THE mere accumulating of money does not call for a high, order of
intelligence. A stealthy craft is more valuable in that business than
the intellect of a Shakespeare. The low cunning of a fox is often
successful where the brave strength of a lion fails. Of course there are
estimable men who accumulate a fortune through manufactory, discovery,
or invention: men who are benefactors to their fellow creatures, and to
whom money comes through the fruition of their endeavors to enrich
the world rather than themselves. But a Stock Exchange speculator like
Schwartzbrod, equipped with the sneaking slyness of an avaricious but
ignorant peasant, becomes a mere predatory beast, producing nothing;
fattening on the woes and losses of others; stealthy and cruel as the
man-eating tiger. It is probable that as civilization advances such a
vampire will be secluded from his fellows as the leper is in Eastern
lands.
Since his first disastrous encounter with Lord Stranleigh, Schwartzbrod
had been animated by a vicious hatred of this seemingly happy-go-lucky
young man, whose attention appeared to be concentrated mainly on dress,
but as they met again and again, this rancor became tinctured with a
slowly rising fear, not of the urbane nobleman’s intellect, but of his
amazing good luck, for nothing could have persuaded Schwartzbrod that
Stranleigh possessed intellect of any kind. He regarded this junior
financier merely as a polite but brainless fop. To one as rich as
Schwartzbrod, the writing of a check to fulfill his promises to Captain
Simmons and Frowningshield should have been scarcely more important than
the tossing of a penny to a beggar by an ordinary man. But
Schwartzbrod brooded over it, grit his teeth, and swore vengeance. Now,
vindictiveness is a quality which does not pay. In our modern strenuous
life the man who wastes thought on revenge runs a risk of falling behind
in the procession, but in a time of crisis such deflection of thought
upon trivialities, when all senses should be on the alert to prepare for
the coming storm, may be fatal. Schwartzbrod was like a man in an open
boat on the sea, with too much canvas spread, who, instead of casting
his weather eye around the horizon, and shortening sail, was fuming
because some one had spilled a cupful of water at the bottom of the
boat, pondering over the method of mopping it up, and flinging the
soaked rag in the face of him who had upset the cup. A financial typhoon
was approaching which would unroof many a house in England and America
before it had run its course. Shrewd navigators on the treacherous
waters of finance were preparing to scud under bare poles until the
clouds rolled by.
It may be admitted at once that Lord Stranleigh no more suspected
what was coming than did Schwartzbrod himself, for, as his lordship
frequently confessed, he did not understand these things. He had,
without browbeating or recrimination, eliminated all chance of
Schwartzbrod’s further interference with his mine. Schwartzbrod knew
that Lord Stranleigh was possessed of every fact in the case, and these
facts, if brought forward in a court of law, might very well sequester
the city financier in a prison for the rest of his life, and Stranleigh,
quite correctly, counted on this fear restraining Schwartzbrod’s hand.
The big steamer _Wychwood_ passed unmolested from southern to northern
seas and back again, and Mackeller’s industrious smelters had tumbled
down into the safe deposit some two thousand tons of solid gold.
It was when city men began to return from their summer holidays that a
slight whisper floated round the halls of Mammon which sent a shiver up
and down the backs of shrewd people here and there. The whisper was to
the effect that the Bank of England was in trouble. On three separate
occasions within as many weeks, the bank rate had been raised, and now
stood at so high a figure that it threatened to check enterprise and
speculation during the approaching autumn, when everyone had hoped
business would mend in the city. Cautious bankers began calling in their
loans, which is a bank’s method of shortening sail. Ambitious projects
were being abandoned here and there through fear of shortness of money.
Companies whose promoters looked forward to a successful flotation
before Christmas, were held over. Affairs in the city were stagnant,
and weather-wise people feared worse was to come. About the beginning
of October a sinister rumor went abroad, founded on a highly sensational
article in a New York yellow journal. This rumor, on account of its
origin, was discredited at first, but presently the world came to learn
that there was too good a foundation for it. The New York paper said
that as soon as the financial amateurs of the British Parliament had
placed on the statute books an Act commanding the Bank of England by the
first of January to maintain its gold reserve at a hundred million of
pounds, a powerful syndicate of financial experts had been formed in
Wall Street for the cornering of gold. Wheat had often been cornered, to
the great benefit of some one individual either in New York or Chicago,
and to the universal loss of a hungry world, but no one had hitherto
attempted to corner gold. Wheat could not be produced at will. Once
the sowing was done, the mathematicians could estimate very accurately,
given a full crop, the maximum number of bushels of wheat likely to be
placed on the market the coming autumn, and to this amount no man could
add, because the production of wheat depended on the slow revolution of
the seasons. With gold it was different: gold could be produced summer
and winter, night and day, therefore no individual, be he as rich as
Midas, and no syndicate, however powerful, had heretofore dared to
attempt the cornering of gold. Wheat was consumed year by year, but
gold was practically everlasting, preserved in the shape of ornaments,
bullion, plate, and what not. Old coinage, minted centuries before the
birth of Christ, was still in existence, and although a few grains of
wheat grown in the time of the Pharaohs rested in the palms of certain
mummies, the great bulk of year before last’s wheat was already ground
and baked and eaten. It would seem, then, that the boldest financial
coup ever attempted had been successfully accomplished by the men of
Wall Street. This, however, the New York paper pointed out, was not the
case. Tremendous as might be the consequences of the corner, there
was, after all, little risk to the operators. Gold, unlike wheat, was
a staple commodity. Wheat rose and fell in price. Gold practically did
not. These men had paid no exorbitant rates for gold, but merely kept
silent, and through the help of their agents all over the world, they
either secured actual possession of the available metal, or had obtained
an option on it, which did not expire until June, while the Bank of
England was compelled by the new law to acquire possession of at least
a hundred million pounds sterling of gold on January the first. Even if
the corner failed, this would entail no loss to the monopolists,
because they possessed the actual metal for which everything is sold.
No sensational fall in the price of gold could take place, as would have
been inevitable in the case of wheat should the corner fail, while as
a result of the hold-up, if the bank was forced to come to their terms,
the profit to be divided would be enormous. It was also stated that the
Wall Street men had secured bank notes and orders for gold upon the Bank
of England which they would present at a critical moment, demanding
the metal, thus facing this venerable institution with the drastic
alternative of accepting their terms, or suspending payment. The _Times_
in a leading article, intended to soothe the public mind, attempted to
show that the proposed cornering of gold was impossible; that millions
upon millions of hoarded gold would be brought out at the proper
moment if enough were offered for it; that these millions were in the
possession of people of whom Wall Street knew nothing and had no means
of getting into touch with.
This article had some effect in staying the panic, or at least in
postponing it. Those responsible for the management of the Bank of
England kept silent, as is their usual course, and for a week it seemed,
so great was the confidence of Englishmen in their most important
financial institution, that nothing disastrous was about to happen. Then
stocks of all kinds began to come down with a run. One important house
failed, then another, and another, and another, and shrewd men realized
that both England and America were face to face with the greatest
financial disaster of modern times. It seemed that the punishment fitted
the crime, because of the fact that in America, which originated the
crisis, the panic was much more severe than in England, and throughout
all the United States, especially in the West, there was a simultaneous
denunciation of Wall Street, to which Wall Street, accustomed to popular
ebullition, paid little attention.
In England meetings were held calling on the Government to rescind their
bill, and give the bank more time, but, as was pointed out, the bank had
not asked for time, and although the governor and directors were known
to have been bitterly opposed to the bill, the Government could scarcely
with dignity offer relief where relief had not been sought.
Lord Stranleigh sat at ease in one of the comfortable leather-covered
armchairs which helped to mitigate the austerities of life in the
smoking room of the Camperdown Club. His attitude was one of meditation.
The right leg was thrown over the left; his finger tips met together,
and those rather fine, honest eyes of his were staring through the thin
film of smoke, and apparently seeing nothing. One of the men who
had successfully borrowed money from him the day before, and whose
salutation Lord Stranleigh ignored, not on account of the borrowed
money, but simply because he had not seen the borrower, remarked to some
friends that Stranleigh thought he was thinking, which caused a laugh,
as these people did not know that the same remark had been made many
years before, and were also under the delusion that Stranleigh was
incapable of thought.
The Camperdown Club, as everyone knows, is more celebrated as a center
of sport than as a resort of business men, yet it has two or three of
the latter on its very select list of members. One of these entered,
paused at the door, and looked about him for a moment as if wishing to
find a chair alone, or searching for some friend whom he expected
to meet. This was Alexander Corbitt, manager of Selwyn’s Bank, a
smooth-faced, harsh-featured man, under whose direction this bank,
although a private institution, stood almost as high in public
estimation as the Bank of England itself. As Corbitt stood there, the
dreamy nature of Lord Stranleigh’s gaze changed into something almost
approaching alertness.
“Corbitt,” he said, “here’s a chair waiting for you.”
The banker, without hesitation, strode forward, and sat down. There
was a certain definite directness about each movement of his body which
contrasted strikingly with the indifferent, indolent air assumed by most
of the members; a decisive man of iron nerve, even one who knew little
of him might have summed him up.
“What will you imbibe?” asked Stranleigh.
“Nothing, thank you. I just dropped in at the club for a bite of dinner,
and having a few moments to spare, will now indulge in one cigar; then I
must return to the bank.”
“What, at this hour of the evening? I thought banks closed at four
o’clock, or is it three?”
“I expect to be there all night,” said Corbitt, shortly, as he held a
match to his cigar.
“I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Ask them.”
“You know I am as ignorant as a child of all matters pertaining to
finance, high and low?”
“Yes, I know that.”
“What’s all this fuss about, Corbitt?”
“What fuss?”
“Why, the accounts I read in the evening papers, and the morning papers,
too, for that matter. They say there’s a panic in the city. Is there?”
The banker laughed a little; a low, harsh, mirthless laugh.
“Yes, there’s a panic,” he said. “You are not nipped in it, I hope. I
was told you were dabbling in the city a while ago. Is that true?”
“Oh, merely a small flutter, Corbitt, on behalf of some friends of
mine.”
“Have you been speculating lately?”
“Oh, no. I possess neither the brains nor knowledge requisite for
success in the city.”
“Brains and knowledge are at a discount just now. What is needed is
cash. The biggest fool with ready cash can do more at this moment than
the wisest man with a world of knowledge.”
“Then I’d better jump into the turmoil,” said Stranleigh, smiling.
“Take my advice, and keep out of it. There are rocks ahead. I see by
to-night’s papers that Conrad Schwartzbrod has gone under, and has
carried down with him six or seven men who are considered the most
acute financiers in the city. In ordinary times their standing might be
supposed unimpeachable.”
“Schwartzbrod bankrupt! Then it must be a fraudulent bankruptcy,
surely?”
“No, it isn’t. Everything has been swept away. He’s had no time to
hedge, or you may depend upon it he would have done so.”
“Corbitt, what’s the cause of the whole thing? Can’t a man of your
powerful intellect make it plain as A B C to an infant of my caliber?”
“The cause is simple enough. It is the attempt to do the right thing
in the wrong way. The cause is the Bank of England’s Gold Reserve Act,
passed last May, and coming into force on the first of January next
year. This Act makes it obligatory on the Bank of England to hold a
reserve of a hundred millions in gold, where formerly it has only held,
say, thirty millions. Do you understand so far?”
“Yes, Corbitt, I do. In fact, I remember last May picking up by wireless
telegraphy part of the speech of the Chancellor of the Exchequer on this
very bill, but I didn’t understand it then, and don’t now.”
“Very well, the object which the Act sought to attain is one I have
advocated for ten years past, but the way of accomplishing it is another
instance of the conceited folly of a democracy meddling in a science
that demands years of training and minds of a certain caliber. A
democracy thinks that the right way to do a thing is the method
adopted in bringing down the walls of Jericho. They beat drums and blow
trumpets, and march round and round. Now, the exasperating feature of
this case is that the Chancellor of the Exchequer knew at the time the
folly of his own action, although, of course, he did not perceive the
tremendous disaster it was going to bring upon not only his own country,
but practically all the solvent nations of the world. He should have
withstood the pressure of his unreasonable and ignorant followers.
He should have arranged an interview with the managers of the Bank of
England; should have told them that a bill of this kind was inevitable
if they did not themselves put their house in order. He should have
arranged with them quietly, without any beating of tom-toms, and blowing
of horns, for the bank slowly to accumulate the needed reserve. Then he
should have got up in his place in Parliament, and announced that the
Bank of England already held the amount in gold which all thoughtful
financiers believed to be necessary if we are to get rid of this
eternally fluctuating bank rate.
“Of course, the Bank of England itself is also to blame; it being
for all practical purposes a branch of the Government. It should have
requested an interview, and come to some understanding before the bill
passed into law. I expected that the lords would throw it out, and
perhaps they thought the same. However, it passed both houses, received
royal assent, and then the mischief was done. These very clever Wall
Street men at once saw the possibilities of the situation, as they do
with all amateur legislation. The bank remained silent and solemn; has
given no word to this day, and then, at too late an hour, showed its
distress by raising its bank rate again and again and again, hoping that
would prove a magnet to attract gold, whereas it was merely hoisting a
signal of distress, and acquainting the whole world with the fact it is
drifting on a lee shore.”
“Do you mean to say, Corbitt, that there’s a chance of the Bank of
England stopping payment?”
“No, I do not go so far as that. Here we come to the comic element of
the tragedy, which shows the loose folly with which these Parliamentary
bills are drawn. There is no penalty attached to the Act; it merely
orders the bank to provide such a reserve by such a date. But if the
bank doesn’t do it, there can be neither a fine inflicted, nor can the
governor be put into prison for contumely. If I were governor of the
Bank of England, I would snap my fingers at Parliament, at the Act,
and at the gold-cornering syndicate. I should say that as soon as was
convenient to me I would accumulate this reserve of a hundred million,
but that such action was impossible in the time given, therefore I
should make no attempt to comply with the Act at the present moment.”
“What would be the result of such a statement on the part of the
governor?”
“I don’t know. It would probably have a quieting result; or it might
further accentuate the panic. Of course, when the governor began to
perceive that it was going to be difficult to get the gold, he should
have approached Parliament while it was in session, and got a relief
bill, postponing the date, say for another year, but, as I have, said,
he stood on his dignity; the Government stands on _its_ dignity, and
between the two of them they bring unnecessary ruin and disaster upon
the country.”
“Isn’t it possible the bank will get the seventy extra millions by the
first of January?”
“I see no possibility of it, unless they are prepared to pay two hundred
millions for the accommodation to the Wall Street syndicate.”
“Has the Wall Street syndicate got the gold? That is, the actual coin?”
“Yes, and showing its confidence, the money is actually in vaults here
in London, so the syndicate seems to have no fear that our Government
will commandeer the gold as Kruger did before the Transvaal War began. I
understand that the syndicate has notified the Bank of England that the
price of this metal will rise two hundred thousand pounds each day until
the bank accepts their proposals.”
“Corbitt, must the gold held in reserve by the Bank of England be in
actual sovereigns, or raw metal?”
“Either one or the other.”
“Suppose on the first of January the governor of the Bank of England
were to announce that there are a hundred million pounds worth of gold
in his vaults. What would be the effect on the country?”
“Stranleigh, there’s more in that question than perhaps you think. I
have never been just absolutely certain that you are as ignorant as you
pretend. Most men in the city would tell you that such an announcement
might instantly relieve the crisis, but if nothing were said until the
first of January, and the announcement made then, I am not sure but it
would be almost as disastrous as the former panic. It would be like
the sudden releasing of a powerful and compressed spring, and anything
sudden and powerful is apt to disarrange machinery. I think the
inevitable result would be the instant soaring of stocks to much beyond
their actual value. That, then, would bring ruin to many of those that
had been spared by the fall of stocks. We should have a very disturbed
market until things subsided to their proper level. And now you will
have to excuse me, Stranleigh. I must be off.”
The banker threw away the stub of his cigar, and marched out. Lord
Stranleigh went over to one of the tables, and wrote several letters.
Among them was a request for an interview at an early date sent to the
governor of the Bank of England. Another was an order forwarded to Peter
Mackeller in Cornwall. A third requested the honor of a meeting with
Mr. Conrad Schwartzbrod. Then Stranleigh took the calendar of the dying
year, and slowly counted the number of days remaining to its credit.
“I think there will be time enough,” he said to himself, as he completed
the count.
Four days after the lesson he had received on the crisis Lord Stranleigh
kept the first appointment he had made by meeting Schwartzbrod in the
little business office of the town house. The young man was shocked
at the appearance of the aged financier, and, much as he disliked him,
could not but feel sorry for him. He seemed almost ten years older than
when last they met. His face was haggard, drawn, pinched; his shoulders
stooping under the increased burden which misfortune had laid upon
them. The only unchanged feature was his eyes, and from them gleamed the
baleful light of unconquerable hate.
“I received your letter from the club,” Schwartzbrod began. “I have
come, you see, I have come. I am not afraid to meet you; you smooth,
brainless sneak, you can do me no further harm. You have done your
worst, and if you have called me here to triumph over me, I give you
that pleasure, and freely acknowledge that you are the cause of all my
misfortunes.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Schwartzbrod, but you are quite mistaken in what
you say. The cause of your misfortune goes farther back than any action
of mine. The beginning was on the day when you resolved to crush the
Mackellers. They had helped you, father and son. They were innocent men,
and honest. Each in his own way had assisted you to the possibility of
almost unlimited wealth. That did not satisfy you. You determined to
take from them their just compensation, and to fling them, paupers, into
the gutter. It happened through one of those freaks of fate which
keeps alive our faith in eternal justice, that the day you came to this
resolve you were a doomed man.”
“That’s what you called me here to tell me, is it, you human poodle dog,
you contemptible puppy, rich through the thefts of your ancestors.”
“Your language, Mr. Schwartzbrod, seems to have become tinged with the
intemperance of the panic. I did not intend to refer to the past at all.
You set the subject of our conversation the moment you entered the room,
and I merely followed your lead, and strove to remove a misapprehension
from your mind as to the original causes of things. No, my invitation to
this house had quite another object. I shall not strain your credulity
by asking you to believe that when I heard four days ago you were
bankrupt, a feeling of slight regret was uppermost in my mind. I don’t
like to see people suffer.”
The old man laughed, like the grating of a file on a saw.
“Of course I don’t ask you to believe that, and should be sorry to put
such a strain on whatever belief in human nature you may possess, so
don’t trouble any further about my statements, which you doubtless
regard as absurd. Have you got any money left?”
“Not a stiver.”
“How about your six colleagues; are they cleaned out?”
“Even if they had money, they would not intrust a penny of it to me. You
talk about my belief in human nature. Well, the faith in human nature
in me is gone. I have done my best for them, and lost every point in the
game, together with their money and my own.”
“Very well, Mr. Schwartzbrod, we must rehabilitate you. I possess what I
think is the finest red automobile in London, and my chauffeur would add
dignity to the equipage of an emperor. I will lend you chauffeur and car
for the day, and if you drive through the streets round the bank for a
few hours, those who turn up their noses at you will be lifting their
hats instead.”
“I suppose you think that’s funny, Lord Stranleigh. You wish to exhibit
me in your motor car after the fashion of the Romans parading their
captives in their chariots when defeated. I don’t know why I came here,
but I warn you I did not come to be insulted.”
“Of course not. It is incredible you should imagine it possible for me
to insult a man in my own house. Now listen to me. My banker has asked
as a favor that I should not draw any checks upon him until this flurry
is over. Of course, if I did draw a check, he would honor it, but I have
given him my promise. Under the back seat of this automobile I have hid
away eight bars of gold, each weighing a hundred pounds or thereabout,
and valued probably at five thousand pounds sterling. That means forty
thousand pounds in exactly the commodity all London is howling for
at the present moment. I don’t know precisely what the position of a
bankrupt is, and it may be possible that your creditors can take away
those bars of gold if they knew you possessed them, therefore trade
in my name if you like; act as my agent. Go in this automobile to your
bank, and get the porters to carry the bullion inside. There they will
weigh it, and estimate its value, giving you the credit for the amount.
Now, pay strict attention to me. Buy the value of those bars in stocks
which you know possess some intrinsic worth, but are now far beneath
their proper level. Hold those stocks until the first of January, when
you will see begin the greatest boom that London has ever known. I
advise you to sell as soon after New Year’s day as possible, because
stocks are likely to shoot up to a higher point than they may be able
later to maintain. This gold comes from a mine which was once in your
possession, and my immature puppy mind is so absurdly constructed that I
have felt uneasily in your debt for a long time, and now am glad of the
opportunity to allow you a share in the prosperity of the mine, if you
will be obliging enough to accept it.”
The truculence of the ruined financier immediately fell from him at the
mention of gold, and in its place came the old cringing manner, with a
flattering endeavor to mitigate the harshness of his former remarks, a
change of manner that made the young man shrink a little farther from
him, and hurriedly end the interview.
“That’s all right, Mr. Schwartzbrod. Words break no bones, unless they
cause the recipient to fling the dealer in them down a steep stairway.
The automobile is waiting for you at the door. The chauffeur thinks the
metal under the seat is copper. Your banker will tell you it is gold, so
keep an eye on it till it is safely in his possession. There, there, do
not thank me, I beg of you. I assure you I am not seeking for gratitude,
but I am a little short of time to-day. In half an hour I am to meet the
governor of the Bank of England, so I must bid you farewell.”
“Will you not come with me, then, in your own automobile, my lord?”
“Thank you, no. I think it best that you should be seen alone in the
automobile if there have been rumors regarding your position down in the
city. If anyone asks you what the machine cost, you can tell them its
price is a net two thousand pounds. You will journey in that, and I
shall take the twopenny tube, being a democratic sort of person. Good
morning, Mr. Schwartz-brod, good morning.”
So Lord Stranleigh went down the huge lift at the twopenny tube, and in
due time emerged to daylight at the Bank of England. He arrived in the
anteroom a few minutes before the time of his appointment, and exactly
at the arranged moment was called for, and ushered into the presence,
for punctuality is the politeness of kings, and--governors of the Bank
of England.
The stern, almost commanding attitude of this monarch of finance
abashed the young man, and made him feel the useless worm of the dust
Schwartzbrod had indicated he was. Stranleigh, who was always more
scrupulously polite to a beggar than was his custom with the king,
resented the sensation of inferiority which came upon him when
confronted with the forbidding ruler of the bank. He said to himself:
“Good Heavens, is it possible that if I meet a man who is big enough, I
shall actually cringe in my soul as Schwartzbrod does with his body?”
Nevertheless, that slight hesitation in speech which was apt to
incommode him at critical moments overpowered him now, and his dislike
of any attempt to win the respect of the iron man before him sent him
in the other direction, and he knew that for the next ten minutes he was
going to be regarded as the most hopeless fool in London. Yet he did
not consider himself a fool, and his latent sense of humor prevented him
from making any attempt at endowing his conversation with that wisdom
which seemed so suitable to this somber room.
When the governor’s secretary had presented Lord Stranleigh’s letter to
him, the head of the bank had peremptorily refused to waste time with
a member of the aristocracy of whom he knew nothing, but the secretary,
whose business it was to know everything, dropped one word in a short
phrase that arrested the governor’s attention.
“It’s the _rich_ Lord Stranleigh, sir.”
The word “rich” was the straw at which the drowning man clutched. So
here was Stranleigh, the living contradiction of that phrase “The last
of the Dandies.” Here was the embodiment of the spirit of Piccadilly and
Bond Street confronted with the rugged, carelessly dressed dictator of
Threadneedle Street, a frown on the beetling brow of one man, an inane,
silly smile on the lips of the other. At the sight of this smile the
governor saw at once that his first thought had been right. He should
not have wasted a moment on this nonentity, yet he had before him the
herculean task of providing the institute over which he presided with
seventy millions of pounds worth of gold within five days, or stand
discredited before the world. Despair was strangling expiring hope as he
realized that this simpering noodle could not be the god in the machine;
godlike in stalwart form, perhaps, but that simpering smile would have
discredited Jove himself.
“What can I do for you, my lord?” he bellowed forth, temper, patience,
and time short.
“Well, sir,” sniggered Stranleigh, “there’s--there’s several things you
can do for me. In--in the first place you don’t mind my sitting down, do
you? It seems to me I can speak better sitting down. I’ve--I’ve really
never been able to make a speech in my life, even after dinner, simply
because a fellow has to stand up, don’t you know.”
“I hope, my lord, you won’t think it necessary to make a speech here.”
“No, no, I merely wished a quiet talk,” said his lordship, drawing up a
chair without invitation, and sitting down. “You see, I have no head
for figures, and so little knowledge of business do I possess that I am
compelled to engage twelve professional men to look after my affairs.”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” snapped the governor.
“Well, you see, governor, now and again I act without asking any advice
from those men. Seems kind of a silly thing to do, don’t you think?
Keeping twelve dogs, and barking a fellow’s bally self, don’t you know.”
“Yes. What has all that to do with the Bank of England?”
“I’m coming to that. You see, we are all imbued with the same respect
for the bank that we feel for the church, and the navy, and the king,
and sometimes for the Government, but not always, as, for instance, when
they pass silly Acts about your gold reserve, instead of coming to you
in a friendly manner, as I’m doing, and settling the thing quietly.”
“I quite agree with you, my lord, but my time is very limited, and I
should be obliged----”
“Quite so, sir, quite so. These ideas are not my own, at all. I
didn’t know much about the crisis until four or five days ago when
Mr. Corbitt--Alexander Corbitt, you know, of Selwyn’s Bank. You’re
acquainted with him, perhaps?”
“I know Mr. Corbitt--yes.”
“Well, those are his opinions, and I agree with him, you know.”
“Mr. Corbitt is an authority on finance,” admitted the governor, as if,
instead of praising the absent man, he was denouncing him.
“Now, what bothers me about gold is this. A sovereign weighs a hundred
and twenty-three grains, decimal--well I forget the decimal figures,
but perhaps you’re up in them. I never could remember--to tell you the
truth, the moment I get into decimals, I’m lost. I can figure out that
two and two are four, but beyond that----”
“I assure you, my lord,” interrupted the governor, “a great many people
cannot go so far as that. If you will have the kindness, not to say
the mercy, to tell me exactly what you want, I will guarantee that your
answer will be brief and prompt.”
“All right. To get directly at the nub of the business, then, do you
have twelve ounces to the pound of gold, or sixteen?”
The governor’s fingers were drumming on the hard surface of the table.
He glared at his visitor, but said nothing.
“When I get entangled with decimals or vulgar fractions, it’s bad
enough, but when I don’t know whether the pounds I am dealing with
are twelve ounces or sixteen ounces, then the ease gets kind of
hopeless--ah, I see you are in a hurry. Now tell me how much would be
the value of a bar of gold weighing a hundred pounds, and we’ll let troy
or avoirdupois go. Just give me a rough estimate.”
“My Lord Stranleigh,” said the governor, with ominous calmness, “have
you come here under the impression that the Bank of England is an infant
school?”
Lord Stranleigh blushed a delicate pink, until his cheeks were as smooth
and crimson as that of a girl receiving her first proposal. The contempt
of the man before him was so unconcealed that poor Stranleigh thought,
as he closed his open hand, he might feel it, so thick was it in the
air. He plunged desperately into another tack.
“My dear governor,” he stammered, trying to conciliate his opponent by
cordial familiarity, “as I told you I have the utmost respect for the
Bank of England. You see, I am rather well off, and within the last day
or two I have plunged, and every available asset I possess except one I
have put into stocks and shares. I’ve thought this thing out----”
“Oh, you’ve thought it out,” said the governor.
“Yes, as well as I was able, and I believe that after the first of
January London is going to see the greatest boom in stocks and shares
that has ever taken place in the history of finance.”
“What are your grounds for such a belief, my lord?”
“The--the respect I hold for the Bank of England. We want to see the
good old Bank of England buck up. It’s humiliating to think that an
upstart like Wall Street should be able to play Hey-diddle-diddle, the
cat and the fiddle, with a venerable institution like this. Why, it’s
as if some one spoke disrespectfully of one’s grandmother. I want to see
the bank buck up, and that’s why I’m here.”
The governor bucked up. He rose like a statue of wrath.
“My lord, this interview must terminate. The Bank of England cannot
assist you in your speculations. You should have consulted Alexander
Corbitt if you wished further credit, should he happen to be your
banker.”
Stranleigh had risen when he saw the governor on his feet.
“I did.”
“Then you had better go back to him. He surely never advised you to see
me?”
“No, but what he told me of the situation filled me with a desire to
meet you.”
“I dare say. Well, Lord Stranleigh, you have met me. I bid you good
morning, sir.”
Stranleigh became a deeper crimson at what he considered this rude
dismissal. He was not accustomed to being treated in such a way. His
shoulders squared back, and the smile left his lips.
“Then you don’t want the gold?” he said, almost as sternly as the other
had spoken.
“What gold?”
“My gold.”
“I thought you said that all your assets had been vested in the buying
of stocks.”
“I said, sir, all my assets except one. The one asset remaining is
gold.”
“Gold?”
“Yes.”
“In what form?”
“In the form of ingots.”
“How much gold have you got? What’s its value?”
“Now, governor, I put it to you, as one man to another, you’re a little
unreasonable. Didn’t I tell you that unless I can multiply a hundred and
twenty-three decimal-whatever-it-happens-to-be, I can’t even estimate
it? I asked--I hope with courtesy--the favor of your assistance in
calculating the value of my gold, but you began to talk about infant
schools. You see, I have got a mine down in Cornwall that holds two
thousand tons of gold.”
“Nonsense,” interrupted the governor, waxing impatient. “There are no
gold mines in Cornwall.”
“Sir, I did not say there were. The mine I speak of is a copper mine.”
“I have had enough of this fooling, my lord, and I think I have already
bade you farewell.”
“Then you don’t want my gold?”
“How many pounds of raw gold have you got?”
“Pounds? Oh, I don’t estimate my gold in pounds. I hold at present
upward of two thousand tons.”
“Two thousand tons! In ore, do you mean?”
“Certainly not. If the Bank of England is not an infant school, I
suppose it is not a smelting furnace, either. This gold, as I told you,
has been smelted, and is in ingots. I came down by twopenny tube to keep
my appointment because I had lent my principal automobile to a man named
Conrad Schwartzbrod. I see my automobile standing outside, and as I gave
Schwartzbrod eight bars of this metal, telling him to take it to his
bank, he seems to have taken it to this bank, so if this seminary for
young ladies has purchased these eight bars, we may go at once and
examine them. My two thousand tons is divided into ingots similar to
those Schwartzbrod has sold you.”
“Where is your gold?”
“A thousand tons of it is in Cornwall still, but can be delivered here
within a day or two. The other thousand tons is on a special train of
the Great Western Railway, which has already arrived in London, and its
contents may be in your vaults this evening if your vans look sharp.”
The governor sat down in his chair more hurriedly than he had
anticipated, drew out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.
“Are you telling the truth, or is this--is this--What you say, my lord,
is incredible.”
“Very well, come up to the Great Western goods depot, and see for
yourself. I have always avoided the city as a cynical place, but I had
no idea that unbelief was so prevalent there as it seems.”
“A thousand tons of gold! Worth a hundred and ten million pounds
sterling!”
“There, you see how easy it is to calculate when a man who knows figures
gets at it. Is that what my thousand tons is worth?”
“Where did this gold come from?”
“From the West African coast; a very valuable surface mine I own there.
We’ve been working most of the year transporting the ore to Cornwall and
smelting it, tossing the ingots down into an empty copper mine I own,
which I call my safe deposit vault.”
“How much do you demand for this gold?”
“Oh, I don’t demand anything at all. I’m no business man, as I told you.
It struck me that the gold was quite as safe in your vaults as in my
copper mine, therefore I engaged a special train to bring half of it up.
You can have the other half if you wish.”
“My lord, will you accompany me in my automobile to the Great Western
goods depot, and show me that special train of yours?”
“Governor, I shall be delighted.”
A few mornings later Lord Stranleigh sat at his appetizing breakfast,
and smiled as he read the leading article in the _Times_:
“As our readers know, we did not join in the outcry of the sensational
press which did so much to mislead public opinion both in England and
America. Never for an instant, during all the tumult, did our faith in
that greatest and most venerable of financial institutions, the Bank
of England, waver. On October the fourteenth we pointed out the
impossibility of cornering gold, no matter how powerful the financial
syndicate might be which undertook his labor of Sisyphus. How long this
treasure, whose very figures read like some romance of the ‘Arabian
Nights,’ has lain in the vaults of the bank, no one but the governor,
and those in his confidence, can tell. While the country was ringing
with predictions of failure on the part of the bank to conform with a
new and absurd law, those responsible for the direction of our leading
financial institution quietly and in silence had gathered together
the almost unimaginable amount of three hundred million pounds’ worth
sterling of virgin gold. Those journals which for the past four months
have been foremost in deluding their readers, and bringing a crisis on
the country, are now loud in their denunciation of the governor of the
bank for not speaking sooner. But if the governor of the bank
undertook to reply to statements, malicious or ignorant, concerning the
institution over which he so worthily presides, there would be little
time left for him to perform those functions that he has so ably
accomplished. Those people who held faith in their country are rewarded.
The almost unprecedented heights to which stocks and shares have risen
means the enrichment of every investor who was not carried away by a
senseless panic. As for ourselves, we have in season and out of season
never swerved from----”
Lord Stranleigh laughed.
“Good old _Times_,” he said, “how wise you are! A fitting companion
grandmother to the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street!”
THE END