The Final Recollections of Charles Dickens Read Free Page A

further soon.”
    â€œI know how precious your time is,” I said deferentially.
    â€œNonsense.”
    â€œA sketch by Boz in The Evening Chronicle would interest our readers,” Hogarth offered. “And nicely done, it could advance Mr. Wingate’s business interests.”
    â€œPrecisely,” Wingate responded. “Mr. Dickens and I must set up a time to talk. I conduct business from myhome. Would Monday next at two o’clock in the afternoon be convenient for you?”
    I said that it was.
    â€œI will see you then. For now, let me leave you with the thought that every man should live as comfortably as he can. My advice to you, sir, is, ‘Be as rich as possible. Be as rich as you honestly can.’”

    Wingate lived in a large house on a genteel street near Grosvenor Square. I arrived for my appointment a few minutes before the appointed hour. A brass knocker shaped like the head of a ferocious lion glared at me from the front door. I wiped my boots and was admitted by a servant.
    The house was spacious and grandly furnished with rich sofas, handsome mirrors, and high-backed damask-covered chairs. A second servant led me through several rooms and knocked on a closed oak door. Wingate’s voice sounded loud and clear, instructing me to enter. I did, and he rose from his desk to greet me.
    The room was magnificently furnished with formidable easy chairs, thick carpet, and cabinets inlaid with precious wood. A window behind an imposing leather-topped desk looked out on a plot of land cultivated as a garden. It was not the best time of year for a garden, but I could see that the space was beautifully kept. There were clusters of bushes and trellises on which flowers would bloom in the growing season.
    A large oil painting facing the window depicted a naval engagement with two warships firing cannonry at each other while several more vessels were blowing up in the distance.
    Wingate and I shook hands, and he gestured for me to sit opposite the desk. Then he took a seat. A thick green ledger with a red leather spine lay open before him.
    â€œI took the liberty of making some inquiries about your past,” Wingate said, beginning the conversation. “I am sure that, as a reporter, you will do the same of me if you have not already done so. Frankness is part of my character, so let me be direct and honest with you.”
    â€œI was not born in the front rank. I have no trophies of birth. It was not preordained that I should be a gentleman. Like you, I was forced by circumstances to make my own way in the world. I am what you aspire to be. If a man is born in possession of a silver spoon, it is not very difficult to keep the spoon polished. But if he is born in possession of a wooden ladle, the process of transmuting it to silver can be discouraging. I am thirty-six years old and a rich man now. Not so rich as some suppose, but wealthy. I have fought against the inequities of the world, and I have won.”
    â€œMy business involves the combination of financial judgment and capital. Others supply the capital. I put in my ability and knowledge. I arrange investments, annuities, insurance, and other business ventures on the most favourable terms possible for my clients in exchange for a small commission. The dividends on most of the investments that I arrange begin immediately and are substantial. I am a bold speculator but not a reckless one. I know what to invest in and how to backout quietly at the right time as well as any man alive. There is strict integrity in all of my transactions. There must be absolute honour among men of business, or business cannot be successfully carried on.”
    Wingate reached for the ledger on his desk and took a sheaf of documents from one of the cabinets. Books, papers, statements, and calculations were soon spread out before me. The entries were written in his own hand in a neat and precise manner.
    â€œExamine the affairs of my business for