That morning, and many mornings both before and afterwards, were spent
by Laura at the New Hall examining the treasures of the museum, playing
with the thousand costly toys which Raffles Haw had collected, or
sallying out from the smoking-room in the crystal chamber into the long
line of luxurious hot-houses. Haw would walk demurely beside her as
she flitted from one thing to another like a butterfly among flowers,
watching her out of the corner of his eyes, and taking a quiet pleasure
in her delight. The only joy which his costly possessions had ever
brought him was that which came from the entertainment of others.
By this time his attentions towards Laura McIntyre had become so
marked that they could hardly be mistaken. He visibly brightened in
her presence, and was never weary of devising a thousand methods of
surprising and pleasing her. Every morning ere the McIntyre family were
afoot a great bouquet of strange and beautiful flowers was brought
down by a footman from the Hall to brighten their breakfast-table. Her
slightest wish, however fantastic, was instantly satisfied, if human
money or ingenuity could do it. When the frost lasted a stream was
dammed and turned from its course that it might flood two meadows,
solely in order that she might have a place upon which to skate. With
the thaw there came a groom every afternoon with a sleek and beautiful
mare in case Miss McIntyre should care to ride. Everything went to show
that she had made a conquest of the recluse of the New Hall.
And she on her side played her part admirably. With female adaptiveness
she fell in with his humour, and looked at the world through his eyes.
Her talk was of almshouses and free libraries, of charities and of
improvements. He had never a scheme to which she could not add some
detail making it more complete and more effective. To Haw it seemed that
at last he had met a mind which was in absolute affinity with his own.
Here was a help-mate, who could not only follow, but even lead him in
the path which he had chosen.
Neither Robert nor his father could fail to see what was going forward,
but to the latter nothing could possibly be more acceptable than a
family tie which should connect him, however indirectly, with a man of
vast fortune. The glamour of the gold bags had crept over Robert also,
and froze the remonstrance upon his lips. It was very pleasant to have
the handling of all this wealth, even as a mere agent. Why should he
do or say what might disturb their present happy relations? It was his
sister's business, not his; and as to Hector Spurling, he must take his
chance as other men did. It was obviously best not to move one way or
the other in the matter.
But to Robert himself, his work and his surroundings were becoming more
and more irksome. His joy in his art had become less keen since he had
known Raffles Haw. It seemed so hard to toll and slave to earn such a
trifling sum, when money could really be had for the asking. It was true
that he had asked for none, but large sums were for ever passing through
his hands for those who were needy, and if he were needy himself his
friend would surely not grudge it to him. So the Roman galleys still
remained faintly outlined upon the great canvas, while Robert's days
were spent either in the luxurious library at the Hall, or in strolling
about the country listening to tales of trouble, and returning like
a tweed-suited ministering angel to carry Raffles Haw's help to the
unfortunate. It was not an ambitious life, but it was one which was very
congenial to his weak and easy-going nature.
Robert had observed that fits of depression had frequently come upon
the millionaire, and it had sometimes struck him that the enormous sums
which he spent had possibly made a serious inroad into his capital, and
that his mind was troubled as to the future. His abstracted manner, his
clouded brow, and his bent head all spoke of a soul which was weighed
down with care, and it was only in Laura's presence that he could throw
off the load of his secret trouble. For five hours a day he buried
himself in the laboratory and amused himself with his hobby, but it
was one of his whims that no one, neither any of his servants, nor
even Laura or Robert, should ever cross the threshold of that outlying
building. Day after day he vanished into it, to reappear hours
afterwards pale and exhausted, while the whirr of machinery and the
smoke which streamed from his high chimney showed how considerable were
the operations which he undertook single-handed.
“Could I not assist you in any way?” suggested Robert, as they sat
together after luncheon in the smoking-room. “I am convinced that you
over-try your strength. I should be so glad to help you, and I know a
little of chemistry.”
“Do you, indeed?” said Raffles Haw, raising his eyebrows. “I had no
idea of that; it is very seldom that the artistic and the scientific
faculties go together.”
“I don't know that I have either particularly developed. But I have
taken classes, and I worked for two years in the laboratory at Sir
Josiah Mason's Institute.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” Haw replied with emphasis. “That may be
of great importance to us. It is very possible--indeed, almost
certain--that I shall avail myself of your offer of assistance, and
teach you something of my chemical methods, which I may say differ
considerably from those of the orthodox school. The time, however, is
hardly ripe for that. What is it, Jones?”
“A note, sir.”
The butler handed it in upon a silver salver. Haw broke the seal and ran
his eye over it.
“Tut! tut! It is from Lady Morsley, asking me to the Lord-Lieutenant's
ball. I cannot possibly accept. It is very kind of them, but I do wish
they would leave me alone. Very well, Jones. I shall write. Do you know,
Robert, I am often very unhappy.”
He frequently called the young artist by his Christian name, especially
in his more confidential moments.
“I have sometimes feared that you were,” said the other sympathetically.
“But how strange it seems, you who are yet young, healthy, with every
faculty for enjoyment, and a millionaire.”
“Ah, Robert,” cried Haw, leaning back in his chair, and sending up thick
blue wreaths from his pipe. “You have put your finger upon my
trouble. If I were a millionaire I might be happy, but, alas, I am no
millionaire!”
“Good heavens!” gasped Robert.
Cold seemed to shoot to his inmost soul as it flashed upon him that this
was a prelude to a confession of impending bankruptcy, and that all this
glorious life, all the excitement and the colour and change, were about
to vanish into thin air.
“No millionaire!” he stammered.
“No, Robert; I am a billionaire--perhaps the only one in the world. That
is what is on my mind, and why I am unhappy sometimes. I feel that I
should spend this money--that I should put it in circulation--and yet it
is so hard to do it without failing to do good--without doing positive
harm. I feel my responsibility deeply. It weighs me down. Am I justified
in continuing to live this quiet life when there are so many millions
whom I might save and comfort if I could but reach them?”
Robert heaved a long sigh of relief. “Perhaps you take too grave a view
of your responsibilities,” he said. “Everybody knows that the good which
you have done is immense. What more could you desire? If you really
wished to extend your benevolence further, there are organised charities
everywhere which would be very glad of your help.”
“I have the names of two hundred and seventy of them,” Haw answered.
“You must run your eye over them some time, and see if you can suggest
any others. I send my annual mite to each of them. I don't think there
is much room for expansion in that direction.”
“Well, really you have done your share, and more than your share.
I would settle down to lead a happy life, and think no more of the
matter.”
“I could not do that,” Haw answered earnestly. “I have not been singled
out to wield this immense power simply in order that I might lead
a happy life. I can never believe that. Now, can you not use your
imagination, Robert, and devise methods by which a man who has command
of--well, let us say, for argument's sake, boundless wealth, could
benefit mankind by it, without taking away any one's independence or in
any way doing harm?”
“Well, really, now that I come to think of it, it is a very difficult
problem,” said Robert.
“Now I will submit a few schemes to you, and you may give me your
opinion on them. Supposing that such a man were to buy ten square miles
of ground here in Staffordshire, and were to build upon it a neat city,
consisting entirely of clean, comfortable little four-roomed
houses, furnished in a simple style, with shops and so forth, but no
public-houses. Supposing, too, that he were to offer a house free to all
the homeless folk, all the tramps, and broken men, and out-of-workers
in Great Britain. Then, having collected them together, let him employ
them, under fitting superintendence, upon some colossal piece of work
which would last for many years, and perhaps be of permanent value to
humanity. Give them a good rate of pay, and let their hours of labour be
reasonable, and those of recreation be pleasant. Might you not benefit
them and benefit humanity at one stroke?”
“But what form of work could you devise which would employ so vast
a number for so long a time, and yet not compete with any existing
industry? To do the latter would simply mean to shift the misery from
one class to another.”
“Precisely so. I should compete with no one. What I thought of doing was
of sinking a shaft through the earth's crust, and of establishing rapid
communication with the Antipodes. When you had got a certain distance
down--how far is an interesting mathematical problem--the centre of
gravity would be beneath you, presuming that your boring was not quite
directed towards the centre, and you could then lay down rails and
tunnel as if you were on the level.”
Then for the first time it flashed into Robert McIntyre's head that his
father's chance words were correct, and that he was in the presence of
a madman. His great wealth had clearly turned his brain, and made him a
monomaniac. He nodded indulgently, as when one humours a child.
“It would be very nice,” he said. “I have heard, however, that the
interior of the earth is molten, and your workmen would need to be
Salamanders.”
“The latest scientific data do not bear out the idea that the earth
is so hot,” answered Raffles Haw. “It is certain that the increased
temperature in coal mines depends upon the barometric pressure. There
are gases in the earth which may be ignited, and there are combustible
materials as we see in the volcanoes; but if we came across anything of
the sort in our borings, we could turn a river or two down the shaft,
and get the better of it in that fashion.”
“It would be rather awkward if the other end of your shaft came out
under the Pacific Ocean,” said Robert, choking down his inclination to
laugh.
“I have had estimates and calculations from the first living
engineers--French, English, and American. The point of exit of the
tunnel could be calculated to the yard. That portfolio in the corner is
full of sections, plans, and diagrams. I have agents employed in buying
up land, and if all goes well, we may get to work in the autumn. That is
one device which may produce results. Another is canal-cutting.”
“Ah, there you would compete with the railways.”
“You don't quite understand. I intend to cut canals through every neck
of land where such a convenience would facilitate commerce. Such a
scheme, when unaccompanied by any toll upon vessels, would, I think, be
a very judicious way of helping the human race.”
“And where, pray, would you cut the canals?” asked Robert.
“I have a map of the world here,” Haw answered, rising, and taking one
down from the paper-rack. “You see the blue pencil marks. Those are the
points where I propose to establish communication. Of course, I should
begin by the obvious duty of finishing the Panama business.”
“Naturally.” The man's lunacy was becoming more and more obvious, and
yet there was such precision and coolness in his manner, that Robert
found himself against his own reason endorsing and speculating over his
plans.
“The Isthmus of Corinth also occurs to one. That, however, is a small
matter, from either a financial or an engineering point of view. I
propose, however, to make a junction here, through Kiel between the
German Ocean and the Baltic. It saves, you will observe, the whole
journey round the coast of Denmark, and would facilitate our trade with
Germany and Russia. Another very obvious improvement is to join the
Forth and the Clyde, so as to connect Leith with the Irish and American
routes. You see the blue line?”
“Quite so.”
“And we will have a little cutting here. It will run from Uleaborg to
Kem, and will connect the White Sea with the Gulf of Bothnia. We must
not allow our sympathies to be insular, must we? Our little charities
should be cosmopolitan. We will try and give the good people of
Archangel a better outlet for their furs and their tallow.”
“But it will freeze.”
“For six months in the year. Still, it will be something. Then we must
do something for the East. It would never do to overlook the East.”
“It would certainly be an oversight,” said Robert, who was keenly alive
to the comical side of the question. Raffles Haw, however, in deadly
earnest, sat scratching away at his map with his blue pencil.
“Here is a point where we might be of some little use. If we cut through
from Batoum to the Kura River we might tap the trade of the Caspian, and
open up communication with all the rivers which run into it. You notice
that they include a considerable tract of country. Then, again, I think
that we might venture upon a little cutting between Beirut, on the
Mediterranean, and the upper waters of the Euphrates, which would lead
us into the Persian Gulf. Those are one or two of the more obvious
canals which might knit the human race into a closer whole.”
“Your plans are certainly stupendous,” said Robert, uncertain whether to
laugh or to be awe-struck. “You will cease to be a man, and become one
of the great forces of Nature, altering, moulding, and improving.”
“That is precisely the view which I take of myself. That is why I feel
my responsibility so acutely.”
“But surely if you will do all this you may rest. It is a considerable
programme.”
“Not at all. I am a patriotic Briton, and I should like to do something
to leave my name in the annals of my country. I should prefer, however,
to do it after my own death, as anything in the shape of publicity and
honour is very offensive to me. I have, therefore, put by eight hundred
million in a place which shall be duly mentioned in my will, which I
propose to devote to paying off the National Debt. I cannot see that any
harm could arise from its extinction.”
Robert sat staring, struck dumb by the audacity of the strange man's
words.
“Then there is the heating of the soil. There is room for improvement
there. You have no doubt read of the immense yields which have resulted
in Jersey and elsewhere, from the running of hot-water pipes through the
soil. The crops are trebled and quadrupled. I would propose to try the
experiment upon a larger scale. We might possibly reserve the Isle of
Man to serve as a pumping and heating station. The main pipes would run
to England, Ireland, and Scotland, where they would subdivide rapidly
until they formed a network two feet deep under the whole country. A
pipe at distances of a yard would suffice for every purpose.”
“I am afraid,” suggested Robert, “that the water which left the Isle of
Man warm might lose a little of its virtue before it reached Caithness,
for example.”
“There need not be any difficulty there. Every few miles a furnace might
be arranged to keep up the temperature. These are a few of my plans for
the future, Robert, and I shall want the co-operation of disinterested
men like yourself in all of them. But how brightly the sun shines, and
how sweet the countryside looks! The world is very beautiful, and
I should like to leave it happier than I found it. Let us walk out
together, Robert, and you will tell me of any fresh cases where I may be
of assistance.”