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 468 ladder by which they had risen, that they declined for the future to enter into transactions of this limited nature, and having taken counsel together, turned their shop into a warehouse, the floor above into offices, sent out a circular of thanks to the more important of their retail customers, beginning with “Respected friend,” and ending with “thine, truly,” and came boldly before the world as wholesale grocers.

Samuel dying, unmarried, about a year after this step, left all that he had to leave to his surviving brother, who continued the businesbusiness [sic], without alteration in the name of the firm. Barlow Brothers do not disdain a little of something verging on speculation now and then, and a few years ago, made a very handsome thing by going into currants at the right time, like many others, and unlike many others, kept it by going out again at the right time.

The principal business of the concern, however, is transacted with a very extensive country connection, which necessitates the employment of a large staff of travellers, clerks, apprentices, warehousemen, and so on. But when the firm first came into being, the sole assistant of the brothers (with the exception of the porter) was a certain Isaac Jackson, who discharged the double duties of shopman and clerk, and who had progressed with the business, until at last he became cash and book-keeper, as well as confidential clerk and general adviser to Reuben Barlow. Although not like his employer, a “Friend,” yet Isaac was one of the shyest and meekest of men; small and shrivelled, and always clad in sober-coloured raiment of unchanging fashion, the only alteration ever noticeable in his outward man, arose from the fact of his wearing a wig in winter, while he went bald in summer; silent and reserved, he had no tastes, no amusements, no hopes and fears, no cares or enjoyments, but such as arose from and had reference to Barlow Brothers, their business, and—pre-eminently and superlatively—their books. He lived on the premises—as did the warehouseman, whose wife acted as housekeeper—and often enough, after the place was closed to the outer world for the night, Isaac used to remain in the counting-house, engaged in posting, balancing, and entering up those cherished volumes. And truly, if he gave much care and attention to them, they well repaid him; they were model books,—no blots defaced their broad surfaces; no erasures ruffled their smooth texture; no critic could have made just objection to aught there visible, had any such ever seen them, which Isaac would have taken good care to place beyond the reach of possibility: those sacred objects were not to be gazed at by profane eyes, nor handled by careless or flagitious fingers. It was believed that Isaac would rather you damaged himself than his books, and a young apprentice had personal proof of how dangerous it was to transgress in this respect, when once, by way of a joke, as he thought, he dropped the day-book on to the floor. Unhappy youth! Isaac, albeit usually slow alike in bodily movement and in wrath, sprang at him and boxed his ears soundly.

“Get—get out of the place,” he stammered; “you’re not fit to be in it.”

And though next day he begged Perkins’ pardon—hoped he hadn’t hurt him—and gave him a holiday, yet the sudden outburst of temper was a significant index to his feelings. Reuben Barlow, who was fond of a joke, sometimes used to say that if Isaac were going to be married, he was sure that the cash-book would manage somehow to stop the ceremony; and at other times was accustomed to speak of the ledger as Mrs. Jackson. It was often said that Isaac might have been a partner long ago, had he wished; and it was supposed that a strong reason in his mind for declining that position, was a feeling that, in such a case, it would be infra-dig to keep his own books, and an unwillingness to resign such duty into other hands.

From what had been stated, Isaac’s feelings may perhaps be imagined when it is told that Reuben Barlow entered his sanctum one morning, and thus addressed him:

“When thou hast the time, Isaac, I want thee to look at Black and Briggs’ account, and see what amounts we have paid them lately.”

“What’s the matter with Black and Briggs?” quoth Isaac.

“Nay, that is that thou hast to help to discover,” returned Reuben: “John Black tells me they find their cashier has been robbing them, and asks me to give him particulars of their account with us, without noising the matter abroad; therefore, Isaac, name it not to anyone at present.”

“Been robbing them!” echoed Isaac, lifting up his hands solemnly; “dear me—dear me. Ah, I feared that man greatly;—too flighty, too unsteady. Not six months ago he was in this very place receiving a payment, and when he came to write a receipt he pushed that ledger out of the way as if it had been a stone, and well nigh upset the inkstand over it. Well, well; dear me.” Isaac smoothed the leather cover of the insulted volume and turned up Black and Briggs’ folio. “Aye, just so,” he murmured, “two-fifty on the ninth March, one-twenty on How far shall I go back; has he been long engaged in this robbery?”

“I fear so,” replied Reuben.

“Nay but, in that case,” said Isaac, “how is it he hasn’t been found out ere now?”

“Why, thou must know, Isaac,” said Reuben, with a smile, “if thou can’st bring thy mind to compass it, that he has falsified the books, and has shown great art in erasing and altering figures to suit his ends.”

Altering the books!—erasing! Isaac was dumb for some minutes trying to fathom the depths of such cold-blooded villainy. At last he looked Reuben doubtfully in the face and murmured:

“I suppose—it is’nt a—hanging matter, is it?”

“Nay, nay,” said Reuben laughing, “not so bad as that; the law will lay him by the heels for the money he has taken, and leave what I dare say thou thinks the worst of the affair unpunished. But do thou make out the account, and I will give it to John Black myself.”

During the remainder of the day Isaac wore a very anxious and pre-occupied look, and when brought into contact with the apprentices who were apt to be careless and frivolous in word and deed,