Crowbillon's letter. I wrote him sixteen pages, closely
written; he wrote me less than sixteen lines.
His letter was: "Sir,--I totally disagree with you. Your son, in
the course of five minutes' conversation, displayed more
intelligence than your firm has done during the last five years.--
Yours faithfully, Gilbert E. Gillam O. Crowbillon."
What am I to do? Here is a letter that I dare not show to Mr.
Perkupp, and would not show to Lupin for anything. The crisis had
yet to come; for Lupin arrived, and, opening his letter, showed a
cheque for 25 pounds as a commission for the recommendation of Mr.
Crowbillon, whose custom to Mr. Perkupp is evidently lost for ever.
Cummings and Gowing both called, and both took Lupin's part.
Cummings went so far as to say that Lupin would make a name yet. I
suppose I was melancholy, for I could only ask: "Yes, but what
sort of a name?"
May 16.--I told Mr. Perkupp the contents of the letter in a
modified form, but Mr. Perkupp said: "Pray don't discuss the
matter; it is at an end. Your son will bring his punishment upon
himself." I went home in the evening, thinking of the hopeless
future of Lupin. I found him in most extravagant spirits and in
evening dress. He threw a letter on the table for me to read.
To my amazement, I read that Gylterson and Sons had absolutely
engaged Lupin at a salary of 200 pounds a year, with other
advantages.
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