The Four Philanthropists/Chapter 19
CHAPTER XIX
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS
I was exceedingly surprised to find how greatly I enjoyed the return to the quiet home life of the Temple, and I fancied that it was no less grateful to Angel. My enjoyment of it opened to my mental vision yet further vistas of domesticity in my nature, of which I had never dreamed. The constraint which had fallen on us after her fatal act of doing her hair up still lingered; I had not yet grown quite used to her change from a child to a woman, nor do I think that she was yet quite at ease in the new part. But I could see that the strangeness was wearing off little by little, and that in time we should settle down in the new relation. She was still afflicted by fits of brooding and gloom; but the cruise seemed to have blown her head clearer of cobwebs, and such fits were rarer.
We were all of us hurt by the duplicity of Gutermann. We could not get over the fact that he had obtained our sympathy and compassion under false pretences, and that our sorrow for his impending misfortunes had lessened our pleasure in our cruise. Besides, Honest John Driver's check for kidnapping him had been honored; the Children's Hospital had another £3,500, and we had lost our philanthropic interest in him. We were, therefore, cold to him; Angel relapsed to her bare civility; I lost in heartiness; Chelubai no longer addressed him in affectionate American, and Bottiger no longer cheerily jarred him by slapping him on the back. The two last had grudged him Angel's compassionate smiles, and now they were even colder to him than she or I. We did not, indeed, break with him utterly, for we bore in mind that he was a Director of the Quorley Granite Company, and might yet again be useful to us.
He was grieved, as he deserved to be, by the change, chiefly, doubtless, by Angel's coldness. He endured in silence for a time, and then he came to me and asked what he had done to change us.
I eyed him coldly, and said, "We do not like the way you treated your old friend, Honest John Driver. He has told us how you sold him out over Golden Banks."
His large, gazelle-like eyes opened wide in utter surprise. "Why, that's b-b-business!" he stammered. "What's it got to do with us?"
"Driver was your friend, and you betrayed him," I said coldly.
He wriggled uncomfortably and looked unhappy; then he plucked up spirit and said, "The old rogue is always whining about his friends betraying him. It's all lies; he has no friends. He's never worked a scheme yet with a man without trying to do him in the eye, and he's generally succeeded. You have to get there first with Honest John Driver; and I did. Who wouldn't? But even if he had been my friend, what has the city to do with one's social relations?"
"We're disappointed in you," I said sadly. "If you go back on your friends in business, it is most probable you would go back on them in real life."
"No, no. It isn't so," he protested earnestly. "Business is quite apart."
I could not explain to him that he had already gone back on us, that he had obtained our sympathy and compassion under false pretences, which is no way to treat friends, and I had to seem to accept his explanation. But Angel and I did not restore him to our intimacy, though Chelubai and Bottiger warmed to him again, as soon as they were assured of Angel's coldness, for they thought that he might help the G. P. R. C. to further philanthropic operations. I fancied that they had designs on our good and worthy customer, Honest John Driver.
Now, since Angel and I were tiring of philanthropy, and losing interest in furthering the progress of the human race by removing the wealthy objectionable, I grew eager to lay hands on the Quorley Granite Company without delay. But owing to the fact that so few of the shares had been put on the market, for all our steady buying we only held eight thousand. With Angel's forty thousand this did not give us control of the company, and I cast about how to obtain another three thousand shares before the annual meeting at the end of April. Honest John Driver held five thousand shares, and Gutermann had held five thousand, but had sold three thousand of them. It seemed to me that the time had come for Honest John Driver to part with a few of his. Then it seemed to me that I was old enough to try to thread the mazes of the business world without the help of Chelubai, and I resolved to try to rush Honest John Driver on my own account.
I went to see him in the morning, and he did not keep me waiting, which I thought a promising sign. But his greeting was stiff enough, even gloomy; mine was informal, with decorous sadness. I sat down in an easy chair, and said nothing; I only sighed twice, heavily.
"Well, Mr. Armitage? And what do you want to see me about?" he said grumpily.
"I've come on an unpleasant errand," I said slowly, weighing my words. "I want to break a piece of bad news to you gently."
He shifted uneasily in his chair, and looked at me more closely. "I don't see what bad news you can have to break to me. We have no dealings together," he said, still grumpily.
"No; we have no dealings together at present, but we shall have shortly. The fact is, you have got in the way of some new customers of ours, and they are in treaty with us to get you out of it," I said, and sighed again.
Honest John Driver sat quite upright in his chair and stared at me: "I thought—I thought you were my friends," he said, a little faintly.
"You have so many friends," I said, thinking of Gutermann. "But you kept us on strictly business terms, if you remember, by always refusing to pay us."
"I wish I'd never set eyes on you!" he said, in the very accents of the truth.
"Now, you're ungrateful," I said gently. "We have put a clear twelve thousand pounds in your pocket."
"And had £7,615 8s. 6d. yourselves."
"Yes; we ought to have had more, I know."
"More! More!" he cried, in a choking voice. Then he pulled himself together and said, "Who are they—these new customers of yours?"
"I thought you knew that our motto was 'secrecy and despatch.' You've had the secrecy, and now you're going to have the—despatch," I said, with a playful smile.
His flabby bulk seemed to shrink somewhat, and a kind of grayness stole over his large face. "Is it Gutermann?" he said.
"I shouldn't tell you if it were."
"Is it the Pudleigh-Scarlett crowd?"
"I shouldn't tell you if it were."
"Well, what did you come about?" he burst out, with sudden violence. "Not to warn me! Did you think I was going to offer you more to let me alone? I won't do it! I won't! I won't! I won't! There'd be no end of it! I know what blackmail is! The financial Press I have to square! It's part of the game! But nobody else, s'help me! Nobody! I'll go to the police! I will, indeed! I'll tell them everything—everything!" I have never seen anyone look more like a cornered rat.
"Really, you tempt me to leave you to the Company," I said coldly. "If you had had the sense to hear me out, you would have learned that I had found an escape for you. Now you may go to the police, and be hanged to you!" And I rose, with a stern and haughty air.
I had not made two steps before he was grovelling. "Sit down, Mr. Armitage! Sit down, please. I meant no offence. I—I'm always ready to listen to a business proposition. What is it? What's the way out?"
I sat down, sulkily, in the armchair again, and he mopped at his brow; he was plainly in no training to let himself grow violent; it made him perspire.
"This is the situation," I said sulkily. "We know a crowd that is working against Pudleigh. to get hold of the Quorley Granite Company, and they're stuck for want of three thousand shares. I have made clear to the chief of them—I saw no use in telling him that it was myself—that if one of the directors died, his shares would come on the market. He chose you as the proper director to die, because you hold five thousand shares, and so many thrown on the market at once would knock them down again."
"Yes, yes?" he said quickly, panting a little.
"Well, it seemed to me that if you would sell three thousand at eighteenpence to a friend of mine, you would be out of danger."
He laughed a shaky, quavering laugh, and mopped again at his brow. I saw the brazen honesty, which had been ousted from his face by rage and terror, stealing back over it, and he said, "You have introduced new methods into the business world! To think that I was to be sacrificed for a paltry block of three thousand shares in a dirty little company of Pudleigh's! Why—why didn't they come and make me an offer for them? I would have parted with them gladly— gladly." And the brazen honesty shone out on his face once more with the old triumphant lustre.
"Yes; at thirty shillings apieoe," I said drily.
"No, no," he protested.
"Well, it's eighteenpence."
He coughed and eyed me carefully. "What's the market price?" he said softly.
"Eighteenpence."
"Well, don't you think three shillings"
"No, I don't think in shillings to-day; I think in sixpences. It's eighteenpence or nothing," I said cheerfully, and I rose.
"Very well, very well, sit down," he said hastily.
"I've my friend's check for two hundred and twenty-five in my pocket. Let's get the thing over."
"You're so impatient," he said, almost fretfully. "A block of three thousand shares in a company like the Quorley Granite Company, a sound property, is not a thing to dispose of"
"Look here," I said firmly. "I'm not an idle man, and I can't afford to waste my time. I want to go and play bridge. Hurry up."
In ten minutes I had the transfer in my pocket, and he had my own check for £225. He looked at the Roger Brand of the signature, and then he looked at me. But he said nothing about the identity of the Christian names.
When I said good-by he said, with real earnestness, "Good-by, Mr. Armitage, and if you'll excuse my saying so, you're connected with some of the worst frights I ever had, and I do hope I shan't set eyes on you again for the next five years."
"That's too much to hope," I said modestly.
I was half-way down the first flight of stairs when he came running to the top and cried, "About the check, Mr. Armitage—is it all right?"
"Quite," I said.
"That's all right. I trust you, Mr. Armitage, I trust you."
"Thank you," I said gravely.
But as I went on down the stairs I asked myself, had I realized one of my ambitions? Had I, or had I not, heard a financier sing?
When I came back to the Temple I told Angel of my success, and that she might now consider herself safely on the way of becoming a woman of wealth. I never lost an opportunity of speaking of her as a woman, because I saw that she liked it. But she did not seem as pleased as she might have done by the prospect of becoming a wealthy woman; she looked at me with doubtful, questioning eyes.
"What's the matter?" I said gently, for since she had developed her fits of brooding I had grown more gentle and less cheerful with her. "You don't seem pleased."
"I've got plenty of money, at least not plenty, but enough. I expect it will alter things."
"Well, if you mean that in a couple of years you will be able to have a box at the opera, and go off whenever you like, for as long as you like to any golf-links in the United Kingdom, it will."
"I don't mean that," she said, a little heavily.
"Well, one thing we can alter is the General Philanthropic Removal Company. We can wind it up this afternoon if you like."
"Oh, let's!" she cried, brightening.
Chelubai and Bottiger came round soon after lunch to play bridge, and I told them of my foray into the city and of the booty I had carried away with me, the 5,000 Quorley Granite Company shares. Chelubai, whose good opinion in business matters I prize, congratulated me warmly on my coup. "When a really imaginative man like Roger gives his mind to these things, he does get results," he said.
Bottiger said, "By Jove, you were smart. I should have liked to see the old brute part."
"The Children's Hospital is now endowed with thirteen thousand shares in the Quorley Granite Company; and I think the time has come to wind up the General Philanthropic Removal Company, or at any rate to change it into the Quorley Granite Company," said I.
"What?" cried Chelubai. "But why? What's the matter with the G. P. R. C.? There is no company existing which is doing such work for humanity?"
"I've come to the conclusion that as practical philanthropists we are failures," I said coldly.
"Failures!" cried Chelubai. "Why even looking at it from the business point of view the company has already paid over six thousand per cent. in dividends!"
"That is adopting a very base commercial standard of success, and I will not admit any such standard," I said severely. "We set out, as practical philanthropists, to further human progress by ridding the world of the less advertised objectionable people. Have we succeeded? No. Pudleigh still ravens through the world promoting companies. Sir Reginald Blackthwaite is brutalizing Karlsbadt with his anecdotes. Mrs. Jubb still moves about her restricted world in purple majesty. In the matter of Gutermann, we were hoodwinked, and he robbed the British public unscathed; instead of being firm and drowning him, we have let him go free to plunder it the next chance he gets. As philanthropists, practical philanthropists, we are failures. Let us face the fact frankly—like men."
On Chelubai's face rested an expression of mingled sadness and perplexity, and he said, "How with dividends like that, you can say"
"I will not hear a word about dividends! Our work shall not be judged by a commercial standard!" I cried, in a terrible voice.
"No; it's philanthropy Roger's talking about, and we have failed," said Angel.
"Yes, yes; if you look at it like that we've failed," said Chelubai, with abject obsequiousness.
"We've had very bad luck. It might mend," said Bottiger.
"Well, you cannot expect my sister and I to continue in a branch of philanthropy for which our unfitness has been so fully demonstrated," I said firmly.
"No, no," said Chelubai.
"But of course we don't want to desert you utterly and suddenly," I went on. "We will resign our directorships and become sleeping partners if you like, consulting philanthropists, helping you with our advice in your enterprises, but taking no active part in them."
"But that would diminish the effectiveness of the company by rather more than two-thirds," said Chelubai.
"You underrate your enthusiasm," I said politely.
Chelubai shook his head.
"Well, there is another course we can adopt; we can change the company," I said.
"How?" said Chelubai, brightening a little.
"Well, these dividends, which were merely accidental results of our philanthropy and no measure at all of its success, seem to me to point out the path for which we are really fit. As our failures prove that we have no real talent for practical philanthropy, so these dividends prove that we have real talent for business. I suggest, then, that the G. P. R. C. suffers a granite change, that we change it into the Quorley Granite Company. By working at that we can establish the Children's Hospital on a permanent basis, and restore an orphan's fortunes."
"This is talking," said Chelubai, with an extremely brainy air. "I've always been afraid that by some accident or other I might acquire bad karma from one of the operations of the G. P. R. C. But in an ordinary kind of company I shouldn't have any such fear. I should be much easier in mind."
"But—but—this is going in trade!" said Bottiger, with deep disgust.
"Really, that does come well from you, Bottiger. "What were your ancestors but tradesmen? Their trade was murder for money or cattle," I said coldly.
"That was very different!" said Bottiger hotly. "It was the fashion in those days!"
"And now company-promoting is the fashion," I said sternly.
"It's no good bickering," said Chelubai. "What is your scheme for becoming the Quorley Granite Company?"
"Well, I can control the shares of Miss Pavis, forty thousand; the Children's Hospital owns thirteen thousand. So we control a comfortable majority of the stock of the company. We will turn out the present directors and go on the board ourselves. You shall be managing director, Chelubai, and Bottiger shall act as assistant manager. At first, to set the company going, you'll have to stay at Quorley."
Both of them looked at Angel.
"I don't want to go and bury myself in a hole in Cumberland," growled Bottiger.
"What about the theosophical lectures?" said Chelubai.
"You wouldn't let your theosophy interfere with your duty to Humanity. Besides, you won't have to leave London for any great length of time. A few months ought to set the company going all right," I said.
Both of them looked very glum.
"A summer in Cumberland would be delightful," said Angel.
"Would you come there, Miss Brand?" said Chelubai eagerly.
"Yes; we should probably come for a time, if it turned out a nice place, and there were any place we could stay at," I said quickly.
"I expect the fishing would be all right," said Bottiger, a little more cheerfully. "We'll all go together."
"Well, that is settled, then. The General Philanthropic Removal Company becomes the Quorley Granite Company," I said.
We discussed at length the procedure to be followed in the matter of seizing the control of it. But Chelubai and Bottiger were in poor spirits all the afternoon. I do not think that either found the prospect of honest work alluring; it lacked the romance of philanthropy.
The next day I had a long conference with Morton. He was indeed rejoiced to hear that I could control 53,000 shares in the Quorley Granite Company, and he agreed with me that we should seize the control of the company itself at the annual general meeting. He decided to buy 500 shares himself, and so qualify for the position of director. Thus we could have four directors out of five on the board, and we arranged that Gutennann should be the fifth. We arranged to many of the details of the actual seizure; we would try to make it as much of a surprise as possible, and with Pleever's help we believed we could make it a surprise. Albert Amsted Pudleigh might find himself off the board before he knew that his position was threatened and take steps to defend it. Doubtless, he would make a fight afterwards; but we did not see how he could prove that we had legally stolen Angel's forty thousand shares.
The next day I went to Gutermann's offices, and explained to him that we wanted his help in electing us to the board, for I thought it well that he should be on our side. He was delighted to have the chance of doing me a service. Morton had an interview with Pleever, the secretary of the company, that evening, and next morning I had a letter from him to say that Pleever knew what he had to do, and was eager to do it.
April though it was, we were enjoying some days of spring, as the poets sing of it, not the real spring of east wind and sleet, but sunshine and balmy airs. It seemed to lift the cloud from Angel's spirit, and draw us closer together, almost to the old cheerful frankness which had reigned before she did up her hair. Never had a brother a more charming sister, never had our companionship been more delightful.
It seemed, too, that the springtide had awakened old memories in Dolly Delamere; for I received an imperious letter from her bidding me take her out to lunch. I obeyed it, and found her truly under the influence of the spring; she was veritably sentimental. I played up to her mood, as mere courtesy demanded, and we had a very pleasant lunch. After it we were driving westward down the Strand, when who should meet us in another hansom but Angel. I had not told her that I was lunching with Dolly, and when I caught her startled glance at us I wished for a moment that I had, and then I thought no more of the matter.
When I came back to the Temple she was in her room, and I took up a book. I was reading for review, lighted a pipe, and composed myself to my task. Once or twice I noticed that Angel seemed to be in something of a bustle, and I heard thrice a drawer sharply shut. I was thinking that it was about time we were going out to dinner, when I heard a cab stop below; presently lumping footsteps came pounding slowly up the stairs, and there was a knock at the door. I rose to go to open it, but Angel was before me. She opened it, and I heard her say, "I want you to carry my trunks down."
I could not quite believe my ears, trustworthy as I have always found them. I opened the door into the passage, and found her standing in it with her hat and coat on, watching the cabman hoisting a trunk onto his back.
"What is happening?" I said.
She half turned, but did not look at me. "I'm going," she said.
"Then what has happened?" I said.
"Nothing. But—but—I'm going. I ought to have gone long ago," she said, with solemn firmness.
I sighed, and said, "If you really think you ought, I don't see I can beg you to stay. I'm afraid we ought to have bowed the knee to the proprieties as soon as we got Driver's first cheek."
"The proprieties have nothing to do with it!" she said sharply.
"Then why on earth are you going?" I said, in an unaffected surprise.
"I've been in your way long enough; I see it now."
"What nonsense is this?" I said.
"It isn't nonsense. I know now why that—that—girl never came again to tea."
"Oh!" I said, taken aback, and bewildered by the dazzling flood of light which poured in upon my mind. Then I cried hotly, "It's blazing nonsense! She didn't come, because I didn't want her!"
"Oh, yes, you did—you did, really. And—and you ought to have told me. It wasn't fair," and for the first time she looked at me, her gray eyes very dark and burning, her face pale.
I did not know what I had done to provoke this wrath, and before I could ask, she turned, and went down the stairs. I hesitated a moment, then I went to the top of them and called twice, "Come back."
She did not come, and she did not answer. I went back to the sitting-room, with my anger rising in its turn. What had I done to earn such treatment? I heard the cabman carry down her trunks one after the other. And for all my anger at my unfairness, I nearly relented, and went down to bid her good-by. I could not bring myself to do it; I hardened my heart, and let her go. When I heard the cab drive away I went to the club, dined, and played bridge.
I could not keep my mind from Angel's amazing departure. Now and again the remembrance filled it, and made havoc of my play. I came back to my rooms gloomy enough, but when I entered the door the sense of their emptiness struck me with a veritable violence, and my heart sank and sank.