MR. CLUTTERBUCK'S ELECTION
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A GENTLEMAN OF LONDON
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MR. CLUTTERBUCK'S
ELECTION
BY
H. BELLOC
AUTHOR OF "EMANUEL BURDEN"
LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
FAWSIDE HOUSE
1908
To
GILBERT CHESTERTON
_Idem Sentire de Republicâ_ ...
MR. CLUTTERBUCK'S ELECTION
CHAPTER I
Towards the end of the late Queen Victoria's reign there resided in the
suburban town of Croydon a gentleman of the name of Clutterbuck, who,
upon a modest capital inherited from his father, contrived by various
negotiations at his office in the City of London to gain an income of
now some seven hundred, now more nearly a thousand, pounds in the year.
It will be remembered that a war of unprecedented dimensions was
raging, at the time of which I speak, in the sub-continent of South
Africa.
The President of the South African Republic, thinking the moment
propitious for a conquest of our dominions, had invaded our territory
after an ultimatum of incredible insolence, and, as though it were
not sufficient that we should grapple foe to foe upon equal terms,
the whole weight of the Orange Free State was thrown into the scale
against us.
The struggle against the combined armies which had united to destroy
this country was long and arduous, and had we been compelled to rely
upon our regular forces alone things might have gone ill. As it was,
the enthusiasm of Colonial manhood and the genius of the generals
prevailed. The names of Kitchener, Methuen, Baden-Powell, and Rhodes
will ever remain associated with that of the Commander-in-Chief
himself, Lord Roberts, who in less than three years from the decisive
victory of Paardeburg imposed peace upon the enemy. Their territories
were annexed in a series of thirty-seven proclamations, and form to-day
the brightest jewel in the Imperial crown.
These facts--which must be familiar to many of my readers--I only
recall in order to show what influence they had in the surprising
revolutions of fortune which enabled Mr. Clutterbuck to pass from ease
to affluence, and launched him upon public life.
The business which Mr. Clutterbuck had inherited from his father was
a small agency chiefly concerned with the Baltic trade. This business
had declined; for Mr. Clutterbuck's father had failed to follow the
rapid concentration of commercial effort which is the mark of our
time. But Mr. Clutterbuck had inherited, besides the business, a sum
of close upon ten thousand pounds in various securities: it was upon
the manipulation of this that he principally depended, and though
he maintained the sign of the old agency at the office, it was the
cautious buying and selling of stocks which he carefully watched,
various opportunities of promotion in a small way, commissions, and
occasional speculations in kind, that procured his constant though
somewhat irregular income. To these sources he would sometimes add
private advances or covering mortgages upon the stock of personal
friends.
It was a venture of the latter sort which began the transformation of
his life.
The last negotiations of the war were not yet wholly completed, nor had
the coronation of his present Majesty taken place when, in the early
summer of 1902, a neighbour of the name of Boyle called one evening at
Mr. Clutterbuck's house.
Mr. Boyle, a man of Mr. Clutterbuck's own age, close upon fifty,
and himself a bachelor, had long enjoyed the acquaintance both of
Mr. Clutterbuck and of his wife. Some years ago, indeed, when Mr.
Boyle resided at the Elms, the acquaintance had almost ripened into
friendship, but Mr. Boyle's ill-health, not unconnected with financial
worries, and later his change of residence to 15 John Bright
Gardens had somewhat estranged the two households. It was therefore
with a certain solemnity that Mr. Boyle was received into the neat
sitting-room where the Clutterbucks were accustomed to pass the time
between tea and the hour of their retirement.
They were shocked to see how aged Mr. Boyle appeared: he formed, as
he sat there opposite them, the most complete contrast with the man
whose counsel and support he had come to seek. For Mr. Clutterbuck was
somewhat stout in figure, of a roundish face with a thick and short
moustache making a crescent upon it. He was bald as to the top of his
head, and brushed across it a large thin fan of his still dark hair.
His forehead was high, since he was bald; his complexion healthy. But
Mr. Boyle, clean-shaven, with deep-set, restless grey eyes, and a
forehead ornamented with corners, seemed almost foreign; so hard were
the lines of his face and so abundant his curly and crisp grey hair.
His gestures also were nervous. He clasped and unclasped his hands, and
as he delivered--at long intervals--his first common-place remarks, his
eyes darted from one object to another, but never met his host's: he
was very ill.
His evident hesitation instructed Mrs. Clutterbuck that he had come
upon some important matter; she therefore gathered up the yellow
satin centre, upon the embroidery of which she had been engaged, and
delicately left the room.
When she had noiselessly shut the door behind her, Mr. Boyle, looking
earnestly at the fire, said abruptly:
"What I have come about to-night, Mr. Clutterbuck, is a business
proposition." Having said this, he extended the fore and middle fingers
of his right hand in the gesture of an episcopal benediction, and
tapped them twice upon the palm of his left; which done, he repeated
his phrase: "A business proposition"; cleared his throat and said no
more.
Mr. Clutterbuck's reply to this was to approach a chiffonier, to squat
down suddenly before it in the attitude of a frog, to unlock it, and
to bring out a cut glass decanter containing whiskey. The whiskey was
Scotch; and as Mr. Clutterbuck straightened himself and set it upon
the table, he looked down upon Mr. Boyle with a look of property and
knowledge, winked solemnly and said:
"Now, Mr. Boyle! This is something you won't get everywhere. Pitt put
me up to it." He made a slight gesture with his left hand. "Simply
couldn't be bought; that's what Pitt said. Not in the market! Say
when"--and with a firm smile he poured the whiskey into a glass which
he set by Mr. Boyle's side, and next poured a far smaller amount into
his own. Indeed it was a feature of this epoch-making interview that
the sound business instinct of Mr. Clutterbuck restrained him to a
great moderation as he listened to his guest's advances.
When Mr. Boyle had drunk the first glass of that whiskey which Mr. Pitt
had so kindly recommended to Mr. Clutterbuck, he was moved to continue:
"It's like this: if you'll meet me man to man, we can do business." He
then murmured: "I've thought a good deal about this"--and while Mr.
Boyle was indulging in these lucid preliminaries, Mr. Clutterbuck, who
thoroughly approved of them, nodded solemnly several times.
"What I've got to put before you," said Mr. Boyle, shifting in
his seat, gazing earnestly at Mr. Clutterbuck and speaking with
concentrated emphasis, "is eggs!"
"Eggs?" said Mr. Clutterbuck with just that tone of contempt which the
other party to a bargain should assume, and with just as much curiosity
as would permit the conversation to continue.
"Yes, eggs," said Mr. Boyle firmly; then in a grand tone he added,
"a million of 'em.... There!" And Mr. Boyle turned his head round as
triumphantly as a sick man can, and filled up his glass again with
whiskey and water.
"Well," said Mr. Clutterbuck, "what about your million eggs? What you
want? Are you buying 'em or selling 'em, or what?"
The somewhat unconventional rapidity of Mr. Clutterbuck did not disturb
Mr. Boyle. He leaned forward again and said: "I've only come to you
because it's you. I knew you'd see it if any man would, and I thought
I'd give you the first chance."
"Yes," said Mr. Clutterbuck slowly, "but how do you mean? Is it buying
or selling, or what?"
"Neither," said Mr. Boyle, and then like a horse taking a hedge, he out
with the whole business and said:
"It's cover. I want to carry on."
"Oh!" said Mr. Clutterbuck deliberately cold, "that's a question of
how much and on what terms. Though for the matter of business from one
gentleman to another, I don't see what a million eggs anyhow, if you
understand me...."
Here he began to think, and Mr. Boyle nodded intelligently to show that
he completely followed the train of Mr. Clutterbuck's thought.
Mr. Boyle filled his glass again with whiskey and waited, but Mr.
Clutterbuck, who had ever appreciated the importance of sobriety in
the relations of commerce, confined himself to occasional sips at his
original allowance. When some intervals of silence had passed between
them in this manner, and when Mr. Boyle had, now for the fourth time,
replenished his glass, Mr. Clutterbuck, who could by this time survey
the whole scheme in a lucid and organised fashion, repeated the number
of eggs, to wit, one million, and after a considerable pause repeated
also the fundamental proposition that it was a question of how much and
upon what terms.
Mr. Boyle, staring at the fire and apparently obtaining some help from
it, made answer: "A thousand."
A lesser man than Mr. Clutterbuck would perhaps have professed
astonishment at so large a sum; he, however, like all men destined for
commercial greatness at any period, however tardy, in their lives, said
quietly:
"More like five hundred."
Mr. Clutterbuck had not yet divided one million by a thousand or by
five hundred; still less had he estimated the probable selling value
of an egg; but he was a little astonished to hear Mr. Boyle say with
lifted eyebrows and a haughty expression: "Done with you!"
"It is not done with me at all," said Mr. Clutterbuck hotly, as Mr.
Boyle poured out a fifth glass of whiskey and water. "It's not done
with me at all! Wait till you see my bit of paper!"
Mr. Boyle assumed a look of weariness. "My dear sir," he said, "I was
only speaking as one gentleman would to another."
Mr. Clutterbuck nodded solemnly.
"It's not a matter of five hundred or a thousand between men like you
and me."
Mr. Clutterbuck still nodded.
"I'm not here to see your name in ink. I'm here to make a business
proposition."
Having said so much he rose to go. And Mr. Clutterbuck, appreciating
that he had gained one of those commercial victories which are often
the foundation of a great fortune, said: "I'll come and see 'em
to-morrow. Current rate."
"One above the Bank," said Mr. Boyle, and they parted friends.
When Mr. Boyle was gone, Mr. Clutterbuck reclined some little time in
a complete blank: a form of repose in which men of high capacity in
organisation often recuperate from moments of intense activity. In this
posture he remained for perhaps half an hour, and then went in, not
without hesitation, to see his wife.
Eighteen years of married life had rendered Mrs. Clutterbuck's features
and manner familiar to her husband. It is well that the reader also
should have some idea of her presence. She habitually dressed in black;
her hair, which had never been abundant, was of the same colour, and
shone with extraordinary precision. She was accustomed to part it in
the middle, and to bring it down upon either side of her forehead.
It was further to be remarked that round her neck, which was long
and slender, she wore a velvet band after a fashion which royalty
itself had not disdained to inaugurate. At her throat was a locket
of considerable size containing initials worked in human hair; upon
her wrists, according to the severity of the season, she wore or
did not wear mittens as dark as the rest of her raiment. She spoke
but little, save in the presence of her husband; her gestures were
restrained and purposeful, her walk somewhat rapid; and her accent that
of a cultivated gentlewoman of the middle sort; her grammar perfect.
Her idiom, however, when it was not a trifle selected, occasionally
erred. Her hours and diet are little to my purpose, but it is perhaps
worth while to note that she rose at seven, and was accustomed to eat
breakfast an hour afterwards, while hot meat in the middle of the day
and cold meat after her husband's office hours, formed her principal
meals. Her recreations were few but decided, and she had the method to
attack them at regular seasons. She left Croydon three times in the
year, once to visit her family at Berkhampstead, to which rural village
her father had retired after selling his medical practice; once to the
seaside, and once to spend a few days in the heart of London, during
which holiday it was her custom to visit the principal theatres in the
company of her husband.
She had no children, and was active upon those four societies which, at
the time of which I speak, formed a greater power for social good than
any others in Croydon--the Charity Organisation Society, the Society
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, a similar society which
guaranteed a similar immunity to the children of the poor, and the
Association for the Reform of the Abuses prevalent in the Congo "Free"
State.
Though often solicited to give her aid, experience and subscriptions
to many another body intent upon the uplifting of the lower classes,
she had ever strictly confined herself to these four alone, which, she
felt, absorbed the whole of her available energy. She had, however,
upon two occasions, consented to take a stall for our Dumb Friends'
League, and had once been patroness of a local ball given in support of
the Poor Brave Things. In religion she was, I need hardly add, of the
Anglican persuasion, in which capacity she attended the church of the
Rev. Isaac Fowle; though she was not above worshipping with her fellow
citizens of other denominations when social duty or the accident of
hospitality demanded such a courtesy.
As Mr. Clutterbuck entered, Mrs. Clutterbuck continued her work of
embroidery at the yellow centre, putting her needle through the fabric
with a vigour and decision which spoke volumes for the restrained
energy of her character; nor was she the first to speak.
Mr. Clutterbuck, standing at the fire parting his coat tails and
looking up toward that ornament in the ceiling whence depended the gas
pipe, said boldly: "Well, he got nothing out of _me_!"
Mrs. Clutterbuck, without lifting her eyes, replied as rapidly as her
needlework: "I don't want to hear about your business affairs, Mr.
Clutterbuck. I leave gentlemen to what concerns gentlemen. I hope I
know _my_ work, and that I don't interfere where I might only make
trouble." It is remarkable that after this preface she should have
added: "Though why you let every beggar who darkens this door make a
fool of you is more than I can understand."
Mr. Clutterbuck was at some pains and at great length to explain that
the imaginary transaction which disturbed his wife's equanimity had
not taken place, but his volubility had no other effect than to call
from her, under a further misapprehension, a rebuke with regard to his
excess in what she erroneously called "wine." Her sympathetic remarks
upon Mr. Boyle's state of health and her trust that her husband had not
too much taxed his failing energies, did little to calm that business
man's now legitimate irritation, and it must be confessed that when
his wife rose in a commanding manner and left the room to put all in
order before retiring, a dark shadow of inner insecurity overcast the
merchant's mind.
It was perhaps on this account that he left next day for the City by
the 8.32 instead of taking, as was his custom, the 9.17; and that,
still moody after dealing with his correspondence, he sought the office
of Mr. Boyle in Mark Lane.
As he went through the cold and clear morning with the activity and
hurry of the City about him, he could review the short episode of the
night before in a clearer light and with more justice. His irritation
at his wife's remarks had largely disappeared; he had recognised that
such irritation is always the worst of counsellors in a business
matter; he remembered Mr. Boyle's long career, and though that career
had been checkered, and though of late they had seen less of each
other, he could not but contrast the smallness of the favour demanded
with the still substantial household and the public name of his friend.
He further recollected, as he went rapidly eastward, more than one such
little transaction which had proved profitable to him in the past,
not only in cash, but, what was more important to him, in business
relations.
It was in such a mood that he reached Mr. Boyle's office: his first
emotion was one of surprise at the fineness of the place. He had
not entered it for many years, but during those years he had hardly
represented Mr. Boyle to himself as a man rising in the world. He was
surprised, and agreeably surprised; and when one of the many clerks
informed him that Mr. Boyle was down at the docks seeing to the
warehouse, he took accurate directions of the place where he might find
him, and went off in a better frame of mind; nay, in some readiness to
make an advance upon that original quotation of five hundred which,
he was now free to admit, had been accepted by Mr. Boyle with more
composure than he had expected.
He was further impressed as he left the office to see upon a brass
plate the new name of Czernwitz added to Mr. Boyle's and to note the
several lines of telephone which radiated from the central cabin that
served the whole premises.
Commercial requirements are many, complicated, delicate and often
secret; nor was Mr. Clutterbuck so simple as to contrast the excellent
appointments of the office and the air of prosperity which permeated
it, with the personal and private offer for an advance which Mr. Boyle
had been good enough to make.
The partnership of which Mr. Boyle was a member was evidently
sound--the name of Czernwitz was enough to show that; there could
be little doubt of the banking support behind such an establishment;
but the relations between partners often involve special details of
which the outside world is ignorant, the moment might be one in which
it was inconvenient to approach the bank in the name of the firm; a
large concession might, for all he knew, have just been obtained for
some common purpose; Mr. Boyle himself might have in hand a personal
venture bearing no relation to the transactions of the partnership;
he might even very probably be gathering, from more than one quarter,
such small sums as he required for the moment. A man must have but
little acquaintance with the City whose imagination could not suggest
such contingencies, and upon an intimate acquaintance with the City and
all its undercurrents Mr. Clutterbuck very properly prided himself.
During that brief walk all these considerations were at work in Mr.
Clutterbuck's mind, and severally leading him to an act of generosity
which the future was amply to justify.
He went down to the docks; he entered the warehouse, and was there
astonished to observe so many cases, each so full of brine, and that
brine so packed with such a vast assemblage of eggs held beneath the
surface by wire lattices, that an impression of incalculable wealth
soon occupied the whole of his spirit; for he perceived not only the
paltry million in which Mr. Boyle had apparently embarked some private
moneys (the boxes were marked with his name), but the vast stores of
perhaps twenty other merchants who had rallied round England in her
hour of need and had prepared an inexhaustible supply of sterilised
organic albumenoids for the gallant lads at the front.
He went up several stairs through what must have been three hundred
yards of corridor with eggs and eggs and eggs on every side--it seemed
to him a mile--he pushed through a dusty door and saw at last the goal
of his journey: Mr. Boyle himself. Mr. Boyle was wearing a dazzling
top hat, he was dressed in a brilliant cashmere twill relieved by a
large yellow flower in his buttonhole, and was seated before a little
instrument wherein an electric lamp, piercing the translucency of a
sample egg, determined whether it were or were not still suitable for
human food.
Mr. Boyle recognised his visitor, nodded in a courteous but not
effusive way, and continued his observations. He rose at last, and
offered Mr. Clutterbuck a squint (an offer which that gentleman was
glad to accept), and explained to him the working of the test; then he
removed the egg from its position before the electric lamp, deposited
it with care beneath the brine under that section of the lattice to
which it belonged, and said with a heartiness which his illness could
not entirely destroy: "What brings you here?"
Mr. Clutterbuck in some astonishment referred to their conversation of
the night before.
Mr. Boyle laughed as soundly as a sick man can, coughed rather
violently after the laugh, and said: "Oh, I'd forgotten all about
it--it doesn't matter. I've seen Benskin this morning, and there's no
hurry."
"My dear Boyle," said Mr. Clutterbuck warmly.
Mr. Boyle waved him away with his hand. "My dear fellow," he said,
"don't let's have any explanations. I saw you didn't like the look of
it, and, after all, what does it matter? If one has to carry on for a
day or two one can always find what one wants. It was silly of me to
have talked to you about it. But when a man's ill he sometimes does
injudicious things."
Here Mr. Boyle was again overcome with a very sharp and hacking cough
which was pitiful to hear.
"You don't understand me, Boyle," said Mr. Clutterbuck with dignity
and yet with assurance. "If it was a matter of friendship I'd do it at
once; but I can see perfectly well it's a matter of business as well,
and you ought to allow me to combine both: I've known you long enough!"
Mr. Boyle, after a further fit of coughing, caught his breath and said:
"You mean I ought to go to Benskin and let you in for part of it?"
"My dear Boyle," said Mr. Clutterbuck, now quite at his ease, "let me
in for the whole of it, or what you like. After all, when you spoke
about the matter last night it was sudden, and----"
"Yes, I know, I know," said Mr. Boyle, impatiently, "that's what I'm
like.... You see I've twenty things to think of--these eggs are only
part of it; and if I were to realise, as I could...."
Mr. Clutterbuck cut him short: "Don't talk like that, Boyle," he said,
"I'll sign it here and now; and you shall send me the papers when you
like."
"No, no," said Mr. Boyle, "that's not business. I'll introduce you to
Benskin and you can talk it over."
With that he began to lead the way towards Mr. Benskin's office, when
he suddenly thought better of it, and said: "Look here, Clutterbuck,
this is the best way: I'll send you the papers. I'm in for a lot more
than a million, but I'll earmark that million--eggs I mean. I won't
bring Benskin into it, I'll send you the papers and when your six and
eight-penny has passed 'em, you can hand over the risk if you like. I
want it, I tell you frankly, I want several of 'em, and I'm getting 'em
all round; but there's no good letting everybody know. I won't touch
your envelope or your pink slip till you've had the papers and got them
passed. They're all made up, I'll send them round."
In vain did Mr. Clutterbuck protest that for so small a sum as £500
it was ridiculous that there should be formalities between friends.
Mr. Boyle, alternately coughing and wagging his head, was adamant upon
the matter. He led Mr. Clutterbuck back through the acres of preserved
eggs, choosing such avenues as afforded the best perspective of these
innumerable supplies, crossed with him the space before the Minories,
re-entered, still coughing, the narrowness of Mark Lane, and promising
Mr. Clutterbuck the papers within a few hours, turned into his own
great doors.
Long before those hours were expired Mr. Clutterbuck had made up his
mind: he knew the value of informal promptitude in such cases. He had
hardly reached his own offices in Leadenhall Street, he had barely had
time to take off his overcoat, to hang his hat upon a peg, to cover his
cuffs with paper, to change into his office coat, and to take his seat
at his desk, when he dictated a note relative to an advance in Perus,
signed his cheque for five hundred and sent it round by a private
messenger with a few warm lines in his own handwriting such as should
accompany a good deed wisely done.
He was contented with himself, he appreciated, not without justice, the
rapidity and the sureness of his judgment; he withdrew the paper from
his cuffs, put on his City coat and his best City hat, and determined
to afford himself a meal worthy of so excellent a transaction. But
genius, however lucid and immediate, is fated to endure toil as much
as it is to enjoy vision; and this excellent speculation, greatly
and deservedly as it was to enhance Mr. Clutterbuck's commercial
reputation, was not yet safe in harbour.
He returned late from his lunch, which he had rounded up with coffee in
the company of a few friends. It was nearly four. He asked carelessly
if any papers had reached him from Mr. Boyle's office or elsewhere,
and, finding they had been delayed, he went home without more ado,
to return for them in the morning. He reached Croydon not a little
exhilarated and pleased at the successes of the day--for he had had
minor successes also; he had sold Pernambucos at 16-1/2 just before
they fell. In such a mood he committed the imprudence of making Mrs.
Clutterbuck aware, though in the vaguest terms, that her opinion of Mr.
Boyle was harsh, and that his own judgment of the man had risen not a
little from what he had seen that day. The lady's virtuous silence
spurred him to further arguments, and though his confidences entered
into no details and certainly betrayed nothing of the main business,
yet the next morning as he reviewed the conversation in his mind, he
regretted it.
He approached his office on that second day in a sober mood, prepared
to scan the document which he awaited, and, if necessary, to visit his
lawyer. No document was there; but Mr. Clutterbuck had had experience
of the leisure of a solicitor's office, and, in youth, too many
reminders of the results of interference to hasten its operation. What
did surprise him, however, and that most legitimately, was the absence
of any word of acknowledgment from his friend, in spite of the fact
that the cheque had been cashed, as he discovered, the day before at
a few minutes past twelve. Of all courses precipitation is the worst.
Mr. Clutterbuck occupied himself with other matters; worked hard at
the Warra-Mugga report, mastered it; sold Perterssens for Warra-Muggas
(a very wise transaction); and returned home in a thoughtful mood by a
late train.
The first news with which Mrs. Clutterbuck greeted him was the sudden
and serious illness of Mr. Boyle, who was lying between life and death
at 15 John Bright Gardens. As she announced this fact to her husband,
she looked at him in a manner suggestive neither of conciliation, nor
of violence, nor of weakness, but, as it were, of calm control; and Mr.
Clutterbuck, acting upon mixed emotions, among which anxiety was not
the least, went out at once to have news of his friend. All that he
could hear from the servant at the door was that the doctor would admit
no visitor; that her master was extremely ill, but that he was expected
to survive the night.
Mr. Clutterbuck hurried back home in a considerable confusion of mind,
and was glad to find, as he approached his house, that everything was
dark.
Next morning he postponed his journey to the City to call again as
early as he decently could at 15 John Bright Gardens. Alas! the blinds
were drawn at every window. The Dread Reaper had passed.
The effect produced by this calamity upon Mr. Clutterbuck was such
as would have thrown a more emotional man quite off his balance. The
loss of so near a neighbour, the death of a man with whom but fifty
hours ago he had been in intimate conversation, was in itself a shock
of dangerous violence. When there was added to this shock his natural
doubts upon the status of the Million Eggs, it is not to be wondered
that a sort of distraction followed. He ran, quite forgetful of his
dignity, to the nearest telephone cabin, rang up his office in the
City, was given the wrong number, in his agony actually forgot to
repeat the right number again, dashed out without paying, returned
to fulfil this formality, pelted away toward the station, missed the
11.28, and, such was his bewildered mood, leapt upon a tram as though
this were the quickest means of reaching information.
In a quarter of an hour a little calm was restored to him, though by
this time the rapid electric service of the Electric Traction Syndicate
had carried him far beyond the limits of Croydon. He got out at a
roadside office, wrote out and tore up again half a dozen telegrams,
seized a time-table, determined that after all the train was his best
refuge, and catching the 12.17 at Norwood Junction, found himself
in the heart of the City before half-past one. A hansom took him to
his office after several intolerable but unavoidable delays in the
half-mile it had to traverse. His visible perturbation was a matter of
comment to his subordinates, who were not slow to inform him before he
opened his mouth that the documents had not yet arrived.
Exhaustion followed so much feverish activity, an anxiety, deeper if
possible than any he had yet shown, settled upon Mr. Clutterbuck's
features. He forgot to lunch, he walked deliberately to the warehouse,
only to be asked what his business might be, and to be told that the
particular section of eggs which he named were the property of Messrs.
Czernwitz and Boyle, and could be visited by no one without their
written order.
The tone in which this astonishing message was delivered would have
stung a man of less sensitiveness and breeding than Mr. Clutterbuck;
he turned upon his heel in a mood to which anger was now added, and
immediately sought the office of that firm. But he was doomed to yet
further delay. No one was in who could give him any useful information,
nor even any one of so much responsibility as to be able to explain to
him the extraordinary occurrences of the last few days.
He was at the point of a very grave decision--I mean of going on to
his lawyers and perhaps disturbing to no sort of purpose the most
delicate of commercial relations--when there moved past him into the
office the ponderous and well-clad form of a gentleman past middle age,
with such magnificent white whiskers as adorn the faces of too many
Continental bankers, and wearing a simple bowler hat of exquisite shape
and workmanship. He was smoking a cigar of considerable size and of
delicious flavour, and by the deference immediately paid to him upon
his entry, Mr. Clutterbuck, as he stood in nervous anxiety by the door,
could distinguish the head of the firm.
It was characteristic of the Baron de Czernwitz, and in some sort
an explanation of his future success in our business world, ever
so suspicious of the foreigner, that the moment he had heard Mr.
Clutterbuck's name and business, he turned to him, in spite of his many
preoccupations, with the utmost courtesy and said:
"It iss myself you want? You shall come hier."
With these words he put his arm in the most gentlemanly manner through
that of his exhausted visitor, and led him into an inner room furnished
with all the taste and luxury which the Baron had learnt in Naples,
Wurtemburg, Dantzig, Paris, and New York.
"Mr. Clottorbug, Mr. Clottorbug," he said leaning backwards and
surveying the English merchant with an almost paternal interest, "what
iss it I can do for you?"
Mr. Clutterbuck, quite won by such a manner, unfolded the whole
business. As he did so the Baron's face became increasingly grave. At
last he took a slip of paper and noted on it one or two points--the
amount, the date, and time of the transaction. This he gravely folded
into four, and as gravely placed within a Russian leather pocket-book
which contained, apart from certain masonic engagements, a considerable
quantity of bank notes wrapped round an inner core of letter paper.
I cannot deny that Mr. Clutterbuck expected little from this just if
good-natured man. The Baron, with whose name he was familiar, had no
concern with, and no responsibility in, the most unfortunate accident
which had befallen him. To make the interview (whose inevitable
termination he thought he could foresee) the easier, Mr. Clutterbuck
murmured that no doubt the firm of solicitors were preparing the
papers, and that they would be in his hands within a brief delay. The
Baron smiled largely and wagged his ponderous head.
"Oh! noh!" he said, and then added, as though he were summing up the
thoughts of many years, "He voss a bad egg!"
Such an epithet applied to a friend but that moment dead might have
shocked Mr. Clutterbuck under other circumstances; as things were, he
could not entirely disagree with the verdict; and when he had informed
the financier that Mr. Boyle's name had been placed separately from
his partner's upon the boxes of the firm, even that expression seemed
hardly strong enough to voice M. de Czernwitz's feelings.
He next learned from the Baron's own lips how from senior partner Mr.
Boyle had sunk to a salaried position; how even so he had but been
retained through the kindness of the Baron; how he had more than once
involved himself in petty gambling, and how the Baron had more than
once actually paid the debts resulting from that mania; how his name
had been kept upon the plate only after the most urgent entreaties
and to save his pride; and how the Baron now saw that this act of
generosity had been not only unwise but perhaps unjust in its effect
upon the outer world.
When he had concluded his statement the nobleman knocked the ash from
his cigar in such a manner that part of it fell upon Mr. Clutterbuck's
trousers, and surveyed that gentleman with a shade of sadness for some
moments.
Mr. Clutterbuck rose as though to go, saying, as he did so, that he had
no business to detain his host, that he must bear his own loss, and
that there was no more to be done. But the Baron, half rising, placed
upon his shoulder a hand of such weight as compelled him to be seated.
"You shall _not_ soffer!" he exclaimed to Mr. Clutterbuck's mingled
amazement and delight. He spent the next few minutes in devising a
plan, and at last suggested that Mr. Clutterbuck should be permitted
to purchase at a nominal price, the unhappy Million Eggs which were at
the root of all this tragedy. He rang the bell for certain quotations
and letters recently despatched by his firm; he satisfied the merchant
of the prices to be obtained from Government under contracts which,
he was careful to point out, ran "until hostilities in South Africa
should have ceased"; he pointed out the advantages which so distant and
indeterminate a date offered to the seller; and he concluded by putting
the stock at Mr. Clutterbuck's disposal for £250.
Mr. Clutterbuck's gratitude knew no bounds. He was accustomed to the
hard, dry, unimaginative temper of our English houses, and there swam
in his eyes that salt humour which survives, alas! so rarely in the
eyes of men over forty. He shook the Baron's left hand warmly--the
right was occupied with the stump of the cigar--he reiterated his
obligation, and came back to his own office with the gaiety of boyhood.
He found M. de Czernwitz a very different man of business from the
unhappy fellow who had now gone to his account. Before five o'clock
everything was in order, and he slept that night the possessor in
law (and, as his solicitor was careful to advise him, in fact also)
of One Million Eggs, supply for the army in South Africa during
the continuance of hostilities, and acquired by the substantial but
moderate total investment of £750.
So true is it that probity and generosity go hand in hand with success
in the world-wide commerce of our land.