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Updated: June 7, 2025
This disclosure showed him in an unpleasantly new light, as anything but the cautious man of business, the loyal friend, he had seemed to be. Who could put faith in a money-market gambler? Why, there was no difference to speak of between him and Boxon. And if his promise proved futile what was to be done? For a couple of hours, Will stared at this question.
There must be a pleasure in counting the contents of one's till every night. Boxon! Of course, a mere brute. There came into Will's memory the picture of Boxon landed on the pavement one night, by Allchin's fist or toe and of a sudden he laughed. When he had half-smoked his pipe, comparative calmness fell upon him.
His reply came forth with explosive abruptness. "Lost my place at Boxon's, sir." "And how's that?" "It happened last Saturday, sir. I don't want to make out as I wasn't at all to blame. I know as well as anybody that I've got a will of my own. But we're open late, as perhaps you know, sir, on Saturday night, and Mr. Boxon well, it's only the truth he's never quite himself after ten o'clock.
"I was very sorry to hear it, Allchin." "Thank you, sir. You've always something kind to say. And I'm that vexed, because I was getting on well with paying my debts. But Mr. Boxon, sir, he's many a time made me that mad that I've gone out into the back yard and kicked the wall till my toes were sore, just to ease my feelings, like.
She related that Boxon had been at certain races where he had lost money and got drunk; driving away in a trap, he had run into something, and been thrown out, with serious injuries, which might prove fatal. "So much the worse for him," muttered Warburton. "I've no pity to spare for fools and blackguards." "I should think not, indeed sir.
He found himself occupied with the story of Boxon, wondering whether Boxon would live or die. Boxon, the grocer why, what an ass a man must be, a man with a good grocery business, to come to grief over drink and betting! Shopkeeping what a sound and safe life it was; independent, as far as any money-earning life can be so.
He pointed out the errors and negligencies of the late Boxon, declared it a scandal that a business such as this should have been allowed to fall off, and was full of ingenious ideas for a brilliant opening.
Raging thus, Warburton became aware that Mrs. Hopper spoke to him. She had just laid breakfast, and, as usual when she wished to begin a conversation, had drawn back to the door, where she paused. "That Boxon, the grocer, has had a bad accident, sir." "Boxon? grocer?" "In the Fulham Road, sir; him as Allchin was with." "Ah!" Heedless of her master's gloomy abstraction, Mrs. Hopper continued.
Hopper regarded him compassionately; the good woman was much disturbed by the strangeness of his demeanour lately, and feared he was going to be ill. "You look dre'ful tired, sir," she said. "I'll make you a cup of tea at once. It'll do you good." "Yes, get me some tea," answered Warburton, absently. Then, as she was leaving the room, he asked, "Is it true that the grocer Boxon is dead?"
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