One felt that he
went to church every Sunday morning, looked upwards as he moved through
life, disliked the unsuccessful, and expanded with his second glass of
wine. But then a clear look into his well-clothed face and red-brown
eyes would give the feeling: 'There's something fulvous here; he might
be a bit too foxy.' A third look brought the thought: 'He's certainly
a bully.' He was not a large creditor of old Heythorp. With interest
on the original, he calculated his claim at three hundred
pounds--unredeemed shares in that old Ecuador mine. But he had waited
for his money eight years, and could never imagine how it came about
that he had been induced to wait so long. There had been, of course, for
one who liked "big pots," a certain glamour about the personality of old
Heythorp, still a bit of a swell in shipping circles, and a bit of an
aristocrat in Liverpool. But during the last year Charles Ventnor had
realised that the old chap's star had definitely set--when that happens,
of course, there is no more glamour, and the time has come to get your
money. Weakness in oneself and others is despicable! Besides, he had
food for thought, and descending the stairs he chewed it: He smelt a
rat--creatures for which both by nature and profession he had a nose.
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