Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  Meanwhile life at the Cottage went on in this miserable fashion until April had come in and the daffodils were in full bloom in the meadows beside the river. And still Arthur could not succeed in his object, and wondering what the banker thought of the delay and his silence, was almost beside himself with chagrin. Then there came a welcome breathing space. Ovington despatched him to London on an important and confidential mission. He was to be away rather more than a fortnight, and the relief was much even to him. To his mother it had been more, if he had not, with politic cruelty, kept from her the cause of his absence. She feared that he was about to carry out his threat and to make a home elsewhere — that this was the end, that he was going to leave her. And perhaps, she thought, she had been wrong. Perhaps, after all, she had sacrificed his love and lost his dear presence for nothing! It was a sad Easter that she passed, lonely and anxious, in the little house.

  CHAPTER VIII

  It was in the third week of April that Arthur returned to Aldersbury. Ovington had not failed to let his correspondents know that the lad was no common mercantile person, but came of a county family and had connections; and Arthur had been fêted by the bank’s agents and made much of by their friends. The negotiation which Ovington had entrusted to him had gone well, as all things went well at this time. His abilities had been recognized in more than one counting-house, and in the general elation and success, civilities and hospitality had been showered upon him. Mothers and daughters had exerted themselves to please the nephew — it was whispered the heir — of the Aldshire magnate; and what Arthur’s letters of credit had not gained for him, his handsome face and good breeding had won. He came back, therefore, on the best of terms with himself and more in love than ever with the career which he had laid out. And, but for the money difficulty, and his mother’s obstinacy, he would have seen all things in rose color.

  He returned at the moment when speculation in Aldersbury — and Aldersbury was in this but a gauge of the whole country — was approaching its fever point. The four per cent, consols, which not long before had stood at 72, were 106. The three per cents., which had been 52, had risen to 93. India stock was booming at 280, and these prices, which would have seemed incredible to a former generation, were justified by the large profits accruing from trade and seeking investment. They were, indeed, nothing beside the heights to which more speculative stocks were being hurried. Shares in one mine, bought at ten pounds, changed hands at a hundred and fifty. Shares in another, on which seventy pounds had been paid, were sold at thirteen hundred. An instalment of £5 was paid on one purchase, and ten days later the stock was sold for one hundred and forty!

  Under such circumstances new ventures were daily issued to meet the demand. Proposals for thirty companies came out in a week, and still there appeared to be money for all, for the banks, tempted by the prevailing prosperity, increased their issues of notes. It seemed an easy thing to borrow at seven per cent., and lay out the money at ten or fifteen, with certainty of a gain in capital. Men who had never speculated saw their neighbors grow rich, and themselves risked a hundred and doubled it, ventured two and saw themselves the possessers of six. It was like, said one, picking up money in a hat. It was like, said another, baling it up in a bucket. There seemed to be money everywhere — money for all. Peers and clergymen, shop-keepers and maiden ladies, servants even, speculated; while those who knew something of the market, or who could allot shares in new ventures, were courted and flattered, drawn into corners and consulted by troops of friends.

  All this came to its height at the end of April, and Arthur, sanguine and eager, laden with the latest news from Lombard Street, returned to Aldersbury to revel in it. He trod the Cop and the High Street as if he walked on air. He moved amid the excitement like a young god. His nod was confidence, his smile a promise. A few months before he had doubted. He had viewed the rising current of speculation from without, and had had his misgivings. Now the stream had caught him, and if he ever reflected that there might be rocks ahead, he flattered himself that he would be among the first to take the alarm.

  The confidence which he owed to youth, the banker drew from a past of unvarying success. But the elder man did have his moments of mistrust. There were hours when he saw hazards in front, and the days on which he did not call for the Note Issues were few. But even he found it easier to go with the current, and once or twice, so high was his opinion of Arthur’s abilities, he let himself be persuaded by him. Then the mere bustle was exhilarating. The door of the bank that never rested, the crowded counter, the incense of the streets, the whispers where he passed, all had their intoxicating effect. The power to put a hundred pounds into a man’s pocket — who can abstain from, who is not flattered by, the use of this, who can at all times close his mouth? And often one thing leads to another, and advice is the prelude to a loan.

  It was above all when the railroad scheme was to the fore that the banker realized his importance. It was his, he had made it, and it was on its behalf that he was disposed to put his hand out farthest. The Board, upon Sir Charles’s proposal — the fruit of a hint dropped by Ovington — had fixed the fourth market-day in April for the opening of the subscription list. Though the season was late, the farmers would be more or less at liberty; and as it happened the day turned out to be one of the few fine days of that spring. The sun, rarely seen of late, shone, the public curiosity was tickled, the town was full, men in the streets quoted the tea-kettle and explained the powers of steam; and Arthur, as he forged his way through the good-tempered, white-coated throng, felt to the full his importance.

  Near the door of the bank he met Purslow, and the draper seized his arm. “One moment, sir, excuse me,” he whispered. “I’ve a little more I can spare at a pinch. What do you advise, Mr. Bourdillon?”

  Arthur knew that it was not in his province to advise, and he shook his head. “You must ask Mr. Ovington,” he said.

  “And he that busy that he’ll snap my nose off! And you’re just from London. Come, Mr. Bourdillon, just for two or three hundred pounds. A good ‘un! A real good ‘un! I know you know one!”

  Arthur gave way. The man’s wheedling tone, the sense of power, the ability to confer a favor were too much for him. He named the Antwerp Navigation Company. “But don’t stop in too long,” he added. And he snatched himself away, and hurried on, and many were those who found his frank eager face irresistible.

  As he ploughed his way through the crowd, his head on a level with the tallest, he seemed to be success itself. His careless greeting met everywhere a cheery answer, and more than one threw after him, “There goes the old Squire’s nevvy! See him? He’s a clever ‘un if ever there was one!” They gave him credit for knowing mysteries dark to them, yet withal they owned a link with him. He too belonged to the land. A link with him and some pride in him.

  In the parlor where the Board met he had something of the same effect. Sir Charles and Acherley had taken their seats and were talking of county matters, their backs turned on their fellows. Wolley stood before the fire, glowering at them and resenting his exclusion. Grounds sat meekly on a chair within the door. But Arthur’s appearance changed all. He had a word or a smile for each. He set Grounds at his ease, he had a joke for Sir Charles and Acherley, he joined Wolley before the fire. Ovington, who had left the room for a moment, noted the change, and his heart warmed to the Secretary. “He will do,” he told himself, as he turned to the business of the meeting.

  “Come, Mr. Wolley, come, Mr. Grounds,” he said, “pull up your chairs, if you please. It has struck twelve and the bank should be open to receive applications at half-past. I conveyed your invitation, gentlemen, to Mr. Purslow two days ago, and I am happy to tell you that he takes two hundred shares, so that over one-third of the capital will be subscribed before we go to the public. I suppose, gentlemen, you would wish him to take his seat at once?”

  Sir Charles and Acherley nodded, Wolley looked sullen but said nothing, Grounds submitted. Neither he nor Wolley was over-plea
sed at sharing with another the honor of sitting with the gentry. But it had to be done. “Bring him in, Bourdillon,” Ovington said.

  Purslow, who was in waiting, slid into the room and took his seat, between pride and humility. “I have reason to believe, gentlemen,” Ovington continued, “that the capital will be subscribed within twenty-four hours. It is for you to say how long the list shall remain open.”

  “Not too long,” said Sir Charles, sapiently.

  “Shall I say forty-eight hours? Agreed, gentlemen? Very good. Then a notice to that effect shall be posted outside the bank at once. Will you see to that, Bourdillon?”

  “And what of Mr. Griffin?” Wolley blurted out the question before Ovington could restrain him. The clothier was anxious to show Purslow that he was at home in his company.

  “To be sure,” Ovington answered smoothly. “That is the only point, gentlemen, in which my expectations have not been borne out. The interview between Mr. Griffin and myself was disappointing, but I hoped to be able to tell you to-day that we were a little more forward. Mr. Wolley, however, has handed me a letter which he has received from Garth, and it is certainly — —”

  “A d —— d unpleasant letter,” Wolley struck in. “The old Squire don’t mince matters.” He had predicted that his landlord would not come in, and he was pleased to see his opinion confirmed. “He says I’d better be careful, for if I and my fine railroad come to grief I need not look to him for time. By the Lord,” with unction, “I know that, railroad or no railroad! He’d put me out as soon as look at me!”

  Sir Charles shuffled his papers uncomfortably. To hear a man like Wolley discuss his landlord shocked him — he felt it a kind of treason to listen to such talk. He feared — he feared more than ever — that the caustic old Squire was thinking him a fool for mixing himself up with this business. Good Heavens, if, after all, it ended in disaster!

  Acherley took it differently. He cared nothing for Griffin’s opinion; he was in money difficulties and had passed far beyond that. He laughed. “Put you out? I’ll swear he would! There’s no fool like an old fool! But he won’t have the chance.”

  “No, I think not,” Ovington said blandly. “But his attitude presents difficulties, and I am sure that our Chairman will agree with me that if we can meet his views, it will be worth some sacrifice.”

  “Can’t Arthur get round him?” Acherley suggested.

  “No,” Arthur replied, smiling. “Perhaps if you — —”

  “Will you see him, Mr. Acherley?”

  “Oh, I’ll see him!” carelessly. “I don’t say I shall persuade him.”

  “Still, we shall have done what we can to meet his views,” the banker replied. “If we fail we must fall back — on my part most reluctantly — on the compulsory clauses. But that is looking ahead, and we need not consider it at present. I don’t think that there is anything else? It is close on the half-hour. Will you see, Bourdillon, if all is ready in the bank?”

  Arthur went out, leaving the door ajar. There came through the opening a murmur of voices and the noise of shuffling feet. Ovington turned over the papers before him. “In the event of the subscriptions exceeding the sum required, what day will suit you to allot? Thursday, Sir Charles?”

  “Friday would suit me better.”

  “Friday be it then, if Mr. Acherley — good. On Friday at noon, gentlemen. Yes, Bourdillon?”

  Arthur did not sit down. He was smiling. “It’s something of a sight,” he said. “By Jove it is! I think you ought to see it.”

  Ovington nodded, and they rose, some merely curious, others eager to show themselves in their new role of dignity. Arthur opened the door and stood aside. Beyond the door the cashier’s desk with its green curtains formed a screen which masked their presence. Ovington separated the curtains, and Sir Charles and Acherley peeped between them. The others looked round the desk.

  The space devoted to the public was full. It hummed with low voices, but above the hum sharp sentences from time to time rang out. “Here, don’t push! It’s struck, Mr. Rodd! Hand ‘em out!” Then, louder than these, a lusty voice bawled, “Here, get out o’ my road! I want money for a cheque, man!”

  The two clerks were at the counter, with piles of application forms before them and their eyes on the clock. Clement and Rodd stood in the background. The impassive attitude of the four contrasted strikingly with the scene beyond the counter, where eighteen or twenty persons elbowed and pushed one another, their flushed faces eloquent of the spirit of greed. For it had got about that there was easy money and much money to be made out of the Railroad shares — to be made in particular by those who were first in the field. Some looked to make the money by a sale at a premium, others foresaw a profit but hardly knew how it was to come, more had heard of men who had suddenly grown rich, and fancied that this was their chance. They had but to sign a form and pay an instalment, and profit would flow in, they did not care whence. They were certain, indeed, but of one thing, that there was gain in it; and with every moment their number grew, for with every moment a newcomer forced his way, smiling, into the bank. Meantime the crowd gave good-humored vent to their impatience. “Let’s have ‘em! Hand ‘em out!” they murmured. What if there were not enough to go round?

  The man with the cheque, hopelessly wedged in, protested. “There, someone hand it on,” he cried at last. “And pass me out the money, d — n you! And let me get out of this.”

  The slip was passed from hand to hand, and “How’ll you have it, Mr. Boumphry?” Rodd asked.

  “In shares!” cried a wit.

  “Notes and a pound in silver,” gasped Boumphry, who thought the world had gone mad. “And dunno get on my back, man!” to one behind him. “I’m not a bullock! Here, how’m I to count it when I canna get — —”

  “A form!” cried a second wit. “Neither can we, farmer! Come, out with ‘em, gentlemen. Hullo, Mr. Purslow! That you? Ha’ you turned banker?”

  The draper, who had showed himself over-confidently, fell back purple with blushes. “Certainly an odd sight,” said the banker quietly. “It promises well, I think, Sir Charles.”

  “Hanged well!” said Acherley.

  Sir Charles acquiesced. “Er, I think so,” he said. “I certainly think so.” But he felt himself a little out of place.

  The minute hand touched the half-hour, and the clerks began to distribute the papers. After watching the scene for a moment the Board separated, its members passing out modestly through the house door. They parted on the pavement, even Sir Charles unbending a little and the saturnine Acherley chuckling to himself as visions of fools and fat premiums floated before him. It was a vision which they all shared in their different ways.

  Arthur was about to join the workers in the bank when Ovington beckoned him into the dining-room. “You can be spared for a moment,” he said. “Come in here. I want to speak to you.” He closed the door. “I’ve been considering the matter I discussed with you some time ago, lad, and I think that the time has come when it should be settled. But you’ve said nothing about it and I’ve been wondering if anything was wrong. If so, you had better tell me.”

  “Well, sir — —”

  The banker was shrewd. “Is it the money that is the trouble?”

  The moment that Arthur had been dreading was come, and he braced himself to meet it. “I’m afraid that there has been some difficulty,” he said, “but I think now — —”

  “Have you given your uncle notice?”

  Arthur hesitated. If he avowed that they had not given his uncle notice, how weak, how inept he would appear in the other’s eyes! A wave of exasperation shook him, as he saw the strait into which his mother’s obstinacy was forcing him. The opportunity which he valued so highly, the opening on which he had staked so much — was he to forfeit them through her folly? No, a hundred times, no! He would not let her ruin him, and, “Yes, we have given it,” he said, “but very late, I’m afraid. My mother had her doubts and I had to overcome them. I’m sorry, sir, tha
t there has been this delay.”

  “But the notice has been given now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then in three months, as I understand — —”

  “The money will be ready, sir.” He spoke stoutly; the die was cast now, and he must go through with it. After all it was not his fault, but his mother’s; and for the rest, if the notice was not already given it should be this very day. “It will be ready in three months, but not earlier, I am afraid.”

  Ovington reflected. “Well,” he said, “that must do. And we won’t wait. We will sign the agreement now and it shall take effect from next Monday, the payment to be made within three months. Go through the articles” — he opened his desk and took a paper from it and gave it to Arthur— “and come in with one of the clerks at five o’clock and we will complete it.”

  Arthur hardly knew what to Bay. “It’s uncommonly kind of you, sir!” he stammered. “You may be sure I shall do my best to repay your kindness.”

  “Well, I like you,” the banker rejoined. “And, of course, I see my own advantage in it. So that is settled.”

  Arthur went out taking the paper with him, but in the passage he paused, his face gloomy. After all it was not too late. He could go back and tell Ovington that his mother — but no, he could not risk the banker’s good opinion. His mother must do it. She must do it. He was not going to see the chance of a lifetime wasted — for a silly scruple.

  He moved at last, and as he went into the bank he jostled two persons who, sheltered by the cashier’s desk, were watching, as the Board had watched a few minutes before, the scene of excitement which the bank presented. The one was Betty, the other was Rodd, the cashier. It had occurred to Rodd that the girl would like to view a thing so unusual, and he had slipped out and fetched her. They faced about, startled by the contact. “Oh, it’s you!” said Betty.