"It is business time," he resumed. "Let us confine ourselves to
business. I see that Illinois were at 112 yesterday."

"They are at 113 this morning."

"What! have you been on 'Change already?"

"Yes, I dropped in there on my way to the office. I would hold on to
those. They will go up for some days yet."

The senior partner made a pencil note on the margin of the list.

"We'll hold on to the cotton we have," he said.

"No, sell out at once," Ezra answered with decision, "I saw young
Featherstone, of Liverpool, last night, or rather this morning. It was
hard to make head or tail of what the fool said, but he let fall enough
to show that there was likely to be a drop."

Girdlestone made another mark upon the paper. He never questioned his
son's decisions now, for long experience had shown him that they were
never formed without solid grounds. "Take this list, Ezra," he said,
handing him the paper, "and run your eye over it. If you see anything
that wants changing, mark it."

"I'll do it in the counting-house," his son answered. "I can keep my
eye on those lazy scamps of clerks. Gilray has no idea of keeping them
in order."

As he went out he cannoned against an elderly gentleman in a white
waistcoat, who was being shown in, and who ricochetted off him into the
office, where he shook hands heartily with the elder Girdlestone.
It was evident from the laboured cordiality of the latter's greeting
that the new-comer was a man of some importance. He was, indeed, none
other than the well-known philanthropist, Mr. Jefferson Edwards, M.P.
for Middlehurst, whose name upon a bill was hardly second to that of
Rothschild.

"How do, Girdlestone, how do?" he exclaimed, mopping his face with his
handkerchief. He was a fussy little man, with a brusque, nervous
manner. "Hard at it as usual, eh? Always pegging away. Wonderful man.
Ha, ha! Wonderful!"

"You look warm," the merchant answered, rubbing his hands. "Let me
offer you some claret. I have some in the cupboard."

"No, thank you," the visitor answered, staring across at the head of the
firm as though he were some botanical curiosity. "Extraordinary fellow.
'Iron' Girdlestone, they call you in the City. A good name, too--
ha! ha!--an excellent name. Iron-grey, you know, and hard to look at,
but soft here, my dear sir, soft here." The little man tapped him with
his walking-stick over the cardiac region and laughed boisterously,
while his grim com