The post-horses ordered for Mr. Dunn's carriage arrived, duly, at break
of day; but from some change of purpose, of whose motive this veracious
history can offer no explanation, that gentleman did not take his
departure, but merely despatched a messenger to desire Mr. Hankes would
come over to the Hermitage.
“I shall remain here to-day, Hankes,” said he, carelessly, “and not
impossibly to-morrow also. There's something in the air here suits me,
and I have not felt quite well latterly.”
Mr. Hankes bowed; but not even his long-practised reserve could conceal
the surprise he felt at this allusion to health or well-being. Positive
illness he could understand,--a fever or a broken leg were intelligible
ills; but the slighter casualties of passing indispositions were
weaknesses that he could not imagine a business mind could descend
to, no more than he could fancy a man's being turned from pursuing his
course because some one had accidentally jostled him in the streets.
Dunn was too acute a reader of men's thoughts not to perceive the
impression his words had produced; but with the indifference he ever
bestowed upon inferiors, he went on:--
“Forward my letters here till you hear from me; there's nothing so very
pressing at this moment that cannot wait my return to town. Stay--I was
to have had a dinner on Saturday; you'll have to put them off. Clowes
will show you the list; and let some of the evening papers mention
my being unavoidably detained in the south,--say nothing about
indisposition.”
“Of course not, sir,” said Hankes, quite shocked at such an indiscretion
being deemed possible.
“And why, 'of course,' Mr. Hankes?” said Dunn, slowly. “I never knew it
was amongst the prerogatives of active minds to be exempt from ailment.”
“A bad thing to speak about, sir,--a very bad thing, indeed,” said
Hankes, solemnly. “You constantly hear people remark, 'He was never the
same man since that last attack.'”
“Psha!” said Dunn, contemptuously.
“I assure you, sir, I speak the sense of the community. The old adage
says, 'Two removes are as bad as a fire,' and in the same spirit I would
say, 'Two gouty seizures are equal to a retirement'.”
“Absurdity!” said Dunn, angrily. “I never have acknowledged--I never
will acknowledge--any such accountability to the world.”
“They bring us 'to book' whether we will or not,” said Hankes, sturdily.
Dunn started at the words, and turned away to hide his face; and well
was it he did so, for it was pale as ashes, even to the lips, which were
actually livid.
“You may expect me by Sunday morning, Hankes,”--he spoke without turning
round,--“and let me have the balance-sheet of the Ossory Bank to look
over. We must make no more advances to the gentry down there; we must
restrict our discounts.”
“Impossible, sir, impossible! There must be no discontent--for the
present, at least,” said Hankes; and his voice sunk to a whisper.
Dunn wheeled round till he stood full before him, and thus they remained
for several seconds, each staring steadfastly at the other.
“You don't mean to say, Hankes--” He stopped.
“I do, sir,” said the other, slowly, “and I say it advisedly.”
“Then there must be some gross mismanagement, sir,” said Dunn,
haughtily. “This must be looked to! Except that loan of forty-seven
thousand pounds to Lord Lacking-ton, secured by mortgage on the estate
it went to purchase, with what has this Bank supplied us?”
“Remember, sir,” whispered Hankes, cautiously glancing around the room
as he spoke, “the loan to the Viscount was advanced by ourselves at six
per cent, and the estate was bought in under your own name; so that, in
fact, it is to us the Bank have to look as their security.”
“And am I not sufficient for such an amount, Mr. Hankes?” said he,
sneeringly.
“I trust you are, sir, and for ten times the sum. Time is everything
in these affairs. The ship that would float over the bar at high water
would stick fast at half-flood.”
“The 'Time' I am anxious for is a very different one,” said Dunn,
reflectively. “It is the time when I shall no longer be harassed with
these anxieties. Life is not worth the name when it excludes the thought
of all enjoyment.”
“Business is business, sir,” said Mr. Hankes, with all the solemnity
with which such men deliver platitudes as wisdom.
“Call it slavery, and you 'll be nearer the mark,” broke in Dunn. “For
what or for whom, let me ask you, do I undergo all this laborious toil?
For a world that at the first check or stumble will overwhelm me with
slanders. Let me but afford them a pretext, and they will debit me with
every disaster their own recklessness has caused, and forget to credit
me with all the blessings my wearisome life has conferred upon them.”
“The way of the world, sir,” sighed Hankes, with the same stereotyped
philosophy.
“I know well,” continued Dunn, not heeding the other's commonplace,
“that there are men who would utilize the station which I have acquired;
they'd soon convert into sterling capital the unprofitable gains that
I am content with. They 'd be cabinet ministers, peers, ambassadors,
colonial governors. It's only men like myself work without wages.”
“'The laborer is worthy of his hire,' says the old proverb.” Mr. Hankes
was not aware of the authority, but quoted what he believed a popular
saying.
“Others there are,” continued Dunn, still deep in his own thoughts,
“that would consult their own ease, and, throwing off this drudgery,
devote what remained to them of life to the calm enjoyments of a home.”
Mr. Hankes was disposed to add, “Home, sweet home;” but he coughed down
the impulse, and was silent.
Dunn walked the room with his arms crossed on his breast and his head
bent down, deep in his own reflections, while his lips moved, as if
speaking to himself. Meanwhile Mr. Hankes busied himself gathering
together his papers, preparatory to departure.
“They 've taken that fellow Redlines. I suppose you 've heard it?” said
he, still sorting and arranging the letters.
“No,” said Dunn, stopping suddenly in his walk; “where was he
apprehended?”
“In Liverpool. He was to have sailed in the 'Persia,' and had his place
taken as a German watchmaker going to Boston.”
“What was it he did? I forget,” said Dunn, carelessly.
“He did, as one may say, a little of everything; issued false scrip
on the Great Coast Railway, sold and pocketed the price of some thirty
thousand pounds' worth of their plant, mortgaged their securities, and
cooked their annual accounts so cleverly that for four years nobody had
the slightest suspicion of any mischief.”
“What was it attracted the first attention to these frauds, Hankes?”
said Dunn, apparently curious to hear an interesting story.
“The merest accident in the world. He had sent a few lines to the Duke
of Wycombe to inquire the character and capacity of a French cook.
Pollard, the Duke's man of business, happened to be in the room when the
note came, and his Grace begged he would answer it for him. Pollard, as
you are aware, is Chairman of the Coast Line; and when he saw the name
'Lionel Redlines,' he was off in a jiffy to the Board room with the
news.”
“One would have thought a little foresight might have saved him from
such a stupid mistake as this,” said Dunn, gravely. “A mode of living
so disproportioned to his well-known means must inevitably have elicited
remark.”
“At any other moment, so it would,” said Hankes; “but we live in a
gambling age, and no one can say where, when, the remedy be curative
or poisonous.” Then, with a quick start round, he said, “Hankes, do
you remember that terrific accident which occurred a few years ago in
France,--at Angers, I think the place was called? A regiment in marching
order had to cross a suspension-bridge, and coming on with the measured
tramp of the march, the united force was too much for the strength of
the structure; the iron beams gave way, and all were precipitated into
the stream below. This is an apt illustration of what we call credit. It
will bear, and with success, considerable pressure if it be irregular,
dropping, and incidental. Let the forces, however, be at once
consentaneous and united,--let the men keep step,--and down comes the
bridge! Ah, Hankes, am I not right?”
“I believe you are, sir,” said Hankes, who was not quite certain that he
comprehended the illustration.
“His Lordship is waiting breakfast, sir,” said a smartly dressed footman
at the door.
“I will be down in a moment. I believe, Hankes, we have not forgotten
anything? The Cloyne and Carrick Company had better be wound up; and
that waste-land project--let me have the papers to look over. You think
we ought to discount those bills of Barrington's?”
“I'm sure of it, sir. The people at the Royal Bank would take them
to-morrow.”
“The credit of the Bank must be upheld, Hankes. The libellous articles
of those newspapers are doing us great damage, timid shareholders assail
us with letters, and some have actually demanded back their deposits. I
have it, Hankes!” cried he, as a sudden thought struck him,--“I have it!
Take a special train at once for town, and fetch me the balance-sheet
and the list of all convertible securities. You can be back here--let
us see--by to-morrow at noon, or, at latest, to-morrow evening. By that
time I shall have matured my plan.”
“I should like to hear some hint of what you intend,” said Hankes.
“You shall know all to-morrow,” said he, as he nodded a good-bye, and
descended to the breakfast-room. He turned short, however, at the foot
of the stairs, and returned to his chamber, where Hankes was still
packing up his papers. “On second thoughts, Hankes, I believe I had
better tell you now,” said he. “Sit down.”
And they both eat down at the table, end never moved from it for an
hour. Twice--even thrice--there cane messages from below, requesting
Mr. Dunn's presence at the breakfast-table, but a hurried “Yes,
immediately,” was his reply, and he came not.
At last they rose? Hankes the first, saying, as he looked at his watch,
“I shall just be in time. It is a great idea, a very great idea indeed,
and does you infinite credit.”
“It ought to have success, Hankes,” said he, calmly.
“Ought, Sir! It will succeed. It is as fine a piece of tactics as I ever
heard of. Trust me to carry it out, that's all.”
“Remember, Hankes, time is everything. Goodby!”