The Diary of a Nobody

On the way home in the carriage, for the first time in my life, I was inclined to indulge in the radical thought that money was not properly divided. On arriving home at a quarter-past eleven, we found a hansom cab, which had been waiting for me for two hours with a letter. Sarah said she did not know what to do, as we had not left the address where we had gone. I trembled as I opened the letter, fearing it was some bad news about Mr. Perkupp. The note was: “Dear Mr. Pooter,— Come down to the Victoria Hotel without delay. Important. Yours truly, Hardfur Huttle.” I asked the cabman if it was too late. The cabman replied that it was not; for his instructions were, if I happened to be out, he was to wait till I came home. I felt very tired, and really wanted to go to bed. I reached the hotel at a quarter before midnight. I apologised for being so late, but Mr. Huttle said: “Not at all; come and have a few oysters.” I feel my heart beating as I write these words. To be brief, Mr. Huttle said he had a rich American friend who wanted to do something large in our line of business, and that Mr. Franching had mentioned my name to him. We talked over the matter. If, by any happy chance, the result be successful, I can more than compensate my dear master for the loss of Mr. Crowbillon’s custom. Mr. Huttle had previously said: “The glorious ‘Fourth’ is a lucky day for America, and, as it has not yet struck twelve, we will celebrate it with a glass of the best wine to be had in the place, and drink good luck to our bit of business.”