There is a great deal of difference between being expelled and "invited
to find another sphere for your activities." In fact, as my father
said, if Dr. Dunston had expelled me, he would certainly have made a row
about it, and very likely have written to the newspapers.
But old Dunston was a jolly sight too wily for that. He wrote to my
father when the event happened, and said that circumstances had come to
his ears which made him think, etc., etc., that I had better leave
Merivale.
I am Mitchell, and my father is a financier, and I may say that this
profession embraces a great many branches.
Sometimes, after dinner in holidays, he has allowed me to stop and smoke
a cigarette while he talked to friends, and so I have got a gradual
inkling of what it means to be a financier; and, in a way, this inkling
was my downfall. Not that I felt it a downfall really to be hoofed out
of Merivale; for it was rather a potty sort of show, and I should have
gone to a far more swagger place if my father had been flusher just at
the time when I had to go somewhere, owing to a trifling bother at
another school.
But I went to Merivale, and just because I tried to take advantage of
what my father had said about finance and apply it to school life, the
difficulties arose.
I gathered off and on from my father, when he was in a talkative frame
of mind, that one of the great arts of a financier is to do deals
between other people.
For instance, you have something to sell, and my father knows it. And
he routs about and leaves no stone unturned, as they say, until he finds
somebody who wants to buy just what you want to sell. Then, having found
you a customer, my father arranges all the details of the business, and
everybody is satisfied, and my father, for all his time and trouble,
gets richly rewarded.
Then, again, another fine branch of the financier's art is the floating
of public companies. To float a company requires great skill and nerve.
The first thing is to find a place a long way off, far beyond the reach
of intending shareholders, in fact. Then you discover this far-off
country is extraordinarily rich in minerals, or india-rubber, or manure,
or some other useful material which everybody wants. You send out a
mineral or manure expert to the far-off country, and he is delighted to
find these things in enormous quantities, and sees at a glance that, if
properly managed, they will produce dividends of very likely a hundred
per cent. for the first year, and much more afterwards.
Then my father, or whoever it might be, is glad, and he goes about to
other skilful men who understand companies, and they collect together
and make a board. The more famous financiers there are upon this board
the better the public likes it; and so the company is floated, and the
public is invited to put in money.
This the public is only too thankful to do, because, of course, the
thing promises so well; and then the shares are quoted on the Stock
Exchange, and the papers are suddenly full of the company some morning,
and the board sits and has a champagne luncheon and arranges its
salaries and so on.
Of course, the people who have found that happy, far-away land, flowing
with minerals and manure and such like, are richly rewarded, as they
deserve to be; and sometimes they take it in money and sometimes in
shares, and sometimes in both.
And all may or may not go well; but the financier, whose business it is
to do these things and float the company, takes care to come out of it
all right in any case--otherwise it is no good being a financier.
There was once a very fine company floated by my father and several of
his scientific friends, for extracting gold from salt water.
It was based on thoroughly sound principles; because science has proved
that there is so much gold in every ton of salt water; and, of course,
if it is there, it can be extracted by modern inventions. So my father
and others of even greater renown were filled with the idea of promoting
a company to do this.
It was a brilliant and successful company in a way, but did not last
long for some reason.
They started at a place near Margate, I think, with pumps and tubes to
draw in the water, and machinery and professional chemists to get the
gold out of it, and a staff of twenty skilled men, who understood the
complicated mechanism. And they easily got enough gold from somewhere
to make the prospectus, and also enough to make a brooch for the
manager's wife; and no doubt they would have got much more in course of
time, but something failed--the water in the English Channel was a bit
off, or some other natural cause--and my father said it would have been
far better for everybody concerned if the works had been put up in the
Isle of Skye, or perhaps in Norway, or in the West Indies, or the Fiji
Islands, where conditions might have been better suited to success.
But gold was none the less made for my father and one or two others,
"though not from the sea," as my father said thoughtfully when
discussing the winding up of the affair.
There is another and even higher branch of the financier's art--the
loftiest of all in fact. This consists in floating loans for hard-up
monarchs, and it is absolutely the biggest thing the financier does. It
wants great skill and delicacy.
You can also float loans for hard-up nations if you understand how to do
it, but there are hundreds of financiers who never reach these dizzy
heights of the profession, just as there are hundreds--you may say
millions--of soldiers who never get above being colonels, and thousands
of clergymen who fall short of becoming bishops.
My father, of course, understood these high branches of his profession,
and once even went so far as to be interested in a loan for a South
American Republic; but before the thing was matured, one side of the
Republic was destroyed by a volcano and the other side by insurgents,
who shot the President and all his best friends; and these events so
shook investors in general that they would not subscribe to that loan,
though the Republic, in its financial extremities, offered fabulous
rates of interest.
I mention my father at such great length just to show the man he was and
to explain my own bent of mind, which lay in the same direction. He
said once, in a genial mood, that no man had ever made more bricks
without straw than he had. It seemed to me a very dignified and
original profession, because you are on your own, so to say, and you go
out into the world single-handed, and by simple force of a brilliant
imagination and hard work, win to yourself an honourable position. You
may even get knighted or baroneted, if your financial genius is crowned
with sufficient success to give away a few tons of money to a hospital,
or the "party chest," whatever that is.
So, understanding all these things fairly well, it was natural that I
took the line I did in the affair of Protheroe minimus and young Mayne.
And, whatever the Doctor thought, my father didn't see any objection to
the operation; and, of course, his opinion was the only one I cared
about.
It was like this.
Young Mayne, though very poor, had a most amazing knack of
prize-winning. He was in a class where all the chaps were a year older
than him, and yet he always beat them with the greatest ease. He was
good all round, and thought nothing of raking in prizes term after term.
In fact, it seemed a thousand pities, seeing that he was very poor and
the only son of a lawyer's clerk, that his great prize-winning powers
were not yielding a better return. For, not to put too fine a point
upon it, as they say, the prizes at Merivale were piffle of the deepest
dye, and of no money value worth mentioning. Dr. Dunston went on
getting the same books term after term, and simply unreadable slush was
all you could call them.
The few things that were good were all back numbers, like "Robinson
Crusoe"--all right in themselves, but nobody wants to read them twice;
and then there were school stories that would have made angels weep,
especially one called "St. Winifred's," in which boys behaved like girls
and blushed if anybody said something dashing. Then there were books
about birds and animals and insects, and for the Lower School the Doctor
used to sink to "Peter Parley" and the "Peep of Day," and such-like
absolute mess of a bygone age.
These things were all bound in blue leather and had a gold owl stamped
upon them, which was the badge of Merivale.
I believe the owl was supposed to be the bird of Athena, and stood for
wisdom, or some such rot. Anyhow, it wasn't a bad idea in its way, for a
more owlish sort of school than Merivale I never was at.
And young Mayne got more of these books than anybody; but to him they
were as grass, and he thought nothing of them. Whereas Protheroe
minimus had never won a prize in his life, and wanted one fearfully--not
for itself, but for the valuable effect it would have on his mother.
She was a widow and loved Protheroe minimus best of her three sons. The
others had taken prizes and were fair fliers at school; but Protheroe
min. was useless except at running. So, woman-like, just because he
couldn't get a prize anyhow, his mother was set on his doing so, and
promised him rare rewards if he would only work extra hard, or be extra
good, or extra something, and so scare up a blue book with a gold owl at
any cost.
Well, if you have a financial mind, you will see at a glance that here
was a possible opportunity. At least, so it looked to me. Because on
the one hand was young Mayne, always fearfully hard up and always
getting prizes at the end of each term as a matter of course; while on
the other hand was Protheroe min., never hard up but never a scholastic
success, so to say, from the beginning of the term to the end--and, of
course, never even within sight of a prize of any sort.
Here it seemed to me was the whole problem of supply and demand in a
nutshell; and the financier instinct cried out in me, as it were, that I
ought to be up and doing.
So I went to young Mayne and said that I thought it was a frightful pity
all his great skill was being chucked away, and bringing no return more
important than the mournful things that he won as prizes. And he said:
"A time will come, Mitchell."
And then I told him that a time had come.
"I know you sell your prizes for a few bob at home, and that you think
nothing of them," I said. "But I had a bit of a yarn with that kid
Protheroe yesterday, and it seems that what is nothing to you would be a
perfect godsend to him. You may not believe it, but his mother, who is a
bit dotty on him, has promised him five pounds if he will bring home a
prize."
"Five pounds!" said Mayne. "The best prize old Dun ever gave wasn't
worth five bob."
"She doesn't want to sell it--she wants to keep it for the honour and
glory of Protheroe min.," I explained. "And the idea in my mind in
bringing you chaps together for your mutual advantage was, firstly, that
you should let Protheroe have one of your prizes to take home in triumph
to his mother; and, secondly, that he should give you a document
swearing to let you have two pounds of his five pounds at the beginning
of next term."
Mayne was much interested at this suggestion, and, knowing that he must
be a snip for at least two prizes, if not three, at the end of the
summer term, he had no difficulty whatever in falling in with my scheme.
We were allowed to walk in the playing-fields on Sunday after chapel
before dinner, and then Mayne and Protheroe minimus and myself discussed
the details.
Funnily enough, they were so full of it between themselves that they did
not exactly realize where I came in; so I had to remind Protheroe that
it was I who had arranged the supply when I heard about his demand; and
I had also to remind him he had certainly said that if anybody could put
him in the way of a prize, he would give that person a clear pound at
the beginning of next term.
I also had to remind Mayne that he had promised me ten shillings on
delivery of his two pounds.
In fact, before the day was done I got them both to sign documents;
because, as I say, when they once got together over it, they seemed
rather to forget me. So I explained to them that my part was simply
that of a financier, and that many men made their whole living in that
way, arranging supplies for demands and bringing capitalists together in
a friendly spirit. But not for nothing.
They quite saw it, but thought I asked too much. However, I was older
than they were, and speedily convinced them that I had not.
There was only one difficulty in the way after this, and Protheroe came
to me about it, and I helped him over it free of charge. He said:
"When I take home the prize, what shall I say it's for? You know what
my school reports are like. There's never a loophole for a prize of any
kind."
"You might say good conduct," I suggested; but Protheroe min. scorned
the thought.
"That would give away the whole show at once," he said. "Because even
my mother wouldn't be deceived. It's no good taking back a prize for
good conduct when the report will be sure to read as usual--'No attempt
at any improvement,' which is how it always goes."
Everything I suggested, Protheroe scoffed at in the same way, so I could
see the prize would have to be for something not mentioned at all in the
school report.
Of course, you don't get book prizes for cricket, or footer, or running,
which--especially the latter--were the only things that Protheroe min.
could have hoped honestly to get a prize for. But I stuck to the
problem, and had a very happy idea three nights before the end of the
term. I then advised Protheroe to say the prize was for "calisthenics."
There are no prizes for calisthenics at Merivale; but it sounded rather
a likely subject, especially as he was a dab at it. And, anyway, he
thought it would satisfy his mother and be all right.
So that was settled, and it only remained for Mayne to get his lawful
prizes and hand over the least important to Protheroe min.
It all went exceedingly well--at the start--and young Mayne got the
prizes and gave Protheroe the second, which was for literature.
The thing was composed entirely of poems--Longfellow, or Southey, or
some such blighter--and Protheroe said that his mother would fairly
revel to think that he had won it. He packed it in his box after
"breaking up," and we exchanged our agreements; and it came out, when
all was over, that young Mayne was to have two pounds out of Protheroe's
five, and I was to have ten bob from Mayne and a pound from
Protheroe--thirty shillings in all; and Protheroe would have the prize
and two pounds, not to mention other pickings, which would doubtless be
given to him by his proud and grateful mother.
You might have thought that nothing could go wrong with a sound
financial scheme of that sort. I put any amount of time and thought into
the transaction, and as it was my first introduction into the world of
business, so to speak, and I stood to net a clear thirty shillings,
naturally I left no stone unturned, as they say, to make it a brilliant
and successful affair.
And yet it all went to utter and hopeless smash, though it was no fault
of mine.
And you certainly couldn't blame Protheroe min. or Mayne either. In
fact, Protheroe must have carried it off very well when he got home, and
the calisthenics went down all right; and Mayne, when his people asked
how it was that he hadn't got more than one prize, was ingenious enough
to say that he'd suffered from hay fever all the term and been too off
colour to make his usual haul.
So everything would have been perfection but for the idiotic and
footling behaviour of Protheroe min.'s mother.
This excitable and weak-minded woman was not content with just quietly
taking the prize and putting it in a glass case with the prizes won in
the past by Protheroe's brothers. She must go fluttering about telling
his wretched relations what he'd done; and, as if that was not enough,
she got altogether above herself and wrote to Dr. Dunston about it. She
said how glad and happy it had made her, and that success in the
gymnasium was something to begin with, and that she hoped and prayed
that it would lead to better things, and that they would live to be
proud of Protheroe minimus yet, and such-like truck!
Well, the result was a knock-down blow to us all, as you may imagine,
and the Doctor showed himself both wily and beastly, as usual. For he
merely asked Protheroe's mother to send back the prize at the beginning
of the term, as he fancied there might have been some mistake; but he
begged her not to mention the matter to Protheroe minimus.
So when Protheroe and Mayne and myself all arrived again for the arduous
toil of the winter term, and Mayne and I were eager for the financial
disimbursements to begin, we heard the shattering news that, at the last
moment, Protheroe hadn't got his fiver.
It was to have been given to him on the day that he came back to school;
but instead his mother had merely told him that she feared there was a
little mistake somewhere, and that she couldn't give him his hard-earned
cash till Dr. Dunston had cleared the matter up.
Needless to say that Dunston did clear it up with all the brutality of
which he was capable.
As for myself, when the crash came, I hoped it would happen to me as it
often does to professional financiers in real life, and that I should
escape, as it were. Not, of course, that I had done anything that in
fairness made it necessary for me to escape, because to take advantage
of supply and demand is a natural law of self-preservation, and
everybody does it as a matter of course, not only financiers.
But, much to my annoyance, the common-sense view of the thing was not
taken, and I found myself "in the cart," as they say, with young Mayne
and Protheroe minimus.
The Doctor, on examining Protheroe's prize for calisthenics, instantly
perceived that it was in reality young Mayne's prize for literature.
But evidently anything like strategy of this kind was very distasteful
to the Doctor. In fact, he took a prejudiced view from the first, and
as young Mayne was only eleven and Protheroe min. merely ten and a half,
it instantly jumped to Dunston's hateful and suspicious mind that
somebody must have helped them in what he called a "nefarious project."
And, by dint of some very unmanly cross-questioning, he got my name out
of Mayne.
I never blamed Mayne; in fact, I quite believed him when he swore that
it only slipped out under the treacherous questions of the Doctor; but
the result was, of course, unsatisfactory in every way for me.
I was immediately sent for, and had no course open to me but to explain
the whole nature of financial operations to Dr. Dunston, and try to make
him see that I had simply fallen in with the iron laws of supply and
demand.
Needless to say, I failed, for he was in one of his fiery and snorting
conditions and above all appeal to reason.
"It was an ordinary sort of transaction, sir," I said, "and I don't see
that anybody was hurt by it. In fact, everybody was pleased, including
Mrs. Protheroe."
This made him simply foam at the mouth.
I had never been what you may call a great success with him, and now to
hear sound business views from one still at the early age of sixteen,
fairly shook him up.
He ordered me to go back to my class, and when I had gone, he flogged
young Mayne and Protheroe minimus. He then forgave them and told them
to go and sin no more; and the same day, doubtless after the old fool
had cooled down a bit, he wrote to my father and put the case before
him--though not quite fairly--and said that, apparently, I had no moral
sense, and a lot of other insulting and vulgar things. In conclusion,
he asked my father to remove me, that I might find another sphere for my
activities.
And my father did.
He never took my view of the matter exactly; but he certainly did not
take Dr. Dunston's view either. He seemed to be more amused than
anything, and was by no means in such a wax with Dr. Dunston as I should
have expected.
He said that the scholastic point of view was rather stuffy and lacked
humour; and then he explained that I had certainly not acted quite on
the straight, but had been a "deceitful and cunning little bounder."
I was a good deal hurt at this view, and when he found a billet for me
in the firm of Messrs. Martin & Moss, Stock Brokers, I felt very glad
indeed to go into it and shake off the dust of school from my feet, as
they say.
It is a good and a busy firm, and I have been here a fortnight now. Ten
days ago, happening to pass Mr. Martin's door, and catching my name, I
naturally stood and listened and heard an old clerk tell Mr. Martin that
I was taking to the work like a duck takes to water.
I am writing this account of the business at Merivale on sheets of the
best correspondence paper of Messrs. Martin & Moss!
They would not like it if they knew.
But they won't know.