution, suddenly taken, imparted preternatural composure both to his mind and his face. He could now see his way out of all difficulties--or out of the world, which is the same thing. Clementina, who had not yet risen to that height of philosophy, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed with fresh violence.
Quigg entered, and at a glance saw that he had lost. He stopped short in the bow that he was intending to make.
"Well, Whedell," said he, roughly, "how are things to-day?" By "things," he always meant money.
"Not a penny," said Mr. Whedell. "I've done my best to pay you, and failed."
"Just as I expected. Serves me right. I never was forbearing with a debtor, that I didn't get chiselled this way. Strike me if I ever make the mistake again. This marriage of your daughter's, which was going to set you up in funds, has proved a fizzle, eh? Instead of taking somebody in, you have been taken in yourself."
Quigg laughed; and then remembering that a delinquent debtor was before him, assumed his wonted serious aspect.
At this allusion, poor Mrs. Chiffield burst into tears again. Mr. Whedell adroitly turned the circumstance to advantage. He pointed to her, and said, "There is my reply."
Quigg felt that he was losing ground on these side issues. "Well, Whedell, we must have a settlement to day. You owe me one hundred and fifty dollars. Turn over all your furniture to me, and we'll call it square."
Mrs. Chiffield doubled her sobs anew. But Mr. Whedell said, "Very good. Take everything, I shall want nothing where I am going."
Quigg had been accustomed to these dark hints from contumacious debtors, and was not to be frightened. "I accept your offer," said he, "and will take everything."
At this moment, a rush, as of many feet, was heard upon the stairs. The owners of the feet appeared to be literally tumbling up in their anxiety to get up. By the time Quigg could open the door, a half dozen flushed persons were ready to step in, and did so, brushing him aside. More than a score of others followed, and all plunged pell mell into the presence of Mr. Whedell and daughter.
"Here we are, Mr. Whedell, by appintment," said the spokesman of the party, Rickarts, the shoemaker.
"I see you are," responded the placid Whedell. "Take seats, if you can find them, gentlemen." This with a real smile, for he thought of the arsenic, and the immeasurable relief that it would afford him.
"We don't want seats, Mr. Whedell; and, if we did, there isn't enough for all of us. We want our pay, and have got tired of waitin' down stairs for it. You put us all off to the 1st of May, you know, expecting you said, to raise money enough by the marriage of your daughter (excuse the remark, marm, but business is business) to pay off all of us. We found, on comparin' notes down stairs, this mornin', that you had told the same story to everybody. Now, sir, as your daughter is married, accordin' to the papers, and the 1st of May has arriv', will you be good enough to square up?"
Mr. Whedell smiled touchingly. "My good and patient friends," said he, "nothing would give me greater pleasure--I might say, without exaggeration, rapture--than to pay all that I owe, with compound interest thrown in. But, unfortunately for my excellent intentions, I have no money."
"Blast me if that isn't just what we expected! I told 'em, down stairs, that I'd bet ten to one you couldn't or wouldn't raise any think out of your son-in-law."
"Your name is Rickarts, I believe?" asked Mr. Whedell.
"Yes, Rickarts!" growled the owner of the appellation, "You ought to know it by this time; for I've dunned you often enough."
"True, Mr. Rickarts, but then I have so many creditors, you see, that I cannot be expected to know them all. I merely wanted to observe, Mr. Rickarts, that, at least, you have not been disappointed in your expectations. Furthermore, that if you had made a bet of ten to one, it wouldn't have been a bad speculation for you."
Cries of "Pshaw!" "Humbug!" "Swindled!" "Done for!" and kindred expressions, arose from all sides. The spokesman said: "We ha'n't got no time to joke, Mr. Whedell. We have only to remark, now, that the best thing for you to do is to give up your furniture, without the trouble and expense of a lot of lawsuits."
"You are perfectly welcome to the whole of it, my good friends," said Mr. Whedell.
"The, deuce they are!" cried Quigg. "Why, you have just turned it over to me!"
"I give it to all of you, singly and collectively, severally and jointly," responded the happy, melancholy man. "Divide it among yourselves, and leave me."
The small creditors, under twenty dollars, took a favorable view of the proposition. One of them immediately jumped on a bureau having a marble top and elaborately carved legs, and expressed his willingness to take that for his pay. Another laid violent hands on the heavy yellow window curtains, and declared himself satisfied. A third commenced ripping up a corner of the carpet, and notified all persons that he claimed that. The original owner of the bureau, curtains, and carpet, who had furnished the house, and held an exalted rank among the principal creditors, objected to this summary disposition of the property. Quigg, in very emphatic but improper English, insisted that he had the largest and first claim, and warned everybody on their peril not to remove a thing from the house.
Mr. Whedell reclined in his chair, positively enjoying the spectacle, which was all the more entertaining because the common wrath was now diverted from him. Mrs. Chiffield wept behind her handkerchief. Her bonnet was knocked on one side, and the flowers were seriously disarranged, indicating a real case of distress.
Sauve qui peut was now the motto among all the small creditors. Notwithstanding the energetic objections of Quigg and others, they rushed down stairs into the parlors, where the best furniture was kept, and commenced, taking possession. Rickarts, the shoemaker, seated himself on the top of the piano, and said he considered that his'n. But a second after, a man milliner, who had furnished two new bonnets to Miss Clementina on the strength of the brownstone front, took his seat on the other end of the piano, and gave Mr. Rickarts distinctly to understand that he was glued to it. The man milliner was a powerful fellow, and looked as if his proper vocation were hammering stone or rolling iron, instead of handling flowers and feathers. Rickarts murmured something inaudibly, at first but, on taking a second survey of his neighbor, concluded that he would be more desirable as an ally than as an enemy.
"All right," said he; "s'pose we go snacks on this?"
"Agreed," said the man milliner.
Other of the minor creditors, not caring to quarrel for a third or fourth interest in the piano, attached themselves to movable pieces of furniture, such as ottomans, whatnots, etageres, and chairs. One succeeded in unscrewing a large chandelier which hung from the centre of the front parlor, and the gas came pouring through the opening in odorous volumes, while the spoliator waddled off to the door with his prize. Others rummaged the small stock of showy books which consituted the library, and were surprised to find that the most imposing volumes were bound in wood, with gilt backs, and contained nothing but air, which a funny creditor characterized as very light reading matter.
In about five minutes, a considerable amount of portable property would have gone out of the house, but for Quigg's presence of mind. Seeing that decisive action was required, he slipped out of the front door, locked it, and returned in a moment with a couple of policemen, who chanced to be strolling through the street at that hour.
On the way to the house, Mr. Quigg succeeded in persuading the policemen that it was necessary for the peace of society that they should turn all the other creditors out of the house, and leave Mr. Whedell's effects to be divided among them according to the regular legal process. As the officers marched up the steps of the house, it fell out that Matthew Maltboy came sauntering by. Observing the two officers, headed by an excited individual, going into Mr. Whedell's house, it occurred, to his benevolent heart that that gentleman must be in trouble. He also felt moved by a desire to hear of his old flame--for such she now seemed at the remote distance of six weeks,--of whose marriage with Mr. Chiffield he had read in the papers with the utmost complacency. Therefore, Maltboy stepped up behind the officers, and was about to follow them into the house. The officers would have kept him back; but Quigg recognized his friend of New Year's day, and asked him in, hoping to get legal advice for nothing.
"An old friend of mine, and of Mr. Whedell's," said Quigg. "Admit him, officers. Perhaps, sir" (Quigg had forgotten his name), "you know something about Whedell's affairs, and, as a lawyer" (with a wink), "can tell me where he has some property snugly stowed away, that I can pounce on. If so, I would cheerfully let the smaller creditors divide the furniture among themselves. Any information--ahem!--will be confidential, you know."
"I am not a shyster!" said the indignant Matthew, alluding, by that term, to the outlaws of his profession.
Quigg was evidently surprised at this unfriendly repulse. "I only made the suggestion for you to think on. No offence meant. Please walk in, sir."
The door being opened, several of the small creditors were discovered, grouped together, with property in their hands. They had made several ineffectual attempts to break the lock, or pry back the bolt. The larger creditors were forcibly remonstrating against this disposition of Mr. Whedell's effects; and a serious row would probably have ensued, but for the timely arrival of the police.