George Dawkins was standing at his desk one morning, when a man entered the office, and stepping up to him, unceremoniously tapped him on the shoulder.
Dawkins turned. He looked extremely annoyed on perceiving his visitor, whose outward appearance was certainly far from prepossessing.
His face exhibited unmistakable marks of dissipation, nor did the huge breast pin and other cheap finery which he wore conceal the fact of his intense vulgarity. His eyes were black and twinkling, his complexion very dark, and his air that of a foreigner. He was, in fact, a Frenchman, though his language would hardly have betrayed him, unless, as sometimes, he chose to interlard his discourse with French phrases.
"How are you this morning, my friend?" said the newcomer.
"What are you here for?" asked Dawkins, roughly.
"That does not seem to me a very polite way of receiving your friends."
"Friends!" retorted Dawkins, scornfully, "who authorized you to call yourself my friend?"
"Creditor, then, if it will suit you better, mon ami."
"Hush," said Dawkins, in an alarmed whisper, "he will hear," here he indicated Paul with his finger.
"And why should I care? I have no secrets from the young man."
"Stop, Duval," exclaimed Dawkins, in an angry whisper, "Leave the office at once. Your appearing here will injure me."
"But I am not your friend; why should I care?" sneered Duval.
"Listen to reason. Leave me now, and I will meet you when and where you will."
"Come, that sounds better."
"Now go. I'm afraid Mr. Danforth will be in."
"If he comes, introduce me."
Dawkins would like to have knocked the fellow over.
"Name your place and time, and be quick about it," said he impatiently.
"Eight o'clock this evening, you know where," was the answer.
"Very well. Good-morning."
"Mind you bring some money."
"Good-morning," returned Dawkins, angrily.
At length, much to his relief, Duval left the office. Dawkins stole a side glance at Paul, to see what impression the interview had made upon him, but our hero, who had overheard some portions of the dialogue, perceiving that Dawkins wished it to be private, took as little notice of the visitor as possible. He could not help thinking, however, that Duval was a man whose acquaintance was likely to be of little benefit to his fellow clerk.
Throughout the day Dawkins appeared unusually nervous, and made several blunders which annoyed Mr. Danforth. Evidently he had something on his mind. Not to keep the reader in suspense, George had fallen among bad companions, where he had learned both to drink and to gamble. In this way he had made the acquaintance of Duval, an unscrupulous sharper, who had contrived to get away all his ready money, and persuading him to play longer in the hope of making up his losses had run him into debt one hundred and fifty dollars.
Dawkins gave him an acknowledgment of indebtedness to that amount. This of course placed him in Duval's power, since he knew of no means of raising such a sum. He therefore kept out of the Frenchman's way, avoiding the old haunts where he would have been likely to meet him. Dawkins supposed Duval ignorant of the whereabouts of his employer's counting-room. So he had been, but he made it his business to ascertain where it was. He had no idea of losing sight of so valuable a prize.
Dawkins would willingly have broken the appointment he had made with Duval, but he did not dare to do so. He knew that the man was well able to annoy him, and he would not on any account have had the affair disclosed to his father or Mr. Danforth.
As Trinity clock struck eight, he entered a low bar-room in the neighborhood of the docks.
A young man with pale, sandy hair stood behind the counter with his sleeves rolled up.
He was supplying the wants of a sailor who already appeared to have taken more drink than was good for him.
"Good evening, Mr. Dawkins," said he, "you're a stranger."
"Is Duval in?" inquired Dawkins, coldly.
His pride revolted at the place and company.
