Now comes one of the most unsavoury of all my experiences during the
days that kept me struggling in the bog of poverty. I was informed
one day by letter that the London Fur Dressing Company of Prince
Street required the services of an accountant to prepare a statement
of their affairs. I rejoiced exceedingly until I visited its place
of business. The name of the company looked like big things, when
printed as the heading of a good letter-sheet. “Prince Street” sounded
like important business, but when I visited it I found it dirty and
disreputable-looking, although business was done therein. The number
given on the letter paper of the London Fur Dressing Company led me
to the most ancient, dilapidated and frowsy-looking building in the
street. Its side walls protruded into a dirty lane and were shored up
with beams black with age and grime. No sign decorated the front of
the building, and the windows were so small and dirty that one could
not see within. Weird, rumbling noises showed that men were working in
this place. I opened a small greasy door, which evidently rang a bell,
and my nostrils were at once assailed by a most peculiar and horrible
stench. A wide and filthy staircase was before me, and a gentle voice
from above invited me to “come right up.”
Mounting the stairs, which were slimy with ancient accumulations of
dirt, I found a strange scene. A tremendous room, with a very low
wooden ceiling supported by huge rafters, was before me. The floor
was littered with fur skins piled up in great heaps and lying about in
apparent disorder. Some were soaking wet, others dry, hard and stiff,
and each individual skin evidently gave off its own particular odour,
with a result that cannot be described in words, except as an orchestra
of bad smells. Some twenty men, dirty and ragged, worked at this mess
in a steamy atmosphere. Some stood in large barrels and appeared to be
kneading something with their feet, stamping noiselessly and perspiring
very freely; others sat at low work benches, and scraped fat and meat
from the inner sides of fur skins with a large instrument that looked
like a kind of plane or spokeshave. Final detail of the picture: some
rough, dirty boards formed a little cupboard in a corner of the large
room.
In this retreat, which was near the top of the stairs, sat a rather
pleasant-looking bearded man, with large bright blue eyes. The cupboard
was, in fact, the office of the London Fur Dressing Company, which
required the services of an accountant. The outlook was not very
promising for the accountant; but beggars cannot be choosers, and the
enormous quantity of fur skins in sight, worth thousands of dollars,
showed clearly that notwithstanding the vile appearance of the place,
business was being done.
Having a stomach not easily turned by trifles, I stayed and entered the
cupboard, and explained the reason of my presence to the blue-eyed man.
He proved to be the proprietor of the concern. The books of the London
Fur Dressing Company were the only clean things about the place. They
had been well kept as far as writing things down was concerned, and
were quite understandable, although a little involved and irregular.
A bargain was soon struck between Mr. Cramer, the blue-eyed man, and
myself. That I could be bought for small money was a recommendation in
the first place.
I worked for the London Fur Dressing Company for many weeks, and got
so accustomed to the filth and the stench that I hardly noticed them.
A statement of the affairs of the company showed a curious record of
events, typical of the small businesses which are continually making
vain attempts to live in the days of big things. Some poor devil is
always losing his all, in some little one-horse effort to do business.
The greater number of such venturers, conceived in ignorance, born in
wooden stupidity, and badly nourished with money, are of few days and
full of sorrow. They are not, therefore, guileless, but just as greedy,
voracious and inclined to dishonesty as Big Businesses. They only lack
strength and brains.
Cramer, a German, had come to Montreal, where he boarded with an Irish
woman whose hardy son had accumulated a few dollars, after years of
toil, by selling coal oil from door to door. He cried his wares in
a fine voice, singing, “Cool ile! Cool ile!” all day long. Michael
by name he was, and under the influence of the smooth tongue and the
blue eyes of his mother’s German boarder, he had invested one thousand
dollars in starting the London Fur Dressing Company. These things had
happened nearly two years before I was called in, and my services were
now required by Michael, to show him how his money was doing, and why
he had never drawn any profits from his investment. He still cried
“Cool ile!” He was one of the “be jasus” Irish, of a locality called
“The Pint,” but he was a fine fellow in spite of his toughness.
The statement of affairs when complete showed small progress, not
enough to tempt Michael to further investment of his hard-earned
dollars. Michael did not know that he only stood towards Cramer as
an ordinary creditor, and was not in law a part-owner of the London
Fur Dressing Company. His indignation, when he learned this was
such that if Mr. Cramer had not been more of a diplomat than he was
a fist-fighter, he would have received serious injuries. The whole
incident seems amusing enough now, but at the time it was stern
business, and as earnest and important as if it had been carried on
around the mahogany table in the carpeted and curtained board-room of a
gigantic company.
The outcome was that I became a partner in the London Fur Dressing
Company. I secured this valuable partnership because both Michael and
Cramer wished to retain my services, and as a reward for my aiding
to secure a temporary loan of three hundred dollars. On this sum it
was proposed that Cramer should return to Germany and obtain from his
father the necessary addition to the capital of the company. Let me
close this painful experience. Cramer, no doubt, went to Germany, for
I bought his passage myself, but “alas and alack, he never came back.”
Weeks ran into months, and when Michael and I could no longer hope for
his return, we decided to wind up the Fur Dressing business. “Cool ile”
Michael could depend on, and of the dressing of furs I was entirely
ignorant and desired to remain so.
While in the process of getting out of the Fur Dressing business, as
well as I could, my last financial adventure fell upon me. I had one
more dream of wealth. It was such a vivid and beautiful dream too; it
fairly equalled some of those that had visited me in my gambling days.
One day while at work in my little office, the bell over the street
door rang announcing the arrival of some one. Two men soon appeared at
the top of the stairway, one tall and dark, the other short and fair.
I could see by the tilt of their noses that they were experiencing a
new sensation in the way of odours, so concluded that they were not
in the fur business. The tall one addressed me, inquiring if I were
Mr. Cramer. I explained that I represented Mr. Cramer, without going
into the details of his being in parts unknown, with no very certain
prospect of returning.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, before inviting them to be seated on
the two boxes reserved for visitors.
“Vy, you are, I guess, Mr. Vesblock, vot?” said the tall man, speaking
with a German accent.
“That is my name,” I replied. I did not recognise the man; but his
accent was familiar.
“Yess, yess, you are Mr. Vesblock. You remember, you have some chess
blayed viss me, aboudt a year ago, berhaps?”
I remembered the foreigner with whom I had played chess, at a tea room
where chess fiends gathered.
“My name is Leidman,” he continued. “I bring viss me Mr. Skillmore, who
vould Mr. Cramer see a little aboudt a quite large idea vich he hass
gott.”
I asked my visitors to be seated, and explained that Mr. Cramer’s
return was very uncertain. I learned from them that they owned a
patent, a very brilliant idea for a fire extinguisher which they
desired to exchange for cash. Their scheme was a very simple and
every-day one. To form a provisional company, into which a few men put
very little money, then with the aid of good names, and a convincing
prospectus, float a very large company, wherein the original promoters
would get a great deal of stock for very little money, the small
investing public taking all the risk of the venture. In these things
the original promoters always make money, whether the subsequent
stock-holders do or do not. The affair looked promising to me, but
I had to admit that I had no money. This information was enough for
Skillmore and Leidman, and they went on their way, while I turned again
to my fur skins.
Among my friends was one Walter, the dearest, softest, best-natured
and most believing chap I ever knew. He was nearly as big a fool as
I was in the way of having an unbounded faith in humanity and the
future. He was honest and straightforward himself, and of a sympathetic
nature, and gave everybody credit for having the feelings he had,
and for being governed by the same motives that moved him. He was
quite as incapable of making money as I was, but, being wealthy, he
could afford to be foolish, while I could not. He was one of several
sons who had inherited very comfortable fortunes from a diligent and
business-like father. He was in business, but only as a pastime. His
partners restrained him from following his natural inclination to run
an eleemosynary institution under the guise of business.
I dreamed much about the Skillmore patent, and at length mentioned
the matter to Walter, who was immediately interested, not so much for
himself, or what money he might make in the business, as for me. A few
days after I had seen Leidman and Skillmore, they reappeared for the
second time. They were evidently desperately hard up, and had not met
with success in their search for money. After looking further into the
matter I agreed to lay it before Walter, and when they left me I had a
model of the patent, and an armful of sundry documents relative thereto.
My intentions towards my friends, acquaintances and other creditors
have always been of the best and most honourable; but somehow or other
I have never been able to give them anything but trouble.
Walter looked upon the patent and it seemed good to him. He was then
presented to the German and Skillmore, which, of course, was the end of
him. We started a factory in a small way, and the thing still seemed
good to us all. Then the German began to see things large, and proposed
to take out patents in every civilised country, and go to London and
promote a gigantic company, to handle our idea the world over. If at
this time I had listened to a still small voice I sometimes hear, I
would have kept out of this thing, and held Walter back; but it looked
very tempting. The fact that I had nothing to lose and everything to
gain befogged my judgment, and besides, I could not know (and did
not) that the matter would not turn out well for all. I only felt it,
without any apparent cause.
Walter agreed to furnish the money for preliminary expenses, and after
many meetings I found myself booked for London. I went in the capacity
of purse-holder, accompanied by Skillmore, and a skilled mechanic, who
was our demonstrator. Mr. Leidman, like the little pig in the nursery
rhyme, “stayed at home.”
This event happened nearly as quickly as I have written it. So sudden
was it that I woke up one morning fully expecting to partake of a
meagre breakfast, and walk to my odoriferous hole of an office; but
found myself in the close, but comfortable surroundings of a berth on
one of the small ocean liners. It was quite true. I had jumped suddenly
from poverty to comfort, for Walter had given me a most generous
allowance, and a small share in the enterprise.
This was in the year Thirty-Four. Muriel and I had lived thirteen years
together without having been separated. We were now part of each other,
and of our little family. She was very happy about the promised change
in our fortunes, but she wept at our parting. We both saw things in
the future that never came true. I thought that the world was mine for
several months; then I came down.