The Firm of Girdlestone Chapter 2 - Charity a La Mode

Ashton Hoffman (0:00)

Chapter 2 of The Firm of Girdlestone by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Ashton Hoffman. Charity A Law Mode It was a dark October morning in Fenchurch Street, some weeks after the event with which Osterio opened. The murky city air looked murkier still through the glazed office windows, Girdlestone grim and gray as though he were the very embodiment of the weather stooped over his mahogany table. He had a long list in front of him, on which he was checking off his prelude to the day's work. The position in the market of the various speculations in which the capital of the firm was embarked, his son Ezra lounged in an easy chair opposite him.

Looking disheveled and dark under the eyes, for he had been up half the night and the nemesis of reaction was upon him. Fuh! his father ejaculated, glancing round at him with disgust. You have been drinking already this morning. I took a brandy and a seltzer on the way to the office, he answered carelessly. I needed one to steady me. A young fellow of your age should not want steadying. You have a strong constitution, but you must not play tricks with it. You must have been very late last night. It was nearly one before I went to bed. I was playing cards with Major Kluckterback and one or two others. He kept it up rather late. With Major Kluckterback, yes, I don't care about your consorting so much with that man. He drinks and gambles and does you no good. What good has he ever done himself? Take care that he does not fleece you, the merchant felt instinctively as he glanced at the shrewd dark face of his son, that the warning was a superfluous one. No, fear, father, as it answered sulkily. I am old enough to choose my own friends. Why such a friend as that? I like to know, men of that class, you are a successful man, father, but you well, you could be much help to me socially. You need someone to show you the ropes, and the major is my man.

When I can stand alone, I'll soon let him know it.

Well, go your own way, said griddle stone shortly. Heard to all the world, he was soft only in this one direction. From childhood, every discussion between father and son had ended with the same words. It is business time, he resumed. Let us confine ourselves to business. I see that Illinois were at 112 yesterday.

They are at 113 this morning. What? Have you been on change already? Yes, I dropped in there on my way to the office. I would hold on to those they will go up for some days yet. The senior partner made a pencil note on the margin of the list. We will hold on to the cotton we have, he said.

No sell out at once, Ezra answered with a decision. I saw a young feather stone of Liverpool last night, or rather this morning. It was hard to make head or tail of what the fool said, but he let fall enough to show that there was likely to be a drop. Girdlestone made another mark upon the paper. He never questioned his son's decisions. Now, for long experience, he had shown him that they were never formed without a solid ground. Take this list, Ezra, he said, handing him the paper, and run your eye over it, if you see anything that wants changing market. I'll do it in the counting house, his son answered. I can keep my eye on those lazy scams of clerks. Gilray has no idea of keeping them in order. As he went out, he cannon against an elderly gentleman in a white waistcoat who was being shown in and who ricocheted off him into the office, where he shook hands hurriedly with the elder griddle-stone. It was evident from the labored cordiality of the loudest greeting that the newcomer was a man of some importance. He was indeed none other than the well-known philanthropist Jefferson Edwards, M. P from for Middlehurst, whose name upon a bill was hurriedly sanctioned to that of Rothschild. How do, griddle-stone, how do? He exclaimed, mopping his face with his handkerchief. He was a fussy little man with a brisk, nervous manner. Hurt at it as usual, eh? Always pegging away, wonderful man, ha-ha, wonderful.

You look warm, the merchant answered, rubbing his hands. Let me offer you some claret. I have some in the cupboard. No, thank you, the wizard answered, staring across at the head of the femme, as though he were some botanical curiosity. Extraordinary fellow, Iron Gettlestone, they call you in the city. A good name, too, ha-ha.