ury.

Joseph's name was still over the door; it was he who still signed the
cheques; but this was only policy on the part of Morris, and designed to
discourage other members of the tontine. In reality the business was
entirely his; and he found it an inheritance of sorrows. He tried to
sell it, and the offers he received were quite derisory. He tried to
extend it, and it was only the liabilities he succeeded in extending; to
restrict it, and it was only the profits he managed to restrict. Nobody
had ever made money out of that concern except the capable Scot, who
retired (after his discharge) to the neighbourhood of Banff and built a
castle with his profits. The memory of this fallacious Caledonian Morris
would revile daily, as he sat in the private office opening his mail,
with old Joseph at another table, sullenly awaiting orders, or savagely
affixing signatures to he knew not what. And when the man of the heather
pushed cynicism so far as to send him the announcement of his second
marriage (to Davida, eldest daughter of the Rev. Alexander McCraw), it
was really supposed that Morris would have had a fit.

Business hours, in the Finsbury leather trade, had been cut to the
quick; even Morris's strong sense of duty to himself was not strong
enough to dally within those walls and under the shadow of that
bankruptcy; and presently the manager and the clerks would draw a long
breath, and compose themselves for another day of procrastination. Raw
Haste, on the authority of my Lord Tennyson, is half-sister to Delay;
but the Business Habits are certainly her uncles. Meanwhile, the
leather merchant would lead his living investment back to John Street
like a puppy dog; and, having there immured him in the hall, would
depart for the day on the quest of seal rings, the only passion of his
life. Joseph had more than the vanity of man, he had that of lecturers.
He owned he was in fault, although more sinned against (by the capable
Scot) than sinning; but had he steeped his hands in gore, he would still
not deserve to be thus dragged at the chariot-wheels of a young man, to
sit a captive in the halls of his own leather business, to be
entertained with mortifying comments on his whole career--to have his
costume examined, his collar pulled up, the presence of his mittens
verified, and to be taken out and brought home in custody, like an
infant with a nurse. At the thought of it his soul would swell with
venom, and he would make haste