“I have just been at our friend Levy’s,” said Randal, when he and
Dick were outside the street door. “He, like you, is full of politics;
pleasant man,--for the business he is said to do.”
“Well,” said Dick, slowly, “I suppose he is pleasant, but make the best
of it--and still--”
“Still what, my dear Avenel?” (Randal here for the first time discarded
the formal Mister.)
MR. AVENEL.--“Still the thing itself is not pleasant.”
RANDAL (with his soft hollow laugh).--“You mean borrowing money upon
more than five per cent?”
“Oh, curse the percentage. I agree with Bentham on the Usury Laws,--no
shackles in trade for me, whether in money or anything else. That’s not
it. But when one owes a fellow money even at two per cent, and ‘t is not
convenient to pay him, why, somehow or other, it makes one feel small;
it takes the British Liberty out of a man!”
“I should have thought you more likely to lend money than to borrow it.”
“Well, I guess you are right there, as a general rule. But I tell you
what it is, sir; there is too great a mania for competition getting up
in this rotten old country of ours. I am as liberal as most men. I like
competition to a certain extent, but there is too much of it, sir,--too
much of it.” Randal looked sad and convinced. But if Leonard had heard
Dick Avenel, what would have been his amaze? Dick Avenel rail against
competition! Think there could be too much of it! “Of course heaven and
earth are coming together,” said the spider, when the housemaid’s broom
invaded its cobweb. Dick was all for sweeping away other cobwebs; but he
certainly thought heaven and earth coming together when he saw a great
Turk’s-head besom poked up at his own.
Mr. Avenel, in his genius for speculation and improvement, had
established a factory at Screwstown, the first which had ever eclipsed
the church spire with its Titanic chimney. It succeeded well at first.
Mr. Avenel transferred to this speculation nearly all his capital.
“Nothing,” quoth he, “paid such an interest. Manchester was getting worn
out,--time to show what Screwstown could do. Nothing like competition.”
But by-and-by a still greater capitalist than Dick Avenel, finding out
that Screwstown was at the mouth of a coal mine, and that Dick’s profits
were great, erected a still uglier edifice, with a still taller chimney.
And having been brought up to the business, and making his residence in
the town, while Dick employed a foreman and flourished in London, this
infamous competitor so managed, first to share, and then gradually to
sequester, the profits which Dick had hitherto monopolized, that no
wonder Mr. Avenel thought competition should have its limits. “The
tongue touches where the tooth aches,” as Dr. Riccabocca would tell
us. By little and little our Juvenile Talleyrand (I beg the elder great
man’s pardon) wormed out from Dick this grievance, and in the grievance
discovered the origin of Dick’s connection with the money-lender.
“But Levy,” said Avenel, candidly, “is a decentish chap in his
way,--friendly too. Mrs. A. finds him useful; brings some of your young
highflyers to her soirees. To be sure, they don’t dance,--stand all in
a row at the door, like mutes at a funeral. Not but what they have been
uncommon civil to me lately, Spendquick particularly. By-the-by, I dine
with him to-morrow. The aristocracy are behindhand,--not smart, sir, not
up to the march; but when a man knows how to take ‘em, they beat the New
Yorkers in good manners. I’ll say that for them. I have no prejudice.”
“I never saw a man with less; no prejudice even against Levy.”
“No, not a bit of it! Every one says he’s a Jew; he says he’s not. I
don’t care a button what he is. His money is English,--that’s enough for
any man of a liberal turn of mind. His charges, too, are moderate. To be
sure, he knows I shall pay them; only what I don’t like in him is a sort
of way he has of mon-cher-ing and my-good-fellow-ing one, to do things
quite out of the natural way of that sort of business. He knows I have
got parliamentary influence. I could return a couple of members for
Screwstown, and one, or perhaps two, for Lansmere, where I have of late
been cooking up an interest; and he dictates to--no, not dictates--but
tries to humbug me into putting in his own men. However, in one respect,
we are likely to agree. He says you want to come into parliament. You
seem a smart young fellow; but you must throw over that stiff red-tapist
of yours, and go with Public Opinion, and--Myself.”
“You are very kind, Avenel; perhaps when we come to compare opinions we
may find that we agree entirely. Still, in Egerton’s present position,
delicacy to him--However, we’ll not discuss that now. But you really
think I might come in for Lansmere,--against the L’Estrange interest,
too, which must be strong there?”
“It was very strong, but I’ve smashed it, I calculate.”
“Would a contest there cost very much?”
“Well, I guess you must come down with the ready. But, as you say,
time enough to discuss that when you have squared your account with
‘delicacy;’ come to me then, and we’ll go into it.”
Randal, having now squeezed his orange dry, had no desire to waste his
time in brushing up the rind with his coat-sleeve, so he unhooked his
arm from Avenel’s, and, looking at his watch, discovered he should be
just in time for an appointment of the most urgent business,--hailed a
cab, and drove off.
Dick looked hipped and disconsolate at being left alone; he yawned very
loud, to the astonishment of three prim old maiden Belgravians who were
passing that way; and then his mind began to turn towards his factory
at Screwstown, which had led to his connection with the baron; and he
thought over a letter he had received from his foreman that morning,
informing him that it was rumoured at Screwstown that Mr. Dyce, his
rival, was about to have new machinery on an improved principle; and
that Mr. Dyce had already gone up to town, it was supposed, with the
intention of concluding a purchase for a patent discovery to be applied
to the new machinery, and which that gentleman had publicly declared in
the corn-market “would shut up Mr. Avenel’s factory before the year was
out.” As this menacing epistle recurred to him, Dick felt his desire to
yawn incontinently checked. His brow grew very dark; and he walked, with
restless strides, on and on, till he found himself in the Strand. He
then got into an omnibus, and proceeded to the city, wherein he spent
the rest of the day looking over machines and foundries, and trying in
vain to find out what diabolical invention the over-competition of Mr.
Dyce had got hold of. “If,” said Dick Avenel to himself, as he returned
fretfully homeward--“if a man like me, who has done so much for British
industry and go-a-head principles, is to be catawampously champed up
by a mercenary, selfish cormorant of a capitalist like that interloping
blockhead in drab breeches, Tom Dyce, all I can say is, that the sooner
this cursed old country goes to the dogs, the better pleased I shall be.
I wash my hands of it.”