“You've got here before me, Mac.,” cried Freddie Beazley, bursting into
Oxley's private room, “and I simply scooted round. Oh, I say, you've
broken every bone in my hand, you great Scotch ruffian: take the ruler
out of his fist, Ox., for heaven's sake, or else he'll brain us.
“Ox., you old scoundrel, read that letter aloud. Mac wasn't a
creditor--he wishes he was this day--and he doesn't know it verbatim,
and I'm not sure about a word or two. Stand up, old man, and do the
thing properly. There now we're ready.”
_July 7_, 1897.
“Dear Sir,--
“It will be in your recollection that in July, 1887, I was obliged to
make a composition with my creditors while trading as a corn merchant
under the style of Thomas Hatchard & Co., and that they were good enough
to accept the sum of seven shillings and sixpence in the pound.
“Immediately thereafter, as you may be aware, I began business as a corn
broker, and owing to the kind assistance of certain of my creditors and
other friends, have had considerable success.
“Having made a careful examination of my affairs, I find that I can
now afford to pay the balance of twelve shillings and sixpence which
is morally due to my creditors of 1887, and it affords me much personal
satisfaction to discharge this obligation.
“I therefore beg to enclose a cheque for the amount owing to you, with
5 per cent compound interest, and with sincere gratitude for your
consideration ten years ago.
“I have the honour to remain,
“Your obedient servant,
“Thomas Hatchard.”
“Isn't that great, young gentlemen?” and Beazley took a turn round the
room: “it's the finest thing done in Liverpool in our time. Tommy
has come in again an easy first on the ten miles--just skipped round
Baughfell: there's nothing like the old school for rearing hardy fellows
with plenty of puff in them for a big hill.”
“Thomas 'ill be a proud man the night,” remarked Macfarlane, “and his
wife will be lifted.”
“What about the Hatchard securities and encouragement company? isn't it
a booming concern, and aren't the three men lucky dogs who took
founders' shares? Oxley, old chap,” and Freddie grew serious, “it was
you who put Tommy on his legs, and helped him on to this big thing.”
“Nonsense! we all had a share in the idea; and now that I remember, it
was you, Beazley, who sang his praises that day till Macfarlane allowed
his pipe to go out, and I had to join the chorus. Isn't that so, Mac.?”
Macfarlane was understood to give judgment of strict impartiality--that
the one was as bad as another, and that he had been a victim in their
hands, but that the result had not been destructive of morality in
Liverpool, nor absolutely ruinous to the character of Thomas Hatchard,
beyond which nothing more could be said.
He offered the opinion on his own account that the achievement of Thomas
had been mighty.
“You can put your money on that, Mac.,” and Beazley went off again:
“to pay up the balance of that composition and every private loan with
interest, compound too, is simply A1. T. H. has taken the cake. And
didn't he train for it, poor chap!
“No man enjoyed a good cigar more than Tommy--could not take him in with
bad tobacco. Well, I happen to know that he hasn't had one smoke since
July 7th, *87. Of course he could have had as much 'baccy as he wanted;
but no, it was a bit of the training--giving up every luxury, d'ye see?”
“I wish I was Thomas the night,” remarked Macfarlane. “He 'ill have a
worthwhile smoke.”
“He rather liked a good lunch, and did justice to his grub, too,”
continued Beazley. “Well, for ten years he's taken his midday meal
standing, on milk and bread--not half bad all the same--at the Milk-Pail
in Fenwick Street, and he wouldn't allow himself a cup of tea. You saw
how he lived at Heswall, Oxley?”
“Yes, he found out that he could get a little house, with a bit of
garden, for forty pounds, taxes included, and so he settled there and
cut the whole concern here. There was one sitting-room for the children
and another for themselves, and the garden was the drawing-room; but I
don't believe Hatchard was ever happier, and Mrs. Hatchard has turned
out a heroine.”
“Tommy played up well,” broke in Beazley, “and he never missed a chance.
There has not been any brokerage lying loose in the corn market these
ten years, you bet; and what he got he did well. Do you hear that
MacConnell of Chicago has given him his work to do? Tommy is steaming
down the deep-water channel now, full speed. What's to be done? that's
the question. We simply must celebrate.”
“Well,” replied Oxley, “I suppose the creditors will be giving him a
dinner at the Adelphi and that sort of thing. But there's something
Hatchard would like far better than fifty dinners. He has never entered
the corn exchange since his failure, and I know he never would till
he could look every man in the face. What do you say to ask Barnabas
Greatheart to call at his office and take him?”
“Oxley, you are inspired, and ought to take to politics: it's just
the thing Greatheart would like to do, and it will please the men
tremendously. I bet you a new hat there will be a cheer, and I see them
shaking hands with Tommy: it will touch up two or three scallawags on
the raw first-rate, too, who have made half a dozen compositions in
their time. But what about ourselves, Ox.?”
“Aye,” said Macfarlane; “we're not common shareholders in this concern:
we're founders, that's what we are.”
“I was thinking before you men came in that a nice piece of silver for
their dinner-table--they will come up to town now--say a bowl with some
little inscription on it...”
“The very thing: we'll have it this afternoon; and Ox., you draw up
the screed, but for my sake, as well as Tommy's, put in something about
honour, and, old fellow, let it be strong; it'll go down to his boys,
and be worth a fortune to them, for it will remind them that their
father was an honest man.”
It is not needful to describe, because everybody in the Liverpool Corn
Market knows, how Barnabas Greatheart came into the room arm in arm
with Thomas Hatchard, and how every single man shook hands with Thomas
because he had gone beyond the law and done a noble deed, and was a
credit to the corn business; and how Tommy tried to return thanks for
his health a week after at the Adelphi, and broke down utterly, but not
before he had explained that he wasn't at all the good man they thought
him, but that he happened to have had better friends than most men.
What is not known is that on the very evening of the great day a special
messenger brought over to the cottage at Heswall a parcel, which, being
opened, contained a massive silver bowl, with this inscription:--