The Pushful Man
A day or two afterwards, while spending an hour in the rooms of the
Egyptology Society I was introduced to a new Fellow, who had been
appointed during my absence from England. His name was Louis Coen. He
was in private life a broker, but his heart and soul were wrapped in
the Cause. He evidently spelt it with a capital, in sympathy, perhaps,
with the vast sums in cash he had already put at the disposal of the
Society for exploration work. He was intensely entertaining. He took me
aside and confided that it was his ambition to transform the Society
into a sort of club. We needed a liquor license and more commodious
premises, it seemed. Then we would _boom_. He offered to provide all
the money requisite and he begged me to use my influence with other
members to get his views adopted. He was one of those men whose
mission in life is to "run" every concern into which they can manage
to insinuate themselves. I was afraid I disappointed him, although I
did my best to be polite. But he was nothing daunted. He declared he
would galvanise the "old fogies" into fresh activity and make us see
things from his point of view or die in the attempt. We might be as
serious as we pleased, but he would force us to be sociable. He had a
nose like a parrot, and was already on the committee of management. He
even proposed to change our name. The Royal Egyptian Club seemed to
him a "real smart monniker." He saved me from an impending mental and
physical collapse by mentioning the name of Sir Robert Ottley. Ottley,
it appeared, was his latest convert. Ottley agreed with him that we
wanted new blood, that our methods were too conservative. Ottley
thought it was ridiculous that everything a member did or discovered
should have to be reported to, and judged about, by a lot of old
fossils. What right had those old "stick-at-homes" to appropriate the
credit of the exertions of the energetic? "Would you believe it," cried
Mr. Coen, "they have had the impudence to demand from him an account
of his recent find--the tomb of an old johnny named Ptahmes--which he
unearthed at his own expense entirely! They have had the 'hide' to
insist that he shall immediately hand over the mummy to the British
Museum and place the papyri before them--them--them--for the purpose of
translation, et-cetera! I never heard a more cheeky proposition in my
life. My friend Ottley would act rightly if he told them to go to the
deuce!"
"What has he told them?" I inquired.
"Oh, he is temporising. He has written to say that he will place his
discoveries at their disposal when he has satisfied himself of their
authenticity, et-cetera. Of course that's all '_gyver_.' The mummy is
genuine enough, so are the papyri. But he naturally wants to have first
'go' at them, and he is fighting for time. Meanwhile, I am organising
the progressives. We can never hope to get this show properly on the
move till we shake things up and reform on sound commercial lines. I
tell you, sir, before I've done with it, I'll make this Society a power
in the land. I'm going to take it up in both hands and chuck it right
in the eyes of the B. P., that means the British Public. And you take
it from me, it's going to stay there. Good-day to you. I'm glad to have
met you. You are a bit antiquated in your notions; but you're a young
man yet, and you'll find you'll have to join my crowd. S'long!"
He shook my hand very energetically and bustled off. I sank into a
chair and began to fan myself. A moment later the president, Lord
Ballantine, entered the room. The poor old gentleman was purple in the
face, spluttering: "Has-has-has that man Coen been can-can-canvassing
you?" he thundered.
I nodded.
"I-I-I'll resign--by God!" cried Lord Ballantine. "It-it-it's too much.
I-I-I," he stopped----gasping for a word, the picture of impotent rage
and misery.
But I felt no sympathy for him. "Why did you let him in?" I asked.
"We-we-we were short of funds."
"And now?"
"He's bought us, or thinks he has, body and soul."
"Who nominated him?"
"Ottley."
I was not surprised to hear it. "He--he's Ottley's broker. Ottley
and he are running the market-change--together. Have you heard. They
have cornered South Africans. They made half a million between them
yesterday. All London is talking about it. And they want to turn us
into a beer garden."
"You'll have to turn them out."
"How can we? We owe them, Lord knows how much."
"Then if you cannot," I said calmly, rising as I spoke, "you'll have to
grin and bear the infliction you have brought upon yourselves. After
all, it's a question of voting."
"You'll stand by us, Pinsent?" he implored.
"My resignation is at any time at your disposal, Ballantine. All the
same, I don't pity you a scrap. You are getting little more than you
deserve. I have been working for three years for the Society without
remuneration, and I am a poor man. Many of your older members are as
rich as Croesus, and yet you must needs import a vulgar semitic broker
to help you out of a hole. Good-afternoon."
I left the poor old fellow helpless and speechless, staring after me
with anguished eyes and mouth agape. That evening I received a letter
from Louis Coen offering to finance my book on the Nile Monuments. He
said he felt sure it would prove a work of rare educational value,
and on that account he was willing to furnish every library in the
English-speaking world with a free copy. Aware, however, that I was
not a business man, he would conduct all the business arrangements
himself. On receipt of the manuscript, therefore, he would forward
me a cheque for £1000 as an instalment in advance of my share of the
profits--fifteen per cent. he proposed to allow me--and he wound up as
follows: "Your acceptance of my offer will commit you to nothing as
regards our chat of this morning. My good friend, Sir Robert Ottley,
put me up to this venture. He has the brightest opinion of your ability
and he is sure your book will prove a success. I am going blind on his
say so. Let me have an answer right away."
I thought a good deal over this precious epistle, but in the end I
did not see why I should not make a little money. I knew very well
that under ordinary circumstances it would be impossible for me to
make £100, let alone a thousand, out of the Nile Monuments. But I felt
little doubt that Mr. Coen had a plan to make even more--somehow or
other. But I had done the man injustice--it was not money he was after.
Reading the _Times_ two mornings later I came upon the following
announcement:
"A PATRON OF LEARNING"
"We are informed that Mr. Louis Coen, F. R. E. S., has induced
the well-known Egyptologist, Dr. Hugh Pinsent, to commit the
results of his recent archæological researches on the Nile to the
enduring care of the printer's ink. Mr. Coen has purchased the
rights in advance for a large sum of the projected volume, which
it is said will take the form of an exhaustive treatise on the
Nile Monuments. It is not, however, Mr. Coen's object to direct
his enterprise to his own financial benefit. It is his intention
to produce a splendidly illustrated edition of the book for
presentation to educational establishments all over the United
Kingdom in the hope of thus fixing public attention upon the
enormous historical importance of the work now being carried on
by the Royal Egyptologist Society, of which Society Mr. Coen is a
member, and a generous supporter. Mr. Coen is to be congratulated
upon his latest effort in the interest of popular education.
It will be remembered that last year he endowed a chair in the
University of Newcome for study of the ancient Egyptian tongue;
but it may be confidently expected that his exploitation of Dr.
Pinsent's history will go much further in popularising a subject
which is now practically confined to the ranks of leisured
scholars."
It was not pleasant to think that I had been idiot enough to allow Mr.
Coen to use me as a stepping-stone to notoriety. But it was too late
to object. The thing was done. My consolation was a bigger banking
account than I had had for years. Not even the fact that during the day
I received a score of sarcastic congratulatory telegrams from members
of the Society, could rob me of that satisfaction. But I sent in my
resignation all the same. I felt that I had no right to belong to any
institution run by Mr. Coen. I might meet him there--and if I did, a
police court case of assault and battery would infallibly result.