skirting the criminal courts. Polkenhorne resided at this time
in Kennington; he was married - or said that he was - to a young lady in the
theatrical profession, known to the public as Miss Grace Danver. To Mrs.
Polkenhorne, or Miss Danver, Joseph soon had the honour of being presented, for
she was just then playing at a London theatre; he found her a pretty but
consumptive-looking girl, not at all likely to achieve great successes, earning
enough, however, to support Mr. Polkenhorne during this time of his misfortunes
- a most pleasant and natural arrangement.
    Polkenhorne's acquaintances were numerous, but, as he informed Joseph, most
of them were played out, that is to say, no further use could be made of them
from Polkenhorne's point of view. One, however, as yet imperfectly known,
promised to be useful, perchance as a victim, more probably as an ally; his name
was Scawthorne, and Polkenhorne had come across him in consequence of a
friendship existing between Grace Danver and Mrs. Scawthorne - at all events, a
young lady thus known - who was preparing herself for the stage. This gentleman
was something in the City; he had rather a close look, but proved genial enough,
and was very ready to discuss things in general with Mr. Polkenhorne and his
capitalist friend Mr. Camden, just from the United States.
    A word or two about Charles Henry Scawthorne, of the circumstances which
made him what you know, or what you conjecture. His father had a small business
as a dyer in Islington, and the boy, leaving school at fourteen, was sent to
become a copying-clerk in a solicitor's office; his tastes were so strongly
intellectual that it seemed a pity to put him to work he hated, and the
clerkship was the best opening that could be procured for him. Two years after,
Mr. Scawthorne died; his wife tried to keep on the business, but soon failed,
and thenceforth her son had to support her as well as himself. From sixteen to
three-and-twenty was the period of young Scawthorne's life which assured his
future advancement - and his moral ruin. A grave, gentle, somewhat effeminate
boy, with a great love of books and a wonderful power of application to study,
he suffered so much during those years of early maturity, that, as in almost all
such cases, his nature was corrupted. Pity that some self-made intellectual man
of our time has not flung in the world's teeth a truthful autobiography.