The melancholy man was seated in his favourite corner, gazing out at
the landscape. He scarcely looked up as Jacob entered. It chanced that
they were alone.
"Richard Dauncey," Jacob said impressively, as soon as the train had
started again, "you once sat in that corner and smiled at me when I
got in. I think you also wished me good morning and admired my rose."
"It was two years ago," Dauncey assented.
"Did you ever hear of a man," Jacob went on, "who made his fortune
with a smile? Of course not. You are probably the first. Look at me
steadfastly. This is to be a heart-to-heart talk. Why do you go about
looking as though you were the most miserable creature on God's
earth?"
Richard Dauncey sighed.
"You needn't rub it in. My appearance is against me in business and in
every way. I can't help it. I have troubles."
"They are at an end," Jacob declared. "Don't jump out of the window or
do anything ridiculous, my friend, but sit still and listen. You have
been starving with a wife and two children on three pounds a week.
Your salary from to-day is ten pounds a week, with expenses."
Dauncey shook his head.
"You are not well this morning, man."
Jacob produced the letters and handed them over to his friend, who
read them with many exclamations of wonder. When he returned them,
there was a little flush in his face.
"I congratulate you, Jacob," he said heartily. "You are one of those
men who have the knack of keeping a stiff upper lip, but I know what
you have suffered."
"Congratulate yourself, too, old chap," Jacob enjoined, holding out
his hand. "Exactly what I am going to do in the future I haven't quite
made up my mind, but this I do know--we start a fresh life from
lunch-time to-day, you and I. You can call yourself my secretary, for
want of a better description, until we settle down. Your screw will be
ten pounds a week, and if you refuse the hundred pounds I am going to
offer you at our luncheon table at Simpson's to-day, I shall knock you
down."
Dauncey apologised shamefacedly, a few minutes later, for a brief
period of rare weakness.
"It's the wife, old chap," he explained, as they drew near the
terminus. "You see, I married a little above my station, but there was
never any money, and the two kids came and there didn't seem enough
to clothe them properly, or feed them properly, or put even a trifle
by in case anything should happen to me. Life's been pretty hard,
Jacob, and I can't make friends. Or rather I never have been able to
until you came along."
They shook hands once more, a queer but very human proceeding in those
overwrought moments.
"Just you walk to the office this morning," Jacob said, "with your
head in the air, and keep on telling yourself there's no mistake about
it. You're going home to-night with a hundred pounds in bank notes in
your pocket, with a bottle of wine under one arm, and a brown paper
parcel as big as you can carry under the other. You're out of the
wood, young fellow, and you be thankful for the rest of your life that
you found the way to smile one morning. So long till one o'clock at
Simpson's," he added, as they stepped out on to the platform. "Hi,
taxi!"
Mr. Bultiwell came hurrying along, with a good deal less than his
usual dignity. He was not one of those men who were intended by nature
to proceed at any other than a leisurely pace.
"Pratt," he called out, "wait a minute. We'll share that taxi, eh?"
Jacob glanced over his shoulder.
"Sorry," he answered, "I'm not going your way."
* * * * *
Soon after the opening of that august establishment, Jacob, not
without some trepidation, visited the Bank of England. At half-past
ten, he strolled into the warehouse of Messrs. Smith and Joyce,
leather merchants, Bermondsey Street, the firm for which he had been
working during the last two years. Mr. Smith frowned at him from
behind a stack of leather.
"You're late this morning, Pratt," he growled. "I thought perhaps you
had gone over to see that man at Tottenham."
"The man at Tottenham," Jacob remarked equably, "can go to hell."
Mr. Smith was a short, thin man with a cynical expression, a bloodless
face and a loveless heart. He opened his mouth a little, a habit of
his when surprised.
"I suppose it is too early in the morning to suggest that you have
been drinking," he said.
"You are right," Jacob acknowledged. "A little later in the day I
shall be able to satisfy everybody in that respect."
Mr. Smith came out from behind the stack of leather. He was wearing a
linen smock over his clothes and paper protectors over his cuffs.
"I don't think you're quite yourself this morning, Pratt," he observed
acidly.
"I am not," Jacob answered. "I have had good news."
Mr. Smith was a farseeing man, with a brain which worked quickly. He
remembered in a moment the cause of Jacob's failure. Oil might be
found at any time!
"I am very glad to hear it, Pratt," he said. "Would you like to come
into the office and have a little chat?"
Jacob looked his employer squarely in the face.
"Never so long as I live," he replied. "Just the few words I want to
say to you, Mr. Smith, can be said here. You gave me a job when I was
down and out. You gave it to me not out of pity but because you knew I
was a damned good traveller. I've trudged the streets for you, ridden
in tram-cars, 'buses and tubes, sold your leather honestly and
carefully for two years. I've doubled your turnover; I've introduced
you to the soundest connection you ever had on your books. Each
Christmas a clerk in the counting house has handed me an extra
sovereign--to buy sweets with, I suppose! You've never raised my
salary, you've never uttered a word of thanks. I've brought you in
three of the biggest contracts you ever had in your life, and you
accepted them with grudging satisfaction, pretended they didn't pay
you, forgot that I knew what you gave for every ton of your leather
that passed through my hands. You've been a cold, calculating and
selfish employer. You'll never be a rich man because you haven't the
imagination, and you'll never be a poor one because you're too stingy.
And now you can go on with your rotten little business and find
another traveller, for I've finished with you."
"You can't leave without a week's notice," Mr. Smith snapped.
"Sue me, then," Jacob retorted, as he turned away. "Put me in the
County Court. I shall have the best part of a million to pay the
damage with. Good morning to you, Mr. Smith, and I thank Providence
that never again in this life have I got to cross the threshold of
your warehouse!"
Jacob passed out into the street, whistling lightly. He was beginning
to feel himself.
Half an hour later, seated in the most comfortable easy chair of Mr.
Pedlar's private office, a sanctum into which he had never before been
asked to penetrate, Jacob discussed the flavour of a fine Havana cigar
and issued his instructions for the payment of his debts in full. Mr.
Stephen Pedlar, a suave, shrewd man of much versatility, congratulated
himself that he had, at all times during his connection with Jacob,
treated this erstwhile insignificant defaulter with the courtesy which
at least had cost him nothing.
"Most interesting position, yours, Pratt," the man of figures
declared, loitering a little over the final details. "I should like to
talk it over with you sometime. What about a little lunch up in the
West End to-day?"
Jacob shook his head.
"I am lunching with a friend," he said. "Thank you very much, all the
same."
"Some other time, then," Mr. Pedlar continued. "Have you made any
plans at all for the future?"
"None as yet worth speaking of."
"You are a young man," the accountant continued. "You must have
occupation. If the advice of a man of the world is worth having, count
me at your disposal."
"I am very much obliged," Jacob acknowledged.
"I can be considered wholly impartial," Mr. Pedlar went on, "because
I have no direct interest in whatever you may choose to do with your
money, but my advice to you, Mr. Pratt, would be to buy a partnership
in one of the leading firms engaged in the industry with which you
have been associated."
"I see," Jacob reflected. "Go into business again on a larger scale?"
"Exactly," the accountant assented, "only, go into an established
business, with a partner, where you are not too much tied down. You'll
want to enjoy yourself and see a little of the world now. A bungalow
down the river for the summer, eh? A Rolls-Royce, of course, and a
month or so on the Riviera in the winter. Plenty of ways of getting
something out of life, Mr. Pratt, if only one has the means."
Jacob drew a deep sigh and murmured something noncommittal.
"My advice to you," his mentor continued, "would be to enjoy
yourself, get value for your money, but--don't give up work
altogether. With the capital at your command, you could secure an
interest in one of the leading firms in the trade."
"Were you thinking of any one in particular?" Jacob asked quietly.
Mr. Pedlar hesitated.
"To tell you the truth, Mr. Pratt," he admitted candidly, "I was.
I know of a firm at the present moment, one of the oldest and most
respected in the trade--I might almost say the most prominent
firm--who would be disposed to admit into partnership a person of
your standing and capital."
"You don't, by any chance, mean Bultiwell's?"
The accountant's manner became more earnest. He had the air of one who
releases a great secret.
"Don't mention it, Pratt, whatever you do," he begged. "Mr. Bultiwell
would probably be besieged by applications from people who would be
quite useless to him."
"I shall not tell a soul," Jacob promised.
"You see," his companion went on, watching the ash of his cigar for a
moment, "the Mortimers and the Craigs have both come to an end so far
as regards participation in the business. Colonel Craig was killed
playing polo in India, and had no sons, and old Mortimer, too, had
only one son, who went into the diplomatic service. That leaves Mr.
Bultiwell the sole representative of the firm, and though he has, as
you know, a great dislike for new associations, it is certainly too
much responsibility for one man."
"The Mortimer and Craig interests have had to be paid out, I suppose?"
Jacob enquired.
"To a certain extent, yes," Mr. Pedlar admitted. "That is where the
opportunity for new capital comes in."
"I have made no plans yet," Jacob declared, rising to take his leave.
"If you like to place the figures before me within the course of the
next week or so, and the suggested terms, I might consider the
matter--that is, if I decide to go into business at all."
"I can't conceive a more comfortable position for a young man with
your knowledge of the trade," Mr. Pedlar said, as he wished his guest
good morning. "You shall have all the figures placed before you. Good
morning, and once more my heartiest congratulations, Mr. Pratt."