Roden's Corner Part 35

Roden smiled, with his long white fingers at his moustache.

"From the figures supplied to me by Mr. Wade," continued Cornish, "I see that there is an enormous profit lying idle--so large a profit that even between ourselves it is better not mentioned. There are, or there were yesterday, two hundred and ninety-two malgamite makers in active work."

Von Holzen made an involuntary movement, and Cornish looked at him over the pile of books. "Oh!" he said, "I know that. And I know the number of deaths. Perhaps you have not kept count, but I have. From the figures supplied by Mr. Wade, I see, therefore, that we have sufficient to pension off these two hundred and ninety-two men and their families--giving each man one hundred and twenty pounds a year. We can also make provision for the widows and orphans out of the sum I propose to withdraw from the profits. There will then be left a sum representing two large fortunes--of say between three and four thousand a year each. Will you and Mr. Roden accept this sum, dividing it as you think fit, and hand over the works to me? We ask, you to take it--no questions asked, and go."

"And Lord Ferriby?" suggested Von Holzen.

Major White made a sudden movement, but Cornish laid his hand quickly upon the soldier's arm.

"I will manage Lord Ferriby. What is your answer?"

"No," replied Von Holzen, instantly, as if he had long known what the ultimatum would be.

Cornish turned interrogatively to Roden. His eyes urged Roden to accept.

"No," was the reply.

Mr. Wade took out his large gold watch and looked at it.

"Then there is no need," he said composedly, "to detain these gentlemen any longer."

CHAPTER XXVII.

COMMERCE.

"The world will not believe a man repents.

And this wise world of ours is mainly right."

"Then you are of opinion, my dear White, that one cannot well refuse to meet these--er--persons?"

"Not," replied Major White to Lord Ferriby, whose hand rested on his stout arm as they walked with dignity in the shade of the trees that border the Vyver--that quaint old fish-pond of The Hague--"not without running the risk of being called a d----d swindler."

For the major was a lamentably plain-spoken man, who said but little, and said that little strong. Lord Ferriby's affectionate grasp of the soldier's arm relaxed imperceptibly. One must, he reflected, be prepared to meet unpleasantness in the good cause of charity--but there are words hardly applicable to the peerage, and Major White had made use of one of these.

"Public opinion," observed the major, after some minutes of deep thought, "is a difficult thing to deal with--'cos you cannot thump the public."

"It is notably hard," said his lordship, firing off one of his pet platform plat.i.tudes, "to induce the public to form a correct estimate, or what one takes to be a correct estimate."

"Especially of one's self," added the major, looking across the water towards the Binnenhof in his vacant way.

Then they turned and walked back again beneath the heavy shade of the trees. The conversation, and indeed this dignified promenade on the Vyverberg, had been brought about by a letter which his lordship had received that same morning inviting him to attend a meeting of paper-makers and others interested in the malgamite trade to consider the position of the malgamite charity, and the advisability of taking legal proceedings to close the works on the dunes at Scheveningen. The meeting was to be held at the Hotel des Indes, at three in the afternoon, and the conveners hinted pretty plainly that the proceedings would be of a decisive nature. The letter left Lord Ferriby with a vague feeling of discomfort. His position was somewhat isolated. A coldness had for some time been in existence between himself and his nephew, Tony Cornish. Of Mr. Wade, Lord Ferriby was slightly distrustful.

"These commercial men," he often said, "are apt to hold such narrow views."

And, indeed, to steer a straight course through life, one must not look to one side or the other.

There remained Major White, of whom Lord Ferriby had thought more highly since Fortune had called this plain soldier to take a seat among the G.o.ds of the British public. For no man is proof against the satisfaction of being able to call a celebrated person by his Christian name. The major had long admired Joan, in his stupid way from, as one might say, the other side of the room. But neither Lord nor Lady Ferriby had encouraged this silent suit. Joan was theoretically one of those of whom it is said that "she might marry anybody," and who, as the keen observer may see for himself, often finishes by failing to marry at all. She was pretty and popular, and had, moreover, the _entree_ to the best houses. White had been useful to Lord Ferriby ever since the inauguration of the Malgamite scheme. He was not uncomfortably clever, like Tony Cornish. He was an excellent buffer at jarring periods. Since the arrival of Joan and her father at The Hague, the major had been almost a necessity in their daily life, and now, quite suddenly, Lord Ferriby found that this was the only person to whom he could turn for advice or support.

"One cannot suppose," he said, in the full conviction that words will meet any emergency--"One cannot suppose that Von Holzen will act in direct opposition to the voice of the majority."

"Von Holzen," replied the major, "plays a doocid good game."

After luncheon they walked across the Toornoifeld to the Hotel des Indes, and there, in a small _salon_, found a number of gentlemen seated round a table. Mr. Wade was conspicuous by his absence. They had, indeed, left him in the hotel garden, sitting at the consumption of an excellent cigar.

"Join the jocund dance?" the major had inquired, with a jerk of the head towards the Hotel des Indes. But Mr. Wade was going for a drive with Marguerite.

Tony Cornish was, however, seated at the table, and the major recognized two paper-makers whom he had seen before. One was an aggressive, red-headed man, of square shoulders and a dogged appearance, who had "radical" written all over him. The other was a mild-mannered person, with a thin, ash-colored moustache.

The major nodded affably. He distinctly remembered offering to fight these two gentlemen either together or one after the other on the landing of the little malgamite office in Westminster. And there was a faint twinkle behind the major's eyegla.s.s as he saluted them.

"Good morning, Thompson," he said. "How do, MacHewlett?" For he never forgot a face or a name.

"A'hm thinking----" Mr. MacHewlett was observing, but his thoughts died a natural death at the sight of a real lord, and he rose and bowed. Mr.

Thompson remained seated and made that posture as aggressive and obvious as possible. The remainder of the company were of varied nationality and appearance, while one, a Frenchman of keen dark eyes and a trim beard--seemed by tacit understanding to be the acknowledged leader. Even the pushing Mr. Thompson silently deferred to him by a gesture that served at once to introduce Lord Ferriby and invite the Frenchman to up and smite him.

Lord Ferriby took the seat that had been left vacant for him at the head of the table. He looked around upon faces not too friendly.

"We were saying, my lord," said the Frenchman, in perfect English and with that graceful tact which belongs to France alone, "that we have all been the victims of an unfortunate chain of misunderstandings.

Had the organizers of this great charity consulted a few paper-makers before inaugurating the works at Scheveningen, much unpleasantness might have been averted, many lives might, alas, have been spared.

But--well--such mundane persons as ourselves were probably unknown to you and unthought-of; the milk is spilt, is it not so? Let us rather think of the future."

Lord Ferriby bowed graciously, and Mr. Thompson moved impatiently on his chair. The suave method had no attractions for him.

"A'hm thinking," began Mr. MacHewlett, in his most plaintive voice, and commanded so sudden and universal an attention as to be obviously disconcerted, "his lordship'll need plainer speech than that," he muttered hastily, and subsided, with an uneasy glance in the direction of that man of action, Major White.

"One misunderstanding has, however, been happily dispelled," said the Frenchman, "by our friend--if monsieur will permit the word--our friend, Mr. Cornish. From this gentleman we have learned that the executive of the Malgamite Charity are not by any means in harmony with the executive of the malgamite works at Scheveningen; that, indeed, the charity repudiates the action of its servants in manufacturing malgamite by a dangerous process tacitly and humanely set aside by makers up to this time; that the administrators of the fund are no party to the 'corner' which has been established in the product; do not desire to secure a monopoly, and disapprove of the sale of malgamite at a price which has already closed one or two of the smaller mills, and is paralyzing the paper trade of the world."

The speaker finished with a bow towards Cornish, and resumed his seat.

All were watching Lord Ferriby's face, except Major White, who examined a quill pen with short-sighted absorption. Lord Ferriby looked across the table at Cornish.

"Lord Ferriby," said Cornish, without rising from his seat, and meeting his uncle's glance steadily, "will now no doubt confirm all that Monsieur Creil has said."

Lord Ferriby had, in truth, come to the meeting with no such intention.

He had, with all his vast experience, no knowledge of a purely commercial a.s.sembly such as this. His public had hitherto been a drawing-room public. He was accustomed to a flower-decked platform, from which to deliver his flowing periods to the emotional of both s.e.xes. There were no flowers in this room at the Hotel des Indes, and the men before him were not of the emotional school. They were, on the contrary, plain, hard-headed men of business, who had come from different parts of the world at Cornish's bidding to meet a crisis in a plain, hard-headed way. They had only thoughts of their balance-sheets, and not of the fact that they held in the hollow of their hands the lives of hundreds, nay, of thousands, of men, women, and children.

Monsieur Creil alone, the keen-eyed Frenchman, had absolute control of over three thousand employees--married men with children--but he did not think of mentioning the fact. And it is a weight to carry about with one--to go to sleep with and to awake with in the morning--the charge of, say, nine thousand human lives.

For a few moments Lord Ferriby was silent. Cornish watched him across the table. He knew that his uncle was no fool, although his wisdom amounted to little more than the wisdom of the worldly. Would Lord Ferriby recognize the situation in time? There was a wavering look in the great man's eye that made his nephew suddenly anxious. Then Lord Ferriby rose slowly, to make the shortest speech that he had ever made in his life.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I beg to confirm what has just been said."

As he sat down again, Cornish gave a sharp sigh of relief. In a moment Mr. Thompson was on his feet, his red face alight with democratic anger.

"This won't do," he cried. "Let's have done with palavering and talk.

Let's get to plain speaking."

And it was not Lord Ferriby, but Tony Cornish, who rose to meet the attack.