Yes, Bertie, I am bound to confess it: my first thought was of my own disappointment, and my second of the misfortune of my friends. He had the most diabolical intuitions, or I a very tell-tale face, for he added at once--
"Sorry to disappoint you, my boy. That's not what you expected to hear, I can see."
"Well," I stammered, "it IS rather a surprise, old chap. I thought from the . . . from the . . ."
"From the house, and the footman, and the furniture," said he. "Well, they've eaten me up among them . . . licked me clean, bones and gravy. I'm done for, my boy, unless . . ."--here I saw a question in his eyes--"unless some friend were to lend me his name on a bit of stamped paper."
"I can't do it, Cullingworth," said I." It's a wretched thing to have to refuse a friend; and if I had money . . ."
"Wait till you're asked, Munro," he interrupted, with his ugliest of expressions. "Besides, as you have nothing and no prospects, what earthly use would YOUR name on a paper be?"
"That's what I want to know," said I, feeling a little mortified, none the less.
"Look here, laddie," he went on; "d'you see that pile of letters on the left of the table?"
"Yes."
"Those are duns. And d'you see those documents on the right? Well, those are County Court summonses. And, now, d'you see that;" he picked up a little ledger, and showed me three or, four names scribbled on the first page.
"That's the practice," he roared, and laughed until the great veins jumped out on his forehead. His wife laughed heartily also, just as she would have wept, had he been so disposed.
"It's this way, Munro," said he, when he had got over his paroxysm. "You have probably heard--in fact, I have told you myself--that my father had the finest practice in Scotland. As far as I could judge he was a man of no capacity, but still there you are--he had it."
I nodded and smoked.
"Well, he's been dead seven years, and fifty nets dipping into his little fish-pond. However, when I passed I thought my best move was to come down to the old place, and see whether I couldn't piece the thing together again. The name ought to be worth something, I thought. But it was no use doing the thing in a half hearted way. Not a bit of use in that, Munro. The kind of people who came to him were wealthy, and must see a fine house and a man in livery. What chance was there of gathering them into a bow-windowed forty pound- a-year house with a grubby-faced maid at the door? What do you suppose I did? My boy, I took the governor's old house, that was unlet--the very house that he kept up at five thousand a year. Off I started in rare style, and sank my last cent in furniture. But it's no use, laddie. I can't hold on any longer. I got two accidents and an epileptic--twenty-two pounds, eight and sixpence--that's the lot!
"What will you do, then?"
"That's what I wanted your advice about. That's why I wired for you. I always respected your opinion, my boy, and I thought that now was the time to have it."
It struck me that if he had asked for it nine months before there would have been more sense in it. What on earth could I do when affairs were in such a tangle? However, I could not help feeling complimented when so independent a fellow as Cullingworth turned to me in this way.
"You really think," said I, "that it is no use holding on here?"
He jumped up, and began pacing the room in his swift jerky way.
"You take warning from it, Munro," said he. "You've got to start yet. Take my tip, and go where no one knows you. People will trust a stranger quick enough; but if they can remember you as a little chap who ran about in knickerbockers, and got spanked with a hair brush for stealing plums, they are not going to put their lives in your keeping. It's all very well to talk about friendship and family connections; but when a man has a pain in the stomach he doesn't care a toss about all that. I'd stick it up in gold, letters in every medical class-room--have it carved across the gate of the University--that if a man wants friends be must go among strangers.