Cherish ... oh, dear me!”
About dawn, thoroughly exhausted with her vigil, Mrs. Pinwell fell into
a fitful sleep, sitting up in her chair. She only slept for a few
minutes, and then awakened with a start. The short end of candle was
spluttering in its socket, and its light was contending with the cold
blue glimmer of the early day. She shivered, her frame racked by
physical fatigue, and her mind benumbed by the incredible stillness of
the little room.
* * * * *
“Consequently, ladies and gentlemen, after placing £17,500 in the
reserve fund, for the reasons which I have indicated to you, I feel
justified in recommending a dividend of 12½ per cent. on the ordinary
shares.”
The big man with the square chin dabbed his forehead with his
handkerchief and took a sip of water as he resumed his seat. A faint
murmur of approval and applause ran round the room; papers rustled, and
people spoke in low, breathless voices. Twelve and a half per cent.! It
was a good dividend, a very good dividend! A hundred different brains
visualized rapidly what it meant to them personally. To some it meant a
few extra luxuries, to others comforts, and to some a distinct social
advance. If Dollbones could only keep this up!
Sir Arthur Schelling was seconding the adoption of this report, but it
was a mere formality. No one took any interest in the white-haired
financier, except to nudge each other and say, “That’s Schelling. They
say he’s worth half a million.” It was a curiously placid meeting, there
was no criticism, and every one seemed on the best of terms. It broke
up, and the share-holders dispersed into little knots, or scattered to
spread the good news that Dollbones were paying twelve and a half per
cent.
Sir Arthur took the chairman’s hand and murmured:
“I must congratulate you, Hylam. An excellent report!”
The large man almost blushed with pleasure, and said:
“It’s very kind of you, Sir Arthur. Are you lunching in town?”
“I was going to suggest that you lunch with me at the Carlton. I have my
car here.”
“Oh! thank you very much. I shall be delighted.”
Mr. Hylam turned and gave a few instructions to his lawyer and his
private secretary, and handed various papers to each; then he followed
his host out of the Cannon Street Hotel.
They got into the great car, and each man lighted a well-merited cigar.
As they drove through the city, Sir Arthur discussed a few details of
the balance-sheet, and then added:
“I really think you have shown a remarkable genius of organization in
conducting this business, Hylam. It is a business which I should imagine
requires considerable technical knowledge and great--er--tact.”
Mr. Hylam laughed deprecatingly and muttered:
“Oh, we have our little difficulties!” He puffed at his cigar and looked
out of the window.
“So many--er--varieties of employees, I should imagine?” said Sir
Arthur.
“Yes, you’re right, sir. There are varieties. I’ve had a lot of
difficulty with the travelers this year.” He gave a vicious puff at his
cigar and stamped on the ash on the floor, and suddenly exclaimed:
“Drunken swine!”
Sir Arthur readjusted his gold-rimmed pince-nez and looked at his
friend.
“Is that so indeed?”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Hylam. “I don’t know how it is. They nearly all
drink. In one district alone, I’ve had two travelers practically drink
themselves to death, one after the other.”
“I’m very distressed to hear that,” said Sir Arthur; “very distressed.
It’s a very great social evil. My wife, as you may know, is on a board
of directorship of the Blue Riband Evangelists. They do a lot of good
work. They have a branch in Camling Town. They have pleasant evenings,
you know--cocoa and bagatelle, and so on; and lectures on Sunday. But, I
don’t know, it doesn’t seem to eradicate the evil.”
“No; I’m afraid it’s in the blood with many of them,” said the managing
director.
“Yes, that’s very true. I often tell my wife I’m afraid she wastes her
time. It seems inexplicable. I can’t see why they should do it. What
satisfaction can it be to--er--drink to excess? And then it must hamper
them so in the prosecution of their work. It seems in a way
so--ungrateful, to the people who employ them, I mean. Ah! here we are
at the Carlton! Champneys, come back for me at--er--three-thirty. Yes,
it’s a great social evil, a very great social evil indeed!”
THE END