On the very morning after his failure in the House of Commons, when Phineas was reading in the Telegraph — he took the Telegraph not from choice but for economy — the words of that debate which he had heard and in which he should have taken a part, a most unwelcome visit was paid to him. It was near eleven, and the breakfast things were still on the table. He was at this time on a Committee of the House with reference to the use of potted peas in the army and navy, at which he had sat once — at a preliminary meeting — and in reference to which he had already resolved that as he had failed so frightfully in debate, he would certainly do his duty to the utmost in the more easy but infinitely more tedious work of the Committee Room. The Committee met at twelve, and he intended to walk down to the Reform Club, and then to the House. He had just completed his reading of the debate and of the leaders in the Telegraph on the subject. He had told himself how little the writer of the article knew about Mr Turnbull, how little about Mr Monk, and how little about the people — such being his own ideas as to the qualifications of the writer of that leading article — and was about to start. But Mrs Bunce arrested him by telling him that there was a man below who wanted to see him.

“What sort of a man, Mrs Bunce?”

“He ain’t a gentleman, sir.”

“Did he give his name?”

“He did not, sir; but I know it’s about money. I know the ways of them so well. I’ve seen this one’s face before somewhere.”

“You had better show him up,” said Phineas. He knew well the business on which the man was come. The man wanted money for that bill which Laurence Fitzgibbon had sent afloat, and which Phineas had endorsed. Phineas had never as yet fallen so deeply into troubles of money as to make it necessary that he need refuse himself to any callers on that score, and he did not choose to do so now. Nevertheless he most heartily wished that he had left his lodgings for the club before the man had come. This was not the first he had heard of the bill being overdue and unpaid. The bill had been brought to him noted a month since, and then he had simply told the youth who brought it that he would see Mr Fitzgibbon and have the matter settled. He had spoken to his friend Laurence, and Laurence had simply assured him that all should be made right in two days — or, at furthest, by the end of a week. Since that time he had observed that his friend had been somewhat shy of speaking to him when no others were with them. Phineas would not have alluded to the bill had he and Laurence been alone together; but he had been quick enough to guess from his friend’s manner that the matter was not settled. Now, no doubt, serious trouble was about to commence.

The visitor was a little man with grey hair and a white cravat, some sixty years of age, dressed in black, with a very decent hat — which, on entering the room, he at once put down on the nearest chair — with reference to whom, any judge on the subject would have concurred at first sight in the decision pronounced by Mrs Bunce, though none but a judge very well used to sift the causes of his own conclusions could have given the reasons for that early decision. “He ain’t a gentleman,” Mrs Bunce had said. And the man certainly was not a gentleman. The old man in the white cravat was very neatly dressed, and carried himself without any of that humility which betrays one class of uncertified aspirants to gentility, or of that assumed arrogance which is at once fatal to another class. But, nevertheless, Mrs Bunce had seen at a glance that he was not a gentleman — had seen, moreover, that such a man could have come only upon one mission. She was right there too. This visitor had come about money.

“About this bill, Mr Finn,” said the visitor, proceeding to take out of his breast coat-pocket a rather large leathern case, as he advanced up towards the fire. “My name is Clarkson, Mr Finn. If I may venture so far, I’ll take a chair.”

“Certainly, Mr Clarkson,” said Phineas, getting up and pointing to a seat.

“Thankye, Mr Finn, thankye. We shall be more comfortable doing business sitting, shan’t we?” Whereupon the horrid little man drew himself close in to the fire, and spreading out his leathern case upon his knees, began to turn over one suspicious bit of paper after another, as though he were uncertain in what part of his portfolio lay this identical bit which he was seeking. He seemed to be quite at home, and to feel that there was no ground whatever for hurry in such comfortable quarters. Phineas hated him at once — with a hatred altogether unconnected with the difficulty which his friend Fitzgibbon had brought upon him.

“Here it is,” said Mr Clarkson at last. Oh, dear me, dear me! the third of November, and here we are in March! I didn’t think it was so bad as this — I didn’t indeed. This is very bad — very bad! And for Parliament gents, too, who should be more punctual than anybody, because of the privilege. Shouldn’t they now, Mr Finn?”

“All men should be punctual, I suppose,” said Phineas.

“Of course they should; of course they should. I always say to my gents, “Be punctual, and I’ll do anything for you.” But, perhaps, Mr Finn, you can hand me a cheque for this amount, and then you and I will begin square.”

“Indeed I cannot, Mr Clarkson.”

“Not hand me a cheque for it!”

“Upon my word, no.”

“That’s very bad; — very bad indeed. Then I suppose I must take the half, and renew for the remainder, though I don’t like it — I don’t indeed.”

“I can pay no part of that bill, Mr Clarkson.”

“Pay no part of it!” and Mr Clarkson, in order that he might the better express his surprise, arrested his hand in the very act of poking his host’s fire.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll manage the fire,” said Phineas, putting out his hand for the poker.

But Mr Clarkson was fond of poking fires, and would not surrender the poker. “Pay no part of it!” he said again, holding the poker away from Phineas in his left hand. “Don’t say that, Mr Finn. Pray don’t say that. Don’t drive me to be severe. I don’t like to be severe with my gents. I’ll do anything, Mr Finn, if you’ll only be punctual.”

“The fact is, Mr Clarkson, I have never had one penny of consideration for that bill, and — ”

“Oh, Mr Finn! oh, Mr Finn!” and then Mr Clarkson had his will of the fire.

“I never had one penny of consideration for that bill,” continued Phineas. “Of course, I don’t deny my responsibility.”

“No, Mr Finn; you can’t deny that. Here it is — Phineas Finn — and everybody knows you, because you’re a Parliament gent.”

“I don’t deny it. But I had no reason to suppose that I should be called upon for the money when I accommodated my friend, Mr Fitzgibbon, and I have not got it. That is the long and the short of it. I must see him and take care that arrangements are made.”

“Arrangements!”

“Yes, arrangements for settling the bill.”

“He hasn’t got the money, Mr Finn. You know that as well as I do.”

“I know nothing about it, Mr Clarkson.”

“Oh yes, Mr Finn; you know; you know.”

“I tell you I know nothing about it,” said Phineas, waxing angry.

“As to Mr Fitzgibbon, he’s the pleasantest gent that ever lived. Isn’t he now? I’ve know’d him these ten years. I don’t suppose that for ten years I’ve been without his name in my pocket. But, bless you, Mr Finn, there’s an end to everything. I shouldn’t have looked at this bit of paper if it hadn’t been for your signature. Of course not. You’re just beginning, and it’s natural you should want a little help. You’ll find me always ready, if you’ll only be punctual.”

“I tell you again, sir, that I never had a shilling out of that for myself, and do not want any such help.” Here Mr Clarkson smiled sweetly. “I gave my name to my friend simply to oblige him.”

“I like you Irish gents because you do hang together so close,” said Mr Clarkson.

“Simply to oblige him,” continued Phineas. As I said before, I know that I am responsible; but, as I said before also, I have not the means of taking up that bill. I will see Mr Fitzgibbon, and let you know what we propose to do.” Then Phineas got up from his seat and took his hat. It was full time that he should go down to his Committee. But Mr Clarkson did not get up from his seat. “I’m afraid I must ask you to leave me now, Mr Clarkson, as I have business down at the House.”

“Business............