Mr. Hinchford did not forget the foolish and out-of-the-way thought of Mattie's. It has been already said that his memory was retentive enough in all things that affected his son's welfare, and the new suggestion kept his mind busy as the days stole on, and Sidney brought back his cheerful face but no good news with him.

The old man's pride had kept him aloof from the brother for many years; he had been hurt by that brother's coldness, and he had resolved to show that he was able to work his own way in life, without that assistance which he had once solicited. He had kept his word; for his own sake it had been easy, but, for his son's, there was a temptation he could scarcely withstand. There might be a chance, there might not be; in his heart, he thought the odds were against Sid. He did not set much value upon the brother's visit to Great Suffolk Street; it might have been curiosity, or a spasm of affection which had rendered him eccentric for a day; he remembered his brother simply as a hard, inflexible being who, having formed an opinion, closed upon it with a snap, and was ever after that immovable. Still for Sidney's sake he thought at last that he would try. It should not be said of him that he neglected one chance to benefit his son, or that his pride stood in the way of Sid's advancement—that queer girl, whom he could scarcely make out, should not say that he had not done his best for Sidney.

He dressed himself in his best suit one day, seized his stick, and marched down to Camberwell Green, whence he took the omnibus to the City. Sidney had again departed in quest of "something"—on a visit to the news-rooms to search the papers there—and Mr. Hinchford was following in his wake shortly afterwards.

He had a nervous fear that he should meet Sidney in the City, at first, but the crowd which surrounded him there assured him that that event was not likely to ensue. He had not been in the City for many years and the place alarmed him; he almost guessed how weak and nervous he had become when he struggled with the mob of money-hunters in King William Street, and found it hard to fight against.

"All these hunting for places in one shape or another," he thought, "looking but for the best chance, and greedy of any one who gets in the way, and seems likely to deprive them of it, or add to their expenses. Why, where's all the places that hold these men and keep my Sid doing nothing?"

He turned into the narrow lanes branching out of the great thoroughfare leading to the Bank, and proceeded without any difficulty to the banking-house of his brother Geoffry. His memory was not in fault here; every short cut through the shady by-ways of the City he took by instinct—he had banked with his brother in days gone by, and it was like retracing his youthful steps to find himself once more in these old streets.

Before the swing glass doors of a quiet, old-fashioned banking-house he paused, changed the stick from his right hand to his left, gave a little tug to his stock, changed hands again with his stick, finally crossed over the way, and set his back against the dingy wall opposite. The pride which had held him aloof so long from his brother rose up again, that ruling passion which a struggling life had circumscribed. He became very red in the face, and looked almost fiercely at the banking-house in front of him. He felt that his brother would say "No" again, and the humiliation in store he should have courted by his own folly. But Sidney?—possibly Sidney might be of service there, and room found for him, if he asked; and if not; still, for Sidney's sake, he must attempt it—courage and forward!

Mr. Hinchford nerved himself to the task, crossed the road, and went up the steps into the bank. They were busy before and behind the counters there; money was being shovelled in and out of drawers; cheques were flying across the counter; there was the stir and bustle of a first-class banking-house before him; everybody was talking, whispering, studying, and thinking of money; what room for any sentiment in that place from nine till four?

He took his place by the counter, waiting to address one of the clerks at the first convenient opportunity that might present itself; he was in no hurry; he wished to collect his thoughts, and arrange his plan of action; and instead of arranging any plan, he looked at the clerks, and thought Sidney Hinchford might as well have a place behind that counter as not—and how well he would look there, and what a good place for him it would be!

He stood there for a considerable time, until his presence began to oppress a bald-headed young man at the third desk, an energetic young man of uncivil appearance—soured in life perhaps, by his hair coming off so early—who, in the hurry of business, had taken little notice of Mr. Hinchford until then.

"What is it?" he asked, abruptly.

Mr. Hinchford objected to abruptness, and felt it hard to be snubbed by his brother's clerk to begin with. He reddened a little, and said that he wished to see Mr. Hinchford directly.

"Mr. Hinchford!" the clerk repeated; "oh! you can't see either of them!"

"Just ask, young man, and don't answer for your master!"

"If it's anything about an account, Mr. Maurice will, if you've a proper introduction, at——"

"Mr. Maurice will not do, sir!" cried Mr. Hinchford; "go and tell my brother directly that I wish to see him, if you please."

There was some pride in claiming brotherhood with the banker, even under the difficulties before him; the effect upon the uncivil bank clerk—why are bank clerks uncivil in the aggregate?—was bewildering; he stared at Mr. Hinchford, detected the likeness at once, and backed from the counter on the instant. Mr. Hinchford saw no more of him—he was beginning to think that his message had not been delivered after all, when a young man behind touched him on the arm.

"Will you please to step this way?"

Mr. Hinchford turned, followed the usher to the end of the counting-house, passed through a room, where two or three gentlemen were busily writing, went through another door into a larger room, where one old gentleman—very like himself—was seated in all the divinity that doth hedge a principal.

"Good morning, James," was the banker's first remark, nodding his head familiarly in his brother's direction.

"Good morning, Geoffry."

And then there was a pause; the two men who had parted in anger nearly twenty-six years ago, and had not met since, looked at each other somewhat curiously. It was a strange meeting, and a strange commencement thereto, a little affected on the part of the banker, the senior by eight years. In the same room together, the likeness between them was singularly apparent—the height, figure, features, even the scanty crop of white hair, were all identical; but in the senior's face there was expressed a vigour and determination, which in Sid's father was wholly wanting. Geoffry Hinchford was still the cool, calculating man of business, who let no chance slip, and who fought for his chances, and held his place with younger men.

There was no sentiment in the meeting of the brothers, and yet each was moved and touched by the changes time had made. They had parted in the prime of life, stalwart, handsome men, and they came face to face in their senility.

"Take a seat," said Geoffry Hinchford, indicating one with the feather of the quill pen he held in his hand.

The brother took a chair with a grave inclination of the head, and then crossed his hands upon his stick, and began to evidence a little of that nervousness that had beset him before he entered the banking-house. Geoffry Hinchford's keen eyes detected this, and he hastened to avoid one of those scenes which he had confessed to his nephew he hated, when he made his first and last call in Great Suffolk Street.

"You have been walking fast, James; will you look at the Times a bit, and compose yourself. That's the money article."

He passed the paper over to his brother, and then began making a few entries in a small pocket volume before him—a hybrid book, with a lock and key. Mr. Hinchford turned the paper over in his hands, inspected the money article upside down, and appeared interested in it from that point of view—gave a furtive tug to his stock, which he was sure Sid, who always buttoned it, had taken in a hole too much, and then mustered up courage to begin the subject which had brought him thither.

"Geoffry, it's six-and-twenty years or so since I sat in this very place and asked a favour of you."

"Ah! thereabouts," responded Geoffry from over his private volume.

"Which was refused," added the old gentleman.

"Of course it was."

"Ahem."

Mr. Hinchford cleared his throat with some violence. He did not like this method of receiving his first remarks; it warmed his blood after the old fashion, and, what was better, it cleared off his nervousness.

"One would think that I had got over asking favours of a brother who had proved himself so hard——"

"No," interrupted Geoffry, "not hard—but go on."

"And yet I am here again to ask a second favour, and chance as curt a denial."

"Ah! I did hope, James, that you were here to say 'I was in the wrong to take myself off in a huff, because my brother would not let me fling some of his money after my own,' or, at least to say, 'Glad to see you, Geoffry, and hope to see you more often after this,'—but favours!"

"Not for myself, sir," said Mr. Hinchford, hastily; "don't mistake me—I wouldn't ask a favour for myself to save my life."

"I would to save a shilling; I often do."

"That is the difference between us," Mr. Hinchford answered.

"Exactly the difference. Pray proceed, Jem."

The younger brother softened at the old appellative; he composed his ruffled feathers, and went at it more submissively.

"Look here, Geoffry, I ask a favour for my son. His firm has dissolved partnership——"

"What firm was it?"

Mr. Hinchford told him.

"Smashed, you mean—bad management somewhere—go on."

"And he, who would have been made partner in his twenty-first birthday, has now to begin the world afresh. I thought that you might know of something suitable for him, and would, remembering our common name, do something for him."

"He's a tetchy young gentleman—what I remember of him, in a flying visit. Who the deuce can he take after, I wonder?" and the banker appeared to cudgel his brains with his pen, as if lost in perplexity as to any trait in the Hinchfords identical with "tetchiness." The father did not detect the irony—perhaps would not at that juncture.

"Well," said the banker, "what general abilities has he?"

Mr. Hinchford burst forth at once. The wrongs of the past were forgotten; the theme was a pleasant one; the abilities of his son were manifold; he could testify to them for the next two hours, if a patient listener were found him. He launched forth into a list of Sid's accomplishments, and grew eloquent upon his son's genius for figures, adaptability for commercial pursuits, his energy, and industry in all things, at all times and seasons.

"This lad ought to be governor of the Bank of England," Geoffry Hinchford broke in with, "there's nothing suitable for such extraordinary accomplishments here. I can only place him at the bottom of the clerks, with a salary of a hundred and twenty to begin with."

"Geoffry, you're very kind," ejaculated his brother; "you mean that—you will really do something for us, after all?"

"Why, you vexatious and frivolous old man," cried the banker, exasperated at last, "I would have always helped you in my own way, if you had not been so thoroughly set upon my helping you in yours. You were hot-headed, and I was ill-tempered and raspish, and so we quarrelled, and you—you, my only brother—sulked with me for six and twenty years. For shame, sir!"

The banker evinced a little excitement here; he tossed his pen aside and beat his thin fingers on the book; he spoke his mind out, and amazed his brother sitting at a little distance from him.

"Geoffry—I—I didn't sulk exactly. But you were a rich man, and I was left poor; and if you remember, when I came here last I——"

"If I listen any more to that story, I'm damned!" cried the banker; "it's dangerous ground, and if we get upon it, we shall begin sparring again. Now, sir—look here."

He stood up, and began laying down the law with the fingers of his right hand in the palm of his left.

"I swallowed my pride by coming to Great Suffolk Street in search of you—that was my turn. We were to sink the past, and be friends, I thought; we two foolish old septuagenarians, with nothing to quarrel about. You swallowed your pride—a larger pill than mine, Jem, for it nearly choked you in the attempt—by coming here, and now it's your turn—eh?"

He held forth both his hands suddenly towards his brother, who answered the appeal by placing his own within them, and holding them in a nervous trembling grasp.

"Amen!" said the banker; and the younger and weaker man understood what he meant, and felt the tears in his eyes.

"And now, I have heard a great deal of your son—you shall see mine."

He left his brother, touched a hand-bell, and a servant immediately responded.

"Ask Mr. Maurice to step here a moment."

"Yes, sir."

Exit servant; enter very quickly a tall young man of about thirty years of age, fresh-coloured, well formed, with curly brown hair, and a long brown moustache, "making tracks," as the Americans say, for his shoulders.

"Maurice, here's your obstinate uncle come to see us at last."

"I am glad to see you, sir—I think the difference has lasted long enough."

Uncle and nephew shook hands—Mr. Hinchford thought this nephew was a fine young fellow enough—not like his Sid, but a very passable and presentable young fellow notwithstanding.

"We're going to try your cousin as a clerk, Maurice. Any objection?"

"Not in the least," was the ready answer.

"We shall not claim relationship over the ledgers," intimated Geoffry Hinchford; "if he's clever, he'll get on—if he's a fool, he'll get the sack. And we don't expect him, after the general fashion of relations, to cry out, 'See how my uncle and cousin are serving me, their own flesh and blood, by not lifting me over the heads of the staff, and making my fortune at once!'"

"Sid wants no favours, sir," said Mr. Hinchford, sharply.

"After office hours we shall remember that he's a Hinchford, perhaps," said the banker. "Send him when you like, James."

"To-morrow, Geoffry, if you will."

"He's sure to come, I suppose?" asked his brother. "Is he aware of your visit here to-day?"

"No."

"Ah! then it's doubtful, I think. By Gad! I shan't forget in a hurry his sermon to me, and his flourish of trumpets over his own independence."

"He will come, sir, I think."

"Out of place makes a difference," remarked the banker; "we shall see. And now, what can I do for you, James?"

"Oh! nothing, nothing," he said hastily; "I ask no favours for myself—I'm doing well, thank you—very well indeed! Where's my stick and hat? I—I think I'll bid you good morning now, Geoffry."

"I shall see you again, I daresay—I can always send a message to you by your son, who will be here to-morrow, perhaps. Good-bye, old fellow—Maurice, see to your uncle."

Maurice Hinchford, noticing the feeble steps of the new relation, offered his arm, which was declined by a hasty shake of the head.

"I'm strong enough, sir—but the meeting has upset me just a little. Geoffry," turning back to address his brother, "we won't say anything more about that old affair—I think you meant well, after all."

"I hope I did. Good day."

"Good day, brother."

Maurice closed the door behind his uncle.

"He's getting quite the old man," said Mr. Hinchford to his nephew; "he had an iron nerve once. He seems very feeble to me—does he enjoy good health?"

"Oh! first rate health—he's a strong man for his age, Mr. Hinchford. Don't you think so?"

"Perhaps he is. You can't expect him like myself, eight years younger than he."

"Well, no," said the nephew, drily.

"He ought not to worry himself about business at his age—why, I have given it up myself," he added.

"Oh! indeed!"

Business had given him up; but the old man did not think of it that moment. He was anxious to show the Hinchfords in the best light possible, lest Sid should be looked down upon too much when he came to his new berth.

"And your father must feel the cares of business a little?"

"Not a bit," said Maurice; "he wouldn't be happy out of the bank! He's strong and well, thank God, and one of the best-hearted men and fathers in the world. Too good a father, by half, for that matter!"

"How's that?"

"Oh! it's difficult to explain," was the answer of the nephew, whose cheeks flushed a little at the question; "you'll excuse me now, uncle. Through here and straight across the office—good day."

He shook hands with Mr. Hinchford, and left him at the door of the inner office which the old gentleman had passed through half an hour since, less hopeful of good fortune in store for the Boy!