I know no more uncomfortable walking than that which falls to the lot of men who go into the City to look for money, and who find none. Of all the lost steps trodden by men, surely the steps lost after that fashion are the most melancholy. It is not only that they are so vain, but that they are accompanied by so killing a sense of shame! To wait about in dingy rooms, which look on to bare walls, and are approached through some Hook Court; or to keep appointments at a low coffee-house, to which trystings the money-lender will not trouble himself to come unless it pleases him; to be civil, almost suppliant, to a cunning knave whom the borrower loathes; to be refused thrice, and then cheated with his eyes open on the fourth attempt; to submit himself to vulgarity of the foulest kind, and to have to seem to like it; to be badgered, reviled, and at last accused of want of honesty by the most fraudulent of mankind; and at the same time to be clearly conscious of the ruin that is coming--this is the fate of him who goes into the City to find money, not knowing where it is to be found!
Crosbie went along the lane into Lombard Street, and then he stood still for a moment to think. Though he knew a good deal of affairs in general, he did not quite know what would happen to him of his bill should be dishonoured. That somebody would bring it to him noted, and require him instantly to put his hand into his pocket and bring out the amount of the bill, plus the amount of certain expenses, he thought that he did know. And he knew that were he in trade he would become a bankrupt; and he was well aware that such an occurrence would prove him to be insolvent. But he did not know what his creditors would immediately have the power of doing. That the fact of the bill having been dishonoured would reach the Board under which he served--and, therefore, also the fact that he had had recourse to such bill transactions--this alone was enough to fill him with dismay. In early life he had carried his head so high, he had been so much more than a mere Government clerk, that the idea of the coming disgrace almost killed him. Would it not be well that he should put an end to himself, and thus escape? What was there in the world now for which it was worth his while to live? Lily, whom he had once gained, and by that gain had placed himself high in all hopes of happiness and riches--whom he had thrown away from him, and who had again seemed to be almost within his reach--Lily had so refused him that he knew not how to approach her with a further prayer. And, had she not refused him, how could he have told her of his load of debt? As he stood at the corner where the lane runs in Lombard Street, he came for a while to think almost more of Lily than of his rejected bill. Then, as he thought of both his misfortunes together, he asked himself whether a pistol would not conveniently put an end to them together.
At that moment a loud harsh voice greeted his ear. 'Hallo, Crosbie, what brings you so far east? One does not often see you in the City.' It was the voice of Sir Raffle Buffle, which in former days had been very odious to Crosbie's ears;--for Sir Raffle Buffle had once been the presiding genius of the office to which Crosbie still belonged.
'No, indeed, not very often,' said Crosbie, smiling. Who can tell who has not felt it, the pain that goes with the forcing of such smiles? But Sir Raffle was not an acutely observant person, and did not see that anything was wrong.
'I suppose you're doing a little business?' said Sir Raffle. 'If a man has kept a trifle of money by him, this certainly is the time for turning it. You have always been wide awake about such things.'