father. I used to know all about it. Well, I was sorry for Umbleby. He has got something, I suppose—eh?'
Frank said that he believed Mr. Yates Umbleby had something wherewith to keep the wolf from the door.
'So you have got Gazebee down there now? Gumption, Gazebee, and Gazebee: very good people, I'm sure; only, perhaps, they have a little too much on hand to do your father justice.'
'But about Sir Louis, Mr. Bideawhile.'
'Well, about Sir Louis; a very bad sort of fellow, isn't he? Drinks—eh? I knew his father a little. He was a rough diamond, too. I was once down in Northamptonshire, about some railway business; let me see; I almost forget whether I was with him, or against him. But I know he made sixty thousand pounds by one hour's work; sixty thousand pounds! And then he got so mad with drinking that we all thought—'
And so Mr. Bideawhile went on for two hours, and Frank found no opportunity of saying one word about the business which had brought him up to town. What wonder that such a man as this should be obliged to stay at his office every night till nine o'clock?
During these two hours, a clerk had come in three or four times, whispering something to the lawyer, who, on the last of such occasions, turned to Frank, saying, 'Well, perhaps that will do for to-day. If you'll manage to call to-morrow, say about two, I will have the whole thing looked up; or, perhaps, Wednesday or Thursday would suit you better.' Frank, declaring that the morrow would suit him very well, took his departure, wondering much at the manner in which business was done at the house of Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile.
When he called the next day, the office seemed to be rather disturbed, and he was shown quickly into Mr. Bideawhile's room. 'Have you heard this?' said that gentleman, putting a telegram into his hands. It contained tidings of the death of Sir Louis Scatcherd. Frank immediately knew that these tidings must be of importance to his father; but he had no idea how vitally they concerned his own more immediate interests.
'Dr. Thorne will be up in town on Thursday evening after the funeral,' said the talkative clerk. 'And nothing of course can be done till he comes,' said Mr. Bideawhile. And so Frank, pondering on the mutability of human affairs, again took his departure.
He could do nothing now but wait for Dr. Thorne's arrival, and so he amused himself in the interval by running down to Malvern, and treating with Miss Dunstable in person for the oil
