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Updated: May 16, 2025
Sheldon had pioneered so skilfully over the commercial seas came to grief very soon after the disappearance of the admiral. A bill drawn upon the Honduras Mahogany Company, Limited, was the first to reach maturity. The bill was referred to the drawer the drawer was not to be found. "I have not seen Sheldon for the last fortnight," Mr. Orcott informed the gentleman who brought him the document.
The bargain was therefore concluded, and Mr. Frederick Orcott came to London. He was a young man of horsey propensities, gifted with a sublime contempt for any kind of business requiring application or industry, and with a supreme belief in his own merits. George Sheldon had known Frederick Orcott as a boy, and had been in his society some half-dozen times since his coming to London.
From the bank the stockbroker went to his office, where he saw Frederick Orcott, to whom he announced his stepdaughter's death with all due appearance of sorrow. He sat for an hour in his office, arranging his affairs for the following day, then sent for another cab, and drove back to Bayswater.
He wrote to Philip, asking him to receive the young man as clerk, assistant, secretary anything, with a view to an ultimate junior partnership; and Philip consented, upon certain conditions. The sum he demanded was rather a stiff one, as it seemed to Stephen Orcott, but he opined that such a sum would not have been asked if the advantages had not been proportionately large.
Orcott hints that Phil's affairs are in queer street; but he's a shallow-headed fool, and knows very little. It seems, by his account, that Phil was a Bull, and that the fall in every species of stock has been ruin to him. You see, when a man once goes in for the Bull business, he never by any chance turns Bear and vice versa.
But perilous though the voyage of his bark across that tempestuous ocean was, he could not guide the helm in person. He was obliged to confide matters to the care of Mr. Frederick Orcott, whom he harassed with telegraphic despatches at all hours of the day, and who at this period seemed to spend his life between the stockbroker's office and Bayswater. It seemed as if Mr.
Frederick Orcott lapsed into admiring contemplation of his boots, which were the chefs-d'oeuvre of a sporting bootmaker; boots that were of the ring, ringy, and of the corner, cornery. "Ah," said George, "and Phil doesn't tell you much of his affairs, doesn't he? That's rather a bad sign, I should think. Looks as if he was rather down upon his luck, eh?"
He waited for no more, but jumped into the cab. "London Bridge terminus! You must get me there by a quarter to five," he said to the driver. George Sheldon went no further than the gate of his brother's domain. "I wonder whether the Harold's Hill people will send that telegram after him," he thought. "It'll be rather unpleasant for Fred Orcott if they do. But it's ten to one they won't.
He apprehended no difficulty in obtaining from this young gentleman any information he had the power to afford. "How do, Orcott?" he said, with agreeable familiarity. "My brother Phil not come back yet?" "No," replied the other, sulkily. "There have been ever so many people here bothering me about him. Where has he gone? and when will he be back? and so on.
Stephen Orcott, of Plymley Rise farm, near Barlingford, being at a loss what to do with a somewhat refractory younger son, resolved upon planting his footsteps in the path so victoriously trodden by Philip Sheldon.
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