“I don’t want to hear them. I am not going to sell my birthright, whatever they are. You don’t understand me? Well, you can understand this.” And abruptly the Squire sat up. “I’ll have none of your d — d smoking, stinking steam-wagons on my land in my time! Oh, I’ve read about them in more places than the papers, sir, and I’ll not sell my birthright and my people’s birthright — of clean air and clean water and clean soil for any mess of pottage you can offer! That’s my answer, Mr. Ovington.”
“But the railroad will not come within a mile of Garth.”
“It will not come on to my land! I am not blind, sir. Suppose you succeed. Suppose you drive the mails and coaches and the stage-wagons off the road. Where shall I sell my coach-horses and hackneys and my tenants their heavy nags? And their corn and their beans? No, by G — d,” stopping Ovington, who wished to interrupt him. “You may delude some of my neighbors, sir, and you may know more about money-making, where it is no question how the money is made, than I do! But I’ll see that you don’t delude me! A pack of navigators upsetting the country, killing game and robbing hen-roosts, raising wages and teaching honest folks tricks? Not here! If Woosenham knew his own business, and Acherley were not up to his neck in debt, they’d not let themselves be led by the nose by — —”
“By whom, sir?” Ovington was on his feet by this time, his eyes smoldering, his face paler than usual. They confronted each other. It was the meeting, the collision of two powers, of two worlds, the old and the new.
“By whom, sir?” the Squire replied sternly — he too had risen. “By one whose interests and breeding are wholly different from theirs and who looks at things from another standpoint! That’s by whom, sir. And one word more, Mr. Ovington. You have the name of being a clever man and I never doubted it until to-day; but have a care that you are not over clever, sir. Have a care that you do not lead your friends and yourself into more trouble than you think for! I read the papers and I see that everybody is to grow rich between Saturday and Monday. Well, I don’t know as much about money business as you do, but I am an old man, and I have never seen a time when everybody grew rich and nobody was the loser.”
Ovington had controlled himself well; and he still controlled himself, but there was a dangerous light in his eyes. “I am sorry,” he said, “that you can give me no better answer, Mr. Griffin. We hoped to have, and we set some value on your support. But there are, of course — other ways.”
“You may take your railroad any way you like, so long as you don’t bring it over Garth.”
“I don’t mean that. If the railroad is made at all it must pass over Garth — the property stretches across the valley. But the Bill, when presented, will contain the same powers which are given in the later Canal Acts — a single proprietor cannot be allowed to stand in the way of the public interests, Mr. Griffin.”
“You mean — by G — d, sir,” the Squire broke out, “you mean that you will take my land whether I will or no?”
“I am not using any threat.”
“But you do use a threat!” roared the Squire, towering tall and gaunt above his opponent. “You do use a threat! You come here — —”
“I came here—” the other answered — he was quietly drawing on his gloves— “to put an excellent business investment before you, Mr. Griffin. As you do not think it worth while to entertain it, I can only regret that I have wasted your time and my own.”
“Pish!” said the Squire.
“Very good. Then with your permission I will seek my horse.”
The old man turned to the window and opened it. “Thomas,” he shouted violently. “Mr. Ovington’s horse.”
When he turned again. “Perhaps you may still think better of it,” Ovington said. He had regained command of himself. “I ought to have mentioned that your nephew has consented to act as Secretary to the Company.”
“The more fool he!” the Squire snarled. “My nephew! What the devil is he doing in your Company? Or for the matter of that in your bank either?”
“I think he sees more clearly than you that times are changed.”
“Ay,” the old man retorted, full of wrath, and well aware that the other had found a joint in his armor. “And he had best have a care that these fine times don’t lead him into trouble!”
“I hope not, I hope not. Good-day, Mr. Griffin. I can find my way out. Don’t let me trouble you.”
“I will see you out, if you please. After you, sir.” Then, with an effort which cost him much, but which he thought was due to his position, “You are sure that you will take nothing?”
“Nothing, I thank you.”
The Squire saw his visitor to the door; but he did not stay to see him ride away. He went back to his room and to a side window at which it was his custom to spend much time. It looked over the narrow vale, little more than a glen, which the eminence, on which the house stood, cut off from the main valley. It looked on its green slopes, on the fern-fringed brook that babbled and tossed in its bottom, on the black and white mill that spanned the stream, and on the Thirty Acre covert that clothed the farther side and climbed to the foot of the great limestone wall that towered alike above house and glen and rose itself to the knees of the boundary hills. And looking on all this, the Squire in fancy saw the railroad scoring and smirching and spoiling his beloved acres. It was nothing to him, that in fact the railroad would pass up the middle of the broad vale behind him — he ignored that. He saw the hated thing sweep by below him, a long black ugly snake, spewing smoke and steam over the green meadows, fouling the waters, darkening the air.
“Not in my time, by G — d!” he muttered, his knees quivering a little under him — for he was an aging man and the scene had tried him. “Not in my time!” And at the thought that he, the owner of all, hill and vale, within his sight, and the descendant of generations of owners — that he had been threatened by this upstart, this loan-monger, this town-bred creature of a day, he swore with fresh vigor.
He had at any rate the fires of indignation to warm him, and the satisfaction of knowing that he had spoken his mind and had not had the worst of the bout. But the banker’s feelings as he jogged homewards on his hackney were not so happy. In spite of Bourdillon’s warning he had been confident that he would gain his end. He had fancied that he knew his man and could manage him. He had believed that the golden lure would not fail. But it had failed, and the old man’s gibes accompanied him, and like barbed arrows clung to his memory and poisoned his content.
It was not the worst that he must return and own that Arthur had been wiser than he; that he must inform his colleagues that his embassy had failed. Worse than either was the hurt to his pride. Certain things that the Squire had said about money-making, his sneer about the difference in breeding, his warning that the banker might yet find that he had been too clever — these had pricked him to the quick, and the last had even caused him a pang of uneasiness. And then the Squire had shown so clearly the gulf that in his eyes lay between them!
Ay, it was that which rankled: the knowledge, sharply brought home to him, that no matter what his success, no matter what his wealth, nor how the common herd bowed down to him, this man and his like would ever hold themselves above him, would always look down on him. The fence about them he could not cross. Add thousands to thousands as he might, and though he conquered Lombard Street, these men would not admit him of their number. They would ever hold him at arm’s length, would deal out to him a cold politeness. He could never be of them.
As a rule Ovington was too big a man to harbor spite, but as he rode and fumed, a plan which he had already considered put on a new aspect, and by and by his brow relaxed and he smote his thigh. Something tickled him and he laughed. He thought that he saw a way to avenge himself and to annoy his enemy, and by the time he reached the bank he was himself again. Indeed, he had not been human if he had not by that time owned that whatever Garth thought of him he was something in Aldersbury.
Three times men stopped him, one cr
ossing the street to intercept him, one running bare-headed from a shop, a third seizing his rein. And all three sought favors, or craved advice, all, as they retreated, did so, eyed askance by those who lacked their courage or their impudence.
For the tide of speculation was still rising in the country, and even in Aldersbury had reached many a back-parlor where the old stocking or the money-box was scarcely out of date. Thousands sold their Three per cents., and the proceeds had to go somewhere, and other proceeds, for behind all there was real prosperity. Men’s money poured first into a higher and then into a lower grade of security and raised each in turn, so that fortunes were made with astonishing speed. The banks gave extended credit; everything rose. Many who had bought in fear found that they had cleared a profit before they had had time to tremble. They sold, and still there were others to take their place. It seemed as if all had only to buy and to sell and to grow rich. Only the very cautious stood aside, and one by one even these slid tempted into the stream.
The more venturesome hazarded their money afar, buying shares in steamship companies in the West Indies, in diamond mines in Brazil, or in cattle companies in Mexico. The more prudent preferred undertakings which they could see and which their limited horizon could compass, and to these such a local scheme as the Valleys Railroad held out a tempting bait. They knew nothing about a railroad, but they knew that steam had been applied to ocean travel, and they knew Aldersbury and the woollen district. Here was something the growth and progress of which they could watch, and which once begun could not vanish in a night.
Then the silence of those within and the rumors spread without added to its attractions. Each man felt that his neighbor was stealing a march upon him, and that if he were not quick he would not get in on equal terms.
One of Ovington’s waylayers wished to know if the limit at which he had been advised to sell his stock was likely to be reached. “I sold on Saturday,” the banker answered, “two pounds above your limit, Davies. The money will be in the bank in a week.” He spoke with Napoleonic curtness, and rode on, leaving the man, amazed and jubilant, to calculate his gains.
The next wanted advice. He had a hundred in hand if Mr. Ovington would not think it too small. “Call to-morrow — no, Thursday,” Ovington said, hardly looking at him. “I’ll see you then.”
The third ran bare-headed out of a shop. He was a man of more weight, Purslow the big draper on Bride Hill, who had been twice Mayor of Aldersbury; a tradesman, bald and sleek, whom fortune had raised so rapidly that old subservience was continually at odds with new importance. “Just a word, Mr. Ovington,” he stuttered, “a word, sir, by your leave? I’m a good customer.” He had not laid aside his black apron but merely twisted it round his waist, a sure sign, in these days of his greatness, that he was flustered.
The banker nodded. “None better, Purslow,” he answered. “What is it?”
“What I says, then — excuse me — is, if Grounds, why not me? Why not me, sir?”
“I don’t quite — —”
“If he’s to be on the Board, he and his mash-tubs — —”
“Oh!” The banker looked grave. “You are thinking of the Railroad, Purslow?”
“To be sure! What else? — excuse me, sir! And what I say is, if Grounds, why not me? I’ve been mayor twice and him not even on the Council? And I’m not a pauper, as none knows better than you, Mr. Ovington. If it’s only that I’m a tradesman, why, there ought to be a tradesman on it, and I’ll be bound as many will follow my lead as Grounds’.”
The banker seemed to consider. “Look here, Purslow,” he said, “you are doing very well, not a man in Aldersbury better. Take my advice and stick to the shop.”
“And slave for every penny I make!”
“Slow and sure is a good rule.”
“Oh, damn slow and sure!” cried the draper, forgetting his manners. “No offence, sir, I’m sure. Excuse me. But slow and sure, while Grounds is paid for every time he crosses the street, and doubles his money while he wears out his breeches!”
“Well,” said Ovington, with apparent reluctance, “I’ll think it over. But to sit on the Board means putting in money, Purslow. You know that, of course.”
“And haven’t I the money?” the man cried, inflamed by opposition. “Can’t I put down penny for penny with Grounds? Ay, though I’ve served the town twice, and him not even on the Council!”
“Well, I’ll bear it in mind. I can say no more than that,” Ovington rejoined. “I must consult Sir Charles. It’s a responsible position, Purslow. And, of course, where there are large profits, as we hope there may be, there must be risk. There must be some risk. Don’t forget that. Still,” touching up his horse with his heel, “I’ll see what I can do.”
He gained the bank without further stay, and there the stir and bustle which his practised eye was quick to mark sustained the note already struck. There were customers coming and going: some paying in, others seeking to have bills renewed, or a loan on securities that they might pay calls, or accommodation of one kind or another. But with easy money these demands could be granted, and many a parcel of Ovington’s notes passed out amid smiling and general content. The January sun was shining as if March winds would never blow, and credit seemed to be a thing to be had for the asking.
It was only within the last seven years that Ovington’s had ventured on an issue of notes. Then, a little before the resumption of cash payments, they had put them forth with a tentative, “If you had rather have bank paper it’s here.” Some had had the bad taste to prefer the Abraham Newlands, a few had even asked for Dean’s notes. But borrowers cannot be choosers, the notes had gradually got abroad, and though at first they had returned with the rapidity of a homing pigeon, the readiness with which they were cashed wrought its effect, and by this time the public were accustomed to them.
Dean’s notes bore a big D, and Ovington’s, for the benefit of those who could not read, were stamped with a large CO., for Charles Ovington.
Alone with his daughter that evening the banker referred to this. “Betty,” he said, after a long silence, “I am going to make a change. I am going to turn CO. into Company.”
She understood him at once, and “Oh, father!” she cried, laying down her work. “Who is it? Is it Arthur?”
“Would you like that?”
She replied by another question. “Is he really so clever?”
“He’s a gentleman — that’s much. And a Griffin, and that’s more, in a place like this. And he’s — yes, he’s certainly clever.”
“Cleverer than Mr. Rodd?”
“Rodd! Pooh! Arthur’s worth two of him.”
“Quite the industrious apprentice!” she murmured, her hands in her lap.
“Well, you know,” lightly, “what happened to the industrious apprentice, Betty?”
She colored. “He married his master’s daughter, didn’t he? But there are two words to that, father. Quite two words.”
“Well, I am going to offer him a small share. Anything more will depend upon himself — and Clement.”
She sighed. “Poor Clement!”
“Poor Clement!” The banker repeated her words pettishly. “Not poor Clement, but idle Clement! Can you do nothing with that boy? Put no sense into him? He’s good for nothing in the world except to moon about with a gun. Last night he began to talk to me about Cobbett and some new wheat. New wheat, indeed! Rubbish!”
“But I think,” timidly, “that he does understand about those things, father.”
“And what good will they do him? I wish he understood a little more about banking! Why, even Rodd is worth two of him. He’s not in the bank four days in the week. Where is he to-day?”
“I am afraid that he took his gun — but it was the last day of the season. He said that he would not be out again. He has been really better lately.”
“Though I was away!” the banker exclaimed. And he said some strong things upon the subject, to which Betty had to listen.
However
, he had recovered his temper when he sent for Arthur next day. He bade him close the door. “I want to speak to you,” he said; then he paused a moment while Arthur waited, his color rising. “It’s about yourself. When you came to me I did not expect much from the experiment. I thought that you would soon tire of it, being what you are. But you have stood to it, and you have shown a considerable aptitude for the business. And I have made up my mind to take you in — on conditions, of course.”
Arthur’s eyes sparkled. He had not hoped that the offer would be made so soon, and, much moved, he tried to express his thanks. “You may be sure that I shall do my best, sir,” he said.
“I believe you will, lad. I believe you will. Indeed, I am thinking of myself as well as of you. I had not intended to make the offer so soon — you are young and could wait. But you will have to bring in a certain sum, and capital can be used at present to great advantage.”
Arthur looked grave. “I am afraid, sir — —”
“Oh, I’ll make it easy,” Ovington said. “This is my offer. You will put in five thousand pounds, and will receive for three years twelve per cent upon this in lieu of your present salary of one hundred and fifty — the hundred you are to be paid as Secretary to the Company is beside the matter. At the end of three years, if we are both satisfied, you will take an eighth share — otherwise you will draw out your money. On my death, if you remain in the bank, your share will be increased to a third on your bringing in another five thousand. You know enough about the accounts to know — —”
“That it’s a most generous offer,” Arthur exclaimed, his face aglow. And with the frankness and enthusiasm, the sparkling eye and ready word that won him so many friends, he expressed his thanks.
“Well, lad,” the other answered pleasantly, “I like you. Still, you had better take a short time to consider the matter.”
“I want no time,” Arthur declared. “My only difficulty is about the money. My mother’s six thousand is charged on Garth, you see.”
This was a fact well known to Ovington, and one which he had taken into his reckoning. Perhaps, but for it, he had not been making the offer at this moment. But he concealed his satisfaction and a smile, and “Isn’t there a provision for calling it up?” he said.
Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman Page 637