he poor."

But although the neighbourhood was dirty and noisy, our modest street,
which was at that time known by the name of Redwharf Lane, was
comparatively clean and quiet. True, the smell of tallow and tar could
not be altogether excluded, neither could the noises; but these scents
and sounds reached it in a mitigated degree, and as the street was not a
thoroughfare, few people entered it, except those who had business
there, or those who had lost their way, or an occasional street boy of
an explorative tendency; which last, on finding that it was a quiet
spot, invariably entered a protest against such an outrageous idea as
quietude in "the City" by sending up a series of hideous yells, and
retiring thereafter precipitately.

Here, in Redwharf Lane, was the office of the firm of Denham, Crumps,
and Company.

Mr Denham stood with his back to the fire, for it was a coldish autumn
day, with his coat-tails under his arms. He was a big bald man of
five-and-forty, with self-importance enough for a man of
five-hundred-and-forty. Mr Crumps sat in a small back-office, working
so diligently that one might have supposed he was endeavouring to bring
up the arrears of forty years' neglect, and had pledged himself to have
it done before dinner. He was particularly small, excessively thin,
very humble, rather deaf, and upwards of sixty. Company had died of
lockjaw two years previous to the period of which we write, and is
therefore unworthy of farther notice. A confidential clerk had taken,
and still retained, his place.

Messrs. Denham, Crumps, and Company, were shipowners. Report said that
they were rich, but report frequently said what was not true in those
days. Whether it has become more truthful in the present days, remains
an open question. There can be no question, however, that much business
was done at the office in Redwharf Lane, and that, while Denham lived in
a handsome mansion in Russell Square, and Crumbs dwelt in a sweet
cottage in Kensington, Company had kept a pony phaeton, and had died in
a snug little villa on Hampstead Heath.

The office of Denham, Crumps, and Company was small and unpretending, as
was the street in which it stood. There was a small green door with a
small brass plate and a small brass knocker, all of which, when opened
by their attendant, a small tiger in blue, with buttons, gave admittance
to a small passage that terminated in a small room. This was the outer
office, and her