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Clover; who, moreover, was probably connected in some way with the oil and colour firm. It might be well to keep an eye on Quodlings' a substantial concern, likely to give one a chance of the "permanency" which was, on the whole, desirable. He had a boy with him to hold the horses, a sharp lad, whose talk gave him amusement when he was tired of thinking. They found a common interest in dogs.
What had Lord Polperro to do with the Quodlings?" "The Quodlings? Ah! I grieve to tell you that Francis Quodling, an illegitimate half-brother of our friend, had of late given trouble to his lordship. Francis Quodling has long been in Queer Street; he seemed to think that he had a claim a natural claim, I might say on Lord Polperro.
"By the way," Gammon remarked carelessly, "are these Quodlings any relation to Quodling the silk broker in the City?" His companion smiled over the rim of a deep tumbler, and continued to smile through a long draught. "Why do you ask?" "No particular reason. Happen to know the other man by sight." "They're brothers Quodling senior and the broker."
It worried him this afternoon as he left Quodlings in Norton Folgate and walked towards the Bank. He was thinking, too, of a poor fellow with a large family for whom he had tried these last few days to find employment, without the usual success. In Threadneedle Street a hand arrested him. "Just the man I wanted," said the voice of Mr. Greenacre.
Clover he conversed in the respectfully familiar tone of an old friend, now and then reporting little matters which concerned his own welfare, such as his growing conviction that at Quodlings' he had found a "permanency," and his decision to go no more to Dulwich, to sell all his bow-wows, to find another employment for leisure hours. But he was not wholly at ease.
I never did like that chap; but when he comes in 'ere, with his white 'at, telling me how to manage my own business, and larfin', yis larfin', why, I've done with him. And I told him str'ight," etc. "Quodlings', eh?" said Gammon reflectively. "They're likely to be wanting a new traveller, I should say." "They will if they take my advice," replied the shopkeeper.
Gammon wrote with unfeigned cordiality, just like himself. He hoped to call very soon, though it might still be a few weeks. There was nothing to forgive on his part; he wasn't such a fool as to be angry with an old friend for a few hasty words. But the truth was he had a lot of business on his hands; he was doing his best to get into a permanency at Quodlings' of Norton Folgate, and he knew Mrs.
Clover's, sir," said this messenger, touching his hat. "She'd be very glad to see you as soon as you could make it convenient to look round." "Is that all?" That was all; nothing more could be learnt from the young man, and Gammon promised to come forthwith. Luckily he could absent himself from Quodlings' to-day with no great harm; so after a few words with Mrs.
I've just told him str'ight that if he comes into this shop again I'll kick 'im. I told him str'ight see?" "Did you? I like to hear a man talk like that. It shows there's something in him. Who is the fellow? I seem to remember him somehow." "Quodlings' traveller. And he's lost them my orders. And I shall write and tell 'em so.
And when, in the luncheon hour, he posted his amorous missive, it was with almost a careless hand. On this same day it happened that Mr. Gammon, speeding about his business in Messrs. Quodlings' neat little trap, found he could conveniently stop for a midday meal somewhere near Battersea Park Road. The boy who accompanied him took the horse to bait, and Mr.
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