The Firm of Girdlestone Chapter 3 - Thomas Gilray Makes an Investment

Ashton Hoffman (0:00)

Chapter 3 of The Firm of Girdlestone by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Ashton Hoffman. Thomas Gilray makes an investment. The shambling little clerk was still standing at the door, watching the retreating figure of the millionaire, and mentally splicing together his fragmentary remarks into the symmetrical piece of advice, which might be carried home and digested at leisure. When his attention was attracted to a pale-faced woman with a child in her arms, who was hanging about the entrance, she looked up at the clerk in a wistful way, as if anxious to address him and yet afraid to do so. Then, noting perhaps some gleam of kindness in his yellow-winkled face, she came across to him. Do you think I could see Mr. Girdlestone, sir? She asked with a kirtzy. Or maybe you're Mr. Girdlestone yourself. The woman was wretchedly dressed and her eyelids were swollen and red, as from wrong crying. Mr. Girdlestone is in his room, said the head clerk kindly. I have no doubt that he will see you if you will wait for a moment. Had he been speaking to the grandest of the besilked and befeathered dames, who occasionally frequented the office, he could not have spoken with great kirtzy.

Verily, in the days, the spirit of the true chivalry has filtered down from the surface and has found a lodgement in strange places. The merchant looked with a surprise and suspicious eye at his visitor. When she was ushered in, Take a seat, my good woman, he said, What can I do for you? Please, Mr. Girdlestone, on Mrs. Hudson, she answered, seating herself in a timid way upon the extreme edge of a chair. She was weary and foot-sorrowful, she had carried the baby up from Stepney that morning. Hudson, Hudson, can't remember the name, said Girdlestone, shaking his head reflectively. Jim Hudson, as was Sir, he was my husband, the boatswain, for many a year I'll be a ship, the black eagle. He went out to try and earn a bit for me and the child, sir, but he's dead of fever, poor dear, and lying in Boney River with a cannonball at his feet, as the carpenter himself told me, who sued him up, and I wish I was dead, and with him. So I do. She began sobbing in her shawl and moaning while the child suddenly awakened by the sound of rubbed its eyes with its wrinkled mottled hands, and then proceeded to take stock of Mr. Girdlestone in his office with the critical philosophy of an infant. Calm yourself down, my good woman. Calm yourself, said the senior partner.

He perceived that the evil prophecy by his son had come upon him, and he made a mental note of this fresh instance of Ezra's power of foresight. It was hard, so it was, said Mrs. Hudson, drying her eyes, but still giving vent to the occasional tempestuous sob. I hear as the black eagle was coming up the river, so I spent all I had in my pocket in making Jim a nice little supper. Ham and eggs, which was always his favorite, and a pint of bitter and a quart of whiskey, that he could take hot after being naturally, or a cold turn, and him coming from a warm country too. Then, and I goes and down the river, until I sees the black eagle coming up with a tug in front of her. Well, I knowed the two streaks of white paint left alone the screeching all the parrots, which I could hear from the bank. I could see the heads of some of the men peeping over the side, so I wave my handkerchief, and one of them, he waved back, said, I trust Jim for knowing his little wafts, says I. Proud, like, to myself, and I run round to where I knew, as they dock her, what with me being that excited that I couldn't rightly see where I was going, and what with the crowd for the men was coming from work, I didn't get there till the ship was alongside. Then I jumps aboard, and the first man I see was Sandy MacPherson, who I knew when we lived in Binnacle Lane. Where's Jim? I cried, running forward, eager to the full castle, but he caught me by the arm and as I passed him, steady, last steady.

Then I looked up at him, and his face was very grayed, and my knees got kind of weak. Where's Jim? says I. Don't ask, says he. Where is he, Sandy?

And then don't say the words, Sandy. Don't you say it. But Lord bless you, sir. It didn't much matter what he said, nor what he did, for I knows all.