LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 432, 1 November 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

CO. {From London Society.') Chapter I. Dart, Maitland, Dart, and Co. So the names stood upon the great brass plate; and in these names had the business of the bank been prudently and profitably conducted for as many years as the majority of the inhabitants of Highborough could recall. Trade panics had laid waste many another long - established firm ; bankruptcy had swooped unexpectedly 'upon many a house where wealth had seemed as limitless as here; but the bank of Messrs Dart, Maitland, Dart, and Co held its head high above the treacherous waters, and stood unmoved and utterly secure after the heaviest gales had passed. The name of the firm was a passport of trust and reliance, as well as a prompt introduction to the first society of the country; and the present representatives were these— Maurice Dart, the senior partner, a handsome man of fifty years, who imagined that the wishes, and weaknesses, and hopes peculiar to other men could not move him now ; and Walter Maitland, both in appearance and manner, a strong contrast to his senior partner. Though but ten years younger, he looked nearer thirty than forty, and the frankness of his blue eyes, and the gay words so prompt upon his lips, seemed doubly frank and doubly gay, contrasted with his senior’s reticence and gravity. The third partner was one in name alone. His father’s death had left him a rich share in the bank, but his only intercourse with it was the polite periodical acknowledgment of its having swept away the debts which were the worst enemies he had had to fight since he entered the army. About the Co there was of course that vagueness which is inseparable from the cognomen. In the outer world it was supposed that an unlimited number of people had invested their savings or their patrimony on purpose to be considered ‘ of the firm. ’ But among the clerks only one case was known with certainty. He was neither the oldest nor the most experienced, though the most cheerful, perhaps, and most industrious. He had deposited in the firm the sum which his father, through a forty years’ course of valued and profitable managership, had accumulated to bequeath to him, and so, being enabled to draw what doubled his salary as clerk, Tom Leslie looked jupon himself as a partner of no mean order; and built lofty castles for a time when his name should stand upon the brass plate otherwise than as Co, Cheerfully and constantly he erected these edifices, but to attempt to lay their foundation on terra Jirtna, either by saving or speculating, never entered Tom’s head. With his mother —a little old lady, as hopeful and cheerful and trustful as he was himself—Tom lived in a pretty white cottage beyond the town, and here he had flowers all the year round, and birds that sang in the gloomiest weather, and a piano on which he was no mean performer. And as regularly as Saturday morning came round, Tom, taking his bat, would say in the most natural manner, ‘ I think we should like a couple of the younger fellows out to dinner to-morrow, shouldn’t we, mother? Their salaries are not like mine, and things are dear, you say.’ . True, their salaries were not like his, but then he would not have the small bright house, nor the small bright mother denied any comfort he could think of, and so there was never one penny of Tom’s salary left when the year was up. _ . ' Once or twice Mrs Leslie would inquire ruefully where her son picked up the din-

nerless clerks whom he delighted to bring home to supper, or, as he always called it, ‘ to a little music;’ but her genial hospitality was, after all, as prompt as his; and so, though she kept the accounts, there was, as I said, never a penny of Tom’s salary left when the year was up. ‘He thinks that that four hundred pounds a year of his is a king’s revenue,’ thought Mrs Leslie one Saturday morning, watching her son cross the road, drop his gift into the expectant hand of the crossing-sweeper, and turn at the corner to nod to her. ‘He will soon expect me to adopt a few young men whose salaries are less than his own. If be had but inherited his father’s saving nature !’ She tried to regret this dolefully, but, after all, she could not help the warmth of perfect satisfaction filling her eyes. Even his practical father had rejoiced that his nature was his mother’s, from the time that nature began to assert itself in little Tom—‘Little Tom’ then to his parents; ‘Little Tom Leslie’ afterwards among his schoolfellows; ‘ Little Leslie’ now among his fellow clerks. On this .particular Saturday morning as he walked to the bank, Tom loitered a little in one street —a quiet street of handsome private houses, before one of which stood a couple of cabs piled with boxes. Tom waited long enough to be sure that the cabs bore nothing but luggage; then he walked briskly en, and entering the bank excitedly, told his fellow clerks of the arrival of the Colonel’s household, and for fully five minutes forgot, in his excitement, to add his genial invitation for the morrow. When the coming of the regiment had been discussed, and Tom’ pleasant invitation accepted, he turned to his desk, not to loiter again throughout the day. An hour afterwards, Mr Dart drove up, and with a quiet ‘ Good morning,’ passed through the bank to his own private room. Here presently Mr Maitland joined him, and, standing before the fire, discussed various items of town news; among them, of course, the arrival of the regiment. ‘ Colonel Conyngham has only one daughter; we must help to introduce her. Young Dart having once belong to the regiment, gives it, as it were, a claim upon us. ‘ The Colonel’s daughter will need but little introduction,’ replied Maurice Dart quietly. Chapter 11. Dart, Maitland, Dart, and Co. The names stood unaltered on the great brass plate yet—except the sleeping partner, away in India now—each one represented by that sign was perfectly aware that a great alteration had been growing in himself ever since Colonel Conyngham and his daughter had been living in Highborough. The strong bank walls no longer limited his hope and ambition. Beyond, them, stood revealed, a home of love, and ease, and sunshine, brightly possible; and in this future the only mission of the good old bank was to furnish the home with luxury. It was a winter night. The bank windows were bolted and barred, the great books locked away in their trusty safes, and the manager asleep upstairs with the loaded blunderbuss beside his bed. But in his brilliantly lighted drawing-room at home the senior partner sat alone —a striking looking man, in his evening dress, with the hothouse flowers fading in his coat. The room had been filled with guests up to this time, but now ,M r Dart sat alone before the fire, buried in a thought which deepened minute by minute, until the door was opened, and Walter Maitland re-entered the room he had but lately left. ‘ I could not help coming back,’ he said, beginning hurriedly to speak, as if the words forced themselves from him in his nervons haste. ‘ There is one thing about which I must speak to you to-night, about which I have wanted to speak to you for a long time, I feel’—he was leaning against the chimney-piece opposite his friend, and looking with intense scrutiny into his quiet face —* that I have been dreaming a dream which a word of yours could at this moment dispel. Tell me if it is so. It will be greater kindness than your silence, though kindness is sure to be the motive of that. Tell me at once, Dart. It cannot be very pleasant to you to see my anxiety. You arc far too good a fellow to feel pleasure in that.’ ‘ What am I to tell you ?’ inquired Maurice Dart, without meeting his companion’s eyes. ‘ Surely you know ?’ I said to myself that when I met Isabel here in your house tonight I would find out if my fears were well grounded; and if I could not discover, I would ask you for the truth before I left. Dart, end this wearing suspense for me. It has been growing through all these months, side by side with my love, and has become unbearable at last.’ Maurice raised his head now, and met his companion’s anxious, questioning eyes. ‘ I am glad you have spoken, Maitland,’ he said; ‘ I have guessed at your anxiety while I have felt my own, and I have often wished to break the silence we have held on this one point. I fancied you had something to tell me. I fancied so but now, when I saw you re-enter the room.’ ‘ Indeed, no,’ exclaimed Walter with his usual frankness ; ‘ I wish to heaven I had. I wish I dared to say that Isabel had given me encouragement enough to make me even hope. And I could not ask her to—love me while I felt that you knew how useless it would be.’ < I «Jo not know,’ returned Dart, his words sounding very slow after Walter’s eagerness, yet all his self-command failing to hide their new ring of hope. ‘ Isabel has never heard a word of love from me. She is gentle, and kind, and winning always; but I cannot read beyond.’ ‘To me, too, she is bright and pleasant always,’ put in Maitland restlessly; ‘ and I can discover nothing more. I fancied you could put me out of one phase of this uncertainty.’ , ‘ And you are very glad to find 1 cannot, said the elder partner. And then their eyes met with a smile which was strangely wistful for such strong and manly faces. ‘Dart,’ said Mr Maitland, ‘you are the elder man—the richer—the better, too. You shall speak first. Do it as soon as you can.’ ‘ Seniority has no claim in such a case as this,’ said the senior partner.’ ‘We can wait.’

‘ I can wait no longer,’ put in the younger man impatiently, ‘ Anything will be better than this suspense. Why on earth should we wait? Isabel knows us both thoroughly now. She knows we are both too old for this love of ours to be anything but deeply earnest. She knows enough of us and of our position to make her decision easy to her. So let us know the worst, or—best. You have the right to speak first.’ ‘ I will not take it,’said Dart, speaking more quickly than he had yet done. ‘ Let us write. Let us write—together.’ A few minutes’ silence, while Walter thought this over, leaning his head on the arm which rested on the chimney-piece. ‘Let that be decided,’ urged Maurice. ‘We will write to-morrow. Let her receive the two letters together, that she may think of us together. Promise me your letter shall be ready for to-morrow’s post.’ ‘ I promise,’ said Maitland, raising his head again. * Thank you for this arrangement. ’ Chapter 111. The fire roared and crackled cheerily in the private room at the bank, but neither of the partners had arrived. ‘ I never knew him so late,’ remarked Tom Leslie, as if finishing aloud a puzzling conjecture. ‘Who? Old Dart?’ ‘Mr Dart. Yes.’ ‘ Leslie feels it incumbent on him to uphold the dignity of the partners,’ put in another clerk. * His breast swells proudly with a fellow-feeling. ’ ‘ What an idle set you are this morning,’ remarked Tom, turning from his desk with the quick kindly smile which made his face so pleasant to look upon, ‘As soon as ever I am senior partner I shall give you all a sweeping dismissal.’ The listeners laughed, enjoying the absurdity of the idea, and one or two questioned him with mock anxiety as to the treat he intended to stand them on the occasion. Through all the laughter Tom pursued his work, and Mr Dart noticed this when he entered the bank. And though it was but very curtly that he answered Tom’s quiet greeting, yet before he reached the inner door he turned and spoke to him. ‘ Cold outside, Leslie, Keep up good fires.’ ‘lt is hard,’ he muttered to himself, ‘to pass him without a word.’ Then Mr Dart let the spring door close behind him, and sitting down in his office chair, leaned on one arm only, as very calm men do when they are ill at ease as well as tired. He was sitting so, looking moodily down into the fire, when Mr Maitland entered the room. The senior partner did not turn to greet him; and even when Walter stood upon the rug beside him he did not venture to meet his eyes. ‘Maurice,’ began the younger man, ‘I suppose I may congratulate you. It is rather hard, yet no one ought to do it so heartily as I—l, who know what a good fellow you are, and what—what a wife you have won.’ A glance of surprise into his friend’s face, and then Mr Dart spoke—in few words, as was his custom. ‘ She has refused me, Maitland. ’ ‘ Refused you !’ Walter repeated the words, though not incredulously; only truth, he knew, could have weighted them so sadly. ‘ She has refused me, too,’ he said. ‘She has never cared for me but as a friend—simply and only as a friend. ’ To be continued.