MR. STEWART’S PROPOSAL.
The woman who would rule her household well, had need to be endowed by
Heaven with almost every virtue. She should be quick to perceive and
slow to act; not given to rash judgments, nor easily moved to anger. She
should be patient and long-suffering. She should remember that she is an
absolute autocrat in her small domain, and be merciful accordingly. Her
servants are but after all as children, who have no claim to a parent’s
care and affection. She can take the bread out of their mouths, and, if
they have been happy with her, drive them forth from Eden into the cold
bleak world which is all before them; she can make or mar their futures;
she can be lenient, or she can be harsh. She can be cruel—like the
servant who, going out loosed from his lord’s presence, seized upon his
fellow-servant, crying, “Pay me that thou owest;” or she can have
compassion on their infirmities, remembering that the God of the whole
earth has had compassion on her.
She can be hard and exacting, demanding full measure and strict change;
she can hold the scales steadily, and if there be a feather’s weight too
little, cast them out; or she may be merciful as her Father in Heaven is
merciful, and be very patient towards those who try her patience, and
her temper, and her Christianity daily. She can be the model, managing,
worldly mistress, or she may be the mistress which the Lord shall
approve when He cometh to His kingdom. She can resolve the whole
question into one of work and wage, or she can go further, and strive so
to rule herself, and those she has under her, that when the long account
comes to be made up—that account between rich and poor, which will never
be closed till eternity—the Great Judge shall say she has done her
feeble best, that although only one talent was given unto her, it was
not buried in the ground, but put out to usury, returning ample
interest.
So far, this story has, been written in vain, if any reader have failed
to comprehend that Heather Dudley was one of those women, “the eyes of
whose maidens turned unto her;” and it will, therefore, readily be
conceived, that although many persons would have incontinently turned
Priscilla Dobbin out of the house, and refused to sleep another night
under the same roof with such a double-faced, artful little minx, Mrs.
Dudley felt sorry for the girl and inclined to make allowances.
She had loved Bessie greatly, and she was but young. Her life was all
before her, and Heather could not reconcile it to her conscience to mar
it at the outset. She had her talk with the girl, during the course of
which Prissy was, after the manner of her class, silent, and apparently
sulky. Nevertheless, she departed from the audience-chamber red around
the nose, watery about her eyes, and generally depressed in her spirits.
She had thought Miss Bessie’s elopement a fine thing till “it came to
the bit,” thus she expressed herself; but when they mutually had that
bit between their teeth she did not much relish the undertaking.
“She was to take me as her maid, mum,” Priscilla informed Heather; “but
he would not let her. He said she could send for me afterwards; but now,
ma’am, if you’ll let me stay with you, I would rather. I’ll never even
think about leaving you again.”
This piece of information was imparted some weeks subsequently; during
the course of those weeks, nothing had been heard of or from Bessie.
Where she was gone, with whom she was gone off, remained as great
enigmas to the family at the Hollow, as they did to her friends in town.
From Priscilla, indeed, Heather gathered that the cavalier was tall,
dark, handsome, and liberal; but this was but a poor clue with which to
start on a search after Bessie, and so no one attempted to follow it.
She had chosen her own course, and her place knew her no more. All in
vain, Heather looked for a letter each morning—no letter ever came. All
in vain, Lally fretted after Bessie, and stretched out her arms for the
pretty cousin who was gone no one knew where. Mr. Ormson advertised
daily in the _Times_ to B—ss—e O——n, without ever receiving a ghost of a
reply. Mr. Harcourt paid “private inquiry fees,” but still nothing came
of all his searching. Mrs. Ormson, figuratively, washed her hands of
Bessie, and scored her name out of the family Bible—a volume she never
opened except upon high and rare occasions; the poor father watched his
opportunity, and wrote the name in again, the first time Mrs. Ormson
left her keys in the door of the cupboard where she kept this tell-tale
volume of dates and ages. Dr. Marsden said he had always expected
something of the kind, and Heather almost began to hate this strange man
who came in as chorus to every misfortune of the family.
“I knew she never would marry Harcourt,” affirmed this clever
practitioner, the first time he and Mrs. Dudley met after the
occurrence; “the fellow must have been a fool to believe her.”
“And why did you not think she would marry him?” asked Heather, meekly.
“Oh! her head was always running on a very different kind of husband to
a struggling lawyer; and I only hope it is a husband she has got, and
not a lover, who will be packing her home to be a disgrace and burden to
her family some of these fine days.”
“I should not think Bessie very likely to return to her family, whether
she be married or not,” Heather answered, a little bitterly. She could
not help being a trifle short with Dr. Marsden, whose first-born was
still at Berrie Down, a very thorn in the flesh of every member
composing the household.
Never out of mischief, never still, always teasing, eternally prying
about, listening and meddling, even Heather at last declared, if she
only had the money to spare, she would rather pay for Harry’s education
than be tormented with him.
But there was an end coming to all such torments and discomforts—an end
which found Heather but poorly prepared for its advent; and the
beginning of this end was a visit Arthur received on the 2nd of January,
from a tall, thin, grey-haired, hard-featured individual, who sent in
his card as—
“Mr. Allan Stewart,”
“Being at Kemms Park,” he stated, after the first civilities had been
gone through, “I thought you would excuse my calling, and talking over a
little matter of business with you. It is about that house in Lincoln’s
Inn Fields; you know, Mr. Dudley, we cannot purchase it from you. I am
very sorry indeed, but such a thing is quite out of the question.”
“Why?” Arthur demanded.
“Well, in the first place, the position is anything but desirable; and,
in the second, the price you ask is prohibitory. Besides, what do we
want with purchasing properties? we need only rent offices. It would be
the merest waste of money for us to do otherwise.”
“Mr. Black assured me there was not the slightest doubt of the Company
purchasing my lease,” answered Squire Dudley.
“Yes, because Mr. Black thought the management was going to be left
entirely to him,” was the reply. “Mr. Black now finds he was a little
mistaken, and that, being mistaken, he led you astray.”
“He was the originator of the Company, or else I have been greatly
misinformed,” said Arthur, defiantly.
“You have not been misinformed,” Mr. Stewart answered; “but the
originator of a company does not necessarily mean the proprietor.”
Squire Dudley remained silent, digesting this piece of knowledge, while
Mr. Stewart proceeded—
“We directors are not necessarily his puppets because he brought us
together. Although he obtained our names, and qualified us to act on the
board, he did not thereby obtain dominion over us, body and soul for
ever. Evidently, Mr. Dudley, you are not a man of business, and you do
not understand much about commercial matters—indeed, Mr. Black implied
that fact to me; therefore, as I happened to be staying with Miss
Baldwin, I thought I would walk over, and have a little friendly
conversation with you.”
“Do you mean,” asked Mr. Dudley, harking back to the original question,
“that you absolutely refuse to purchase these premises in Lincoln’s Inn
Fields?”
“That is my meaning,” was the reply; “if you press the matter, of course
it will be brought before the board, Mr. Black, probably, acting as your
mouthpiece; but if you take my advice, you will not press the point, nor
have it brought before the board; for I tell you fairly, the line must
be drawn somewhere, and at that point I mean it to be marked broadly.”
“You are not the proprietor of the Company, are you?” asked Arthur.
“No; but I am the largest shareholder and the most influential man on
the board,” was the reply.
“And what do you think of the scheme?” inquired Arthur, eagerly.
“I think the scheme a good one, if it be not swamped; if the capital be
not all jobbed away on such purchases, for instance, as this house of
yours.”
“Do you imply that I——,” began the Squire; but Mr. Stewart cut across
his sentence with—
“I imply nothing; all I would suggest is, that as at Mr. Black’s
instance you bought a very bad bargain, you should not seek to foist
that bargain at a profit on your own Company, but wait patiently for
dividends, and be thankful for any profit on your shares the Lord may in
due time send you.”
“Do you know, sir,” asked Arthur, “that my money has advertised this
Company?”
“Black said something of the kind,” answered Mr. Stewart; “and what he
said, I am very sorry to hear confirmed by you.”
“I have sold my crops, I have sold my stock, I have accepted bills, all
on the faith of making my fortune out of this bread affair. Mr. Black
declared I could get my money back three times over by buying from time
to time such properties as he might advise—shops, mills, and so forth.
He assured me he could and would guarantee the Company purchasing them
from me on the most favourable terms. He mentioned to me the names of
several individuals who have all made large fortunes in the same way.”
“Yes, I know many men, as you say, who have obtained their money by
jobbing,” was the calm answer; “but they should not have got fat so soon
had I been on the direction.”
“It is rather hard upon me, though, to be made your scapegoat,” said
Arthur.
“Perhaps so,” agreed Mr. Stewart; “but you know the innocent often
suffer for the guilty. In fact, the scapegoat of which you have just
spoken had not, so far as I am aware, committed any sin that should have
doomed him to go unto a land not inhabited. He was selected impartially
by lot, and then had to bear the iniquities of the children of Israel.
You, Mr. Dudley, are chosen by accident to bear by proxy Mr. Black’s
sins of over-appropriation. He has already had quite as many pickings
for himself as any company can bear, and we cannot now tolerate his
beginning to pick for his friends.”
“And your object in coming to tell me all this, Mr. Stewart?” demanded
Arthur.
“Come, he is not quite an idiot,” reflected that gentleman, while he
answered aloud—“My object is _bona fide_; I want to benefit you and
myself also. I wish to explain exactly what I will and what I will not
do. To begin with the last. I will not agree to the purchase of those
premises in Lincoln’s Inn, but I shall not oppose the Company renting
them from year to year; and, if you like to resign your directorship, I
will see that you are appointed secretary at a commencing salary of one
thousand pounds per annum.”
“What has the secretary to do?” asked Arthur.
“Very little, except remain honest,” was the reply.
“And why do you wish me to be secretary?” he further demanded.
“Because I think we may depend upon you; because I know we could not
depend on the secretary nominated by Mr. Black. In matters of this kind
it does not do to stand too much upon ceremony. Am I wrong, Mr. Dudley,
in supposing a thousand a year would prove an agreeable addition to your
income?”
“I am not aware, sir,” answered Arthur, in a moment all in a flame with
anger, “that I have, in the course of our conversation, led you to
believe I am short of money.”
“There is a difference between being short of money and desiring more
money,” answered Mr. Stewart, calmly. “I concluded that, if you were a
perfectly satisfied man, you would have rested content among your herds
and flocks, and not sought to increase your store in the City. I thought
I would come and talk this affair over with you before our next meeting;
but if my doing so has assumed the character of an intrusion, I can only
apologise and withdraw.”
Having concluded which speech, Mr. Stewart rose from his chair, and,
bowing to Arthur, would have left the room, had his host not entreated
him to remain.
“I am almost mad, I think,” said the Squire, putting his hand to his
forehead. “Excuse me if I seemed rude. I do not believe I knew what I
was saying. It is a desperate experiment, Mr. Stewart, for a man who
knows nothing whatever of business to allow himself to be drawn into
it.”
“Yes,” answered the director, coolly; “and it is in the interests of
such men that I decline permitting this Company to be made a job, for
the advancement and enriching of the few at the expense of the many. In
my opinion, you have acted foolishly in advancing large sums of money to
Mr. Black; but it is to Mr. Black you should look for repayment, not to
the shareholders.”
Arthur made no reply. He sat with his head bent forward thinking to
himself, “what a cursed idiot I have been!” This was the first check he
had met with, and he bore it with proportionate impatience. When a man
has grown used to disappointment and reverses; when he has met with a
long series of losses and failures; when his temper has become, after a
fashion, macadamized, and his spirit broken under the wheels of
constantly passing hearses containing the bodies of his hopes, his
certainties, his ambitious aspirings; then the sharp pang which was once
so impossible to endure, is dulled to a kind of quiet aching. The pain
wears itself out as the months and the years go by; and he who once
chafed, grows apathetic; and she who formerly wept, now smiles and bears
in silence.
But Arthur Dudley’s pain was fresh, and it had, moreover, come sharply
and suddenly upon him.
He had been stricken unprepared, and, though the wound inflicted might
not be very severe, still it smarted as much as though his life had been
placed in jeopardy.
All this Mr. Stewart observed and noted.
“That man has (for him) played high,” he thought, “and staked not merely
money but hope on the game;” then finding Arthur still resolutely kept
silence, he proceeded:
“Mr. Black will altogether make a handsome thing out of this Company.”
“Yes, and he promised to go halves with me!” interrupted Arthur,
hoarsely.
“Indeed! and now he would fulfil that promise by showing you what to
buy, and then recommending us to purchase from you; a very nice way of
doing business for him, doubtless—very nice indeed.”
“I wish to God I had never gone into the Company at all!” broke out the
Squire, weakly and passionately; “and I did it on the strength of your
name, and the names of men like you.”
“That was foolish,” said Mr. Stewart; “if you had asked me for advice, I
should decidedly have recommended you to leave the Protector Flour and
Bread Company, Limited, alone.”
“But you expect to make money out of it,” said Arthur, obstinately.
“Yes, but I am also prepared to lose money,” was the reply; “which fact
constitutes the difference between us. If a man be, as I have always
been, a speculator, he takes the rough with the smooth, the failure with
the success. I lay out my plans as well as I can, but I, at the same
time, take my chance. Moreover, Mr. Dudley, I can afford to wait for
success; you, perhaps, are not quite so fortunately situated.”
“Did you come here to insult me?” asked the Squire.
“No; on the contrary, I came here to help you, if you will permit me to
do so. We are not playing quite a fair game,” added the director, with
sudden frankness. “You are showing me your hand—I have scarcely given
you a sight of mine. Suppose, I say unreservedly, I also have embarked
more money in this venture than I should care to lose, we should then
stand on more equal terms. You have advanced money to float the Company;
I am a shareholder—a _bona-fide_ shareholder, remember—to a large
amount; I do not want our ship to go to the bottom, neither do you; Mr.
Black, a very worthy individual, no doubt, has a knack of floating
companies, and then sinking them. Now, it is not your interest, any more
than it is mine, that this Company should fail; we want to see the
shares at a premium, and to secure regularly-paid and satisfactory
dividends. There is nothing to prevent such a desirable consummation, if
the affairs of the Company be only properly managed. Now, if any nominee
of your friend, Mr. Black, be appointed permanent secretary, there is no
telling what the end of the matter may prove. Therefore, I offer you
this secretaryship; say the word, and you shall have it. We will rent
the Lincoln’s Inn premises from you; there is a good house there in
which you might reside, and you would then be on the spot to look after
your own interests, and those of your fellow-shareholders.”
Arthur wavered: the temptation was great, the salary sounded large, but
he did not feel inclined so readily to turn his back on an old friend.
“If you had such an opinion of Mr. Black,” he said, “why did you ever go
into this Company with him?”
“As for that,” answered Mr. Stewart, with a smile, “there is scarcely an
undertaking of the kind which has not one black sheep at least in its
ranks. Now, I am quite aware of the nature of Mr. Black’s weakness, and,
you may recollect, it is stated to be better to have to do with a devil
you know, than a devil you do not know. Further, Mr. Black is undeniably
clever, and he has, equally undeniably, got hold of a good thing.”
“And yet you say, had I consulted you in the first instance, you would
have advised me to keep clear of it!”
“On the terms—yes,” was Mr. Stewart’s reply. “Had Mr. Black come to you
and said, ‘Here are a couple of hundred shares, paid up, which will
qualify you to act as a director, let me have your name on our board in
exchange,’ I should have recommended you to accept his offer, because,
if the Company succeeded, there were the shares; if it failed, you had
no liability; either way, you would have been safe. But when it comes to
advancing money—even on the best security that Mr. Black could offer—the
case is materially altered. I should not have counselled such a risk as
that, Mr. Dudley, depend upon it!”
“Do you think Mr. Black will not repay me, then?” asked Arthur.
“I do not think Mr. Black can repay you,” amended Mr. Stewart; “with the
best will in the world, I am confident that he has not the means of
doing so at present. His other companies will swallow up every available
sixpence he can scrape together for the next twelvemonth.”
“But I have my shares,” said the Squire.
“True; but paid-up shares are never of any real marketable value, unless
all the shares are paid up.”
“Why?” was the next inquiry.
“Because,” explained Mr. Stewart, “no man will pay ten pounds for that
which he can buy immediately for two: as, for instance, if you went on
the market to-morrow, you would not be so foolish as to purchase a
paid-up share, in any company, for twenty pounds, if you could procure
exactly the same advantages for five. You could but pay your calls, if
they were demanded; you would not rush to your bankers and write a
cheque for the full sum at once. In some prospectuses—in one of Mr.
Black’s, by-the-bye—there is a very delicious paragraph, to the effect,
that ‘although no further calls will be made at shorter intervals than
three months, and then in amounts not exceeding one pound per share,
still the shareholders may, at any time after allotment, pay up their
shares in full, receiving interest on such payments at the rate of six
per cent. per annum!’ I never met with a man desirous of paying up his
shares in full, however,” finished Mr. Stewart with a quiet laugh.
“Do you mean, then, to tell me that until all the shares are paid up,
those I have will remain valueless?” demanded Arthur.
“Comparatively so,” was the reply.
“Then what good—if I cannot sell my shares, nor dispose of my property,
and if there be no chance of Mr. Black dividing his profits with me—is
this Company likely to do to me or mine?”
“You will have your dividends, if we are lucky enough ever to get any,”
answered Mr. Stewart; “and, should you entertain my proposal, I promise
you the secretaryship also; that will yield you a thousand a year.
Perhaps you will consider the matter, Mr. Dudley, and let me know your
decision before Saturday next. You have my address. I shall be returning
to town to-morrow.”
And the great man rose to go, having, as he felt confident, settled the
business which had brought him down into Hertfordshire.
Arthur accompanied him to the outer door.
“What a lovely place you have!” said the director, looking round,
approvingly. “A spot I should covet, if it were twenty miles nearer
London.”
“It is very inaccessible,” Arthur agreed. This light kind of
conversation appeared to him very much like the political small talk to
which a surgeon will sometimes treat a patient next day after an
operation.
“It would not be exactly convenient for a man who wished to be in town
every day at eight o’clock,” suggested Mr. Stewart; “but it is very
charming, nevertheless. Good-morning!” And this man, who was between
seventy and eighty years of age, started off to walk back to Kemms Park,
as briskly as Arthur himself might have done.
“Old enough to have given up grubbing after money,” muttered Arthur,
criticizing his visitor’s retreating figure; as though a man ever
fancied himself old enough to relinquish the occupation of his life, so
long as he could hold a pen or dictate a letter, bring a bill into
Parliament, or buy to advantage on the Stock Exchange.
Old enough! Is it not only the young, now-a-days, who feel old and cry
aloud for rest; who grow weary and tired of the heat and burden of the
noontide? When the back has become used to the pack, and the world’s
collar has ceased to gall, the horse, let it be ever so old, will amble
along the familiar road, without whip or spur to urge him on. It is the
colts who turn aside, who long for the idle days and the green pastures,
for the meadows where the holiday-folks are making merry, and the
silvery streams flowing through the midst.