in the Times, Daily Telegraph, Morning Post,
Daily News, and all the other morning papers,
and pocketed a thousand pounds by way of what
is called "promotion money." Thus poor Mr.
Hunter was left with his fiasco of a scheme, and
the dubious gratification of paying for the printed
prospectus.

When I first became acquainted with Mr.
Hunter, his greatest trouble used to be his
having, not too little, but too much, money at
command.  He was the first and only man I
ever knew who felt annoyed by being too
wealthy.  He used to complain that the government
of—I really forget whether it was Brazil,
Peru, or the Argentine Republic—a South
American state—had commissioned him to procure
a loan of eight millions sterling, and that
after he had negotiated the affair and got it all
right, they wrote to say they only wanted five
millions.  "What to do with the other three
millions I am sure I don't know, sir," he used
to repeat three or four times every day.  It was
in vain I suggested that a few thousands, or
even a few hundreds, might be carefully employed
as a loan to himself, for I could not help
seeing that poor Mr. Hunter's means were
often like the shares of the joint-stock companies
which he promoted—limited.  Even in so
small a matter as postage-stamps I had often to
help him, and I could not but be cognisant
—though I pretended entire ignorance—of
sundry sulky visitors who from time to time
called at the office, and asked whether "Mr.
'Unter was a going to settle that 'ere small bill,
or whether they"—the speakers' employers, I
presume—"should have to county court him?"

But, with all this, I believe Mr. Hunter to be
an honest and honourable man.  My own business
with him was confined to procuring him
the names of four "good City men" as directors
for the board of a joint-stock company he was
then forming; and my share of the loaves and
fishes was to be, that if it were brought out I
was to get the secretaryship.  The company was
not brought out, and therefore I did not get the
secretaryship.  In less than a week I had the
names of "four good City men," who were
willing to join the company as directors, provided
the rest of the board was composed of respectable
men. These Mr. Hunter had to find,
but he never managed to find them.   Somehow
or other, no sooner did he get four gentlemen
to consent to come upon his board, than three
of them discovered that the fourth was "worth
nothing, a mere man of straw," and so they at
once resigned, and joined some rival scheme.
These were the days not long ago when every
morning's paper was certain to bring forth some
new prospectus of a Joint-stock Bank, or a
Finance and Credit Association.  Poor Mr.
Hunter felt that, while the grass was growing
all around him, he, the horse, was starving.
However, he never lost courage or hope.
Every morning when I visited his office he had
some new combination by which he was certain
to have "a first-rate board formed before
Saturday;" but week after week passed by and
nothing came of it, and to this day I believe
he is working hard to bring out his scheme.
Occasionally, but very seldom, Mr. Hunter
would have small windfalls in the way of cash,
or, at any rate, would receive I don't know
whence, or from whom small sums of money,
which he would parade ostentatiously.  On such
occasions he would always insist upon repaying
me any money I had expended for postage-
stamps, bitter beer, luncheons, or such like: of
all of which he kept a very rigid account, and,
indeed, I believe I am his debtor to the amount
of sevenpence.  I am afraid Mr. Hunter does
not prosper.  I wish him every success in life,
but fear his means are not increasing. However,
I met him a very few days ago in the City,
when he told me he was on the point of bringing
out a new scheme, so great, and with so large a
capital, that the bare recital of the project took
my breath away.  The promoter's fees alone
would amount so Mr. Hunter said to upwards
of three thousand pounds, and the sole promoter
of the concern was Mr. Hunter.  But I have
not yet seen the prospectus advertised in the
Times, and as the information was given me in
confidence, I must not allude to it further.

The next practitioner in the promoter line
with whom I became acquainted, was a gentleman
of quite a different kind from Mr. Alfred
Long, and from Mr. Hunter too.

Mr. Hardy—for that was his name— had in
appearance the combined characteristics of the
guardsman and the stockbroker.  His hat, shirt
collar, scarf, pin, coat, trousers, boots, and umbrella,
were undeniably and unmistakably West-
endish; his moustache, whiskers, and gloves
would have passed muster in the Household
Brigade, or at Aldershot.  Yet he had about
him, habits and customs which savoured strongly
of Capel-court.  Thus, when once he was in the
City, his umbrella was laid aside in his office, his
gloves were taken off and crushed up together
in one hand, he did not walk, but rushed from
place to place, and in the hand which did not
hold the gloves, there were always three or four
papers: one of which was certain to be a crossed
cheque for a large amount nothing under three
figures at least.  And yet Mr. Hardy was not a
stockbroker, or a stockjobber, or a solicitor, or
a merchant, or an accountant; he was simply
and solely a promoter.  His offices consisted of
two light airy convenient rooms, for which he
must have paid a rent of at least two hundred
a year.  They were handsomely furnished and
well warmed.  In the outer room, were two
clerks a young man and a boy; in the inner
apartment Mr. Hardy was always–when not
engaged in running about the City with a
crossed cheque in his hand—closeted with
some mysterious personage.  The first time I
saw Mr. Hardy was in this wise.  I had written
to him, enclosing a letter of introduction from
a mutual friend, asking on what day, and at
what hour, I might call upon him to speak on
a matter of business.  The answer was, that if
I called the next day but one, "at two o'clock
precisely," Mr. Hardy would be glad to see me.