CHAPTER XL. SCHEMES AND PROJECTS
The post-horses ordered for Mr. Dunn's carriage arrived, duly, at break of day; but from some change of purpose, of whose motive this veracious history can offer no explanation, that gentleman did not take his departure, but merely despatched a messenger to desire Mr. Hankes would come over to the Hermitage.
“I shall remain here to-day, Hankes,” said he, carelessly, “and not impossibly to-morrow also. There's something in the air here suits me, and I have not felt quite well latterly.”
Mr. Hankes bowed; but not even his long-practised reserve could conceal the surprise he felt at this allusion to health or well-being. Positive illness he could understand,—a fever or a broken leg were intelligible ills; but the slighter casualties of passing indispositions were weaknesses that he could not imagine a business mind could descend to, no more than he could fancy a man's being turned from pursuing his course because some one had accidentally jostled him in the streets.
Dunn was too acute a reader of men's thoughts not to perceive the impression his words had produced; but with the indifference he ever bestowed upon inferiors, he went on:—
“Forward my letters here till you hear from me; there's nothing so very pressing at this moment that cannot wait my return to town. Stay—I was to have had a dinner on Saturday; you'll have to put them off. Clowes will show you the list; and let some of the evening papers mention my being unavoidably detained in the south,—say nothing about indisposition.”
“Of course not, sir,” said Hankes, quite shocked at such an indiscretion being deemed possible.
“And why, 'of course,' Mr. Hankes?” said Dunn, slowly. “I never knew it was amongst the prerogatives of active minds to be exempt from ailment.”
“A bad thing to speak about, sir,—a very bad thing, indeed,” said Hankes, solemnly. “You constantly hear people remark, 'He was never the same man since that last attack.'”
“Psha!” said Dunn, contemptuously.
“I assure you, sir, I speak the sense of the community. The old adage says, 'Two removes are as bad as a fire,' and in the same spirit I would say, 'Two gouty seizures are equal to a retirement'.”
“Absurdity!” said Dunn, angrily. “I never have acknowledged—I never will acknowledge—any such accountability to the world.”
“They bring us 'to book' whether we will or not,” said Hankes, sturdily.
Dunn started at the words, and turned away to hide his face; and well was it he did so, for it was pale as ashes, even to the lips, which were actually livid.
“You may expect me by Sunday morning, Hankes,”—he spoke without turning round,—“and let me have the balance-sheet of the Ossory Bank to look over. We must make no more advances to the gentry down there; we must restrict our discounts.”
“Impossible, sir, impossible! There must be no discontent—for the present, at least,” said Hankes; and his voice sunk to a whisper.
Dunn wheeled round till he stood full before him, and thus they remained for several seconds, each staring steadfastly at the other.
“You don't mean to say, Hankes—” He stopped.
“I do, sir,” said the other, slowly, “and I say it advisedly.”
“Then there must be some gross mismanagement, sir,” said Dunn, haughtily. “This must be looked to! Except that loan of forty-seven thousand pounds to Lord Lacking-ton, secured by mortgage on the estate it went to purchase, with what has this Bank supplied us?”
“Remember, sir,” whispered Hankes, cautiously glancing around the room as he spoke, “the loan to the Viscount was advanced by ourselves at six per cent, and the estate was bought in under your own name; so that, in fact, it is to us the Bank have to look as their security.”
“And am I not sufficient for such an amount, Mr. Hankes?” said he, sneeringly.
“I trust you are, sir, and for ten times the sum. Time is everything in these affairs. The ship that would float over the bar at high water would stick fast at half-flood.”
“The 'Time' I am anxious for is a very different one,” said Dunn, reflectively. “It is the time when I shall no longer be harassed with these anxieties. Life is not worth the name when it excludes the thought of all enjoyment.”
“Business is business, sir,” said Mr. Hankes, with all the solemnity with which such men deliver platitudes as wisdom.
“Call it slavery, and you 'll be nearer the mark,” broke in Dunn. “For what or for whom, let me ask you, do I undergo all this laborious toil? For a world that at the first check or stumble will overwhelm me with slanders. Let me but afford them a pretext, and they will debit me with every disaster their own recklessness has caused, and forget to credit me with all the blessings my wearisome life has conferred upon them.”
“The way of the world, sir,” sighed Hankes, with the same stereotyped philosophy.
“I know well,” continued Dunn, not heeding the other's commonplace, “that there are men who would utilize the station which I have acquired; they'd soon convert into sterling capital the unprofitable gains that I am content with. They 'd be cabinet ministers, peers, ambassadors, colonial governors. It's only men like myself work without wages.”
“'The laborer is worthy of his hire,' says the old proverb.” Mr. Hankes was not aware of the authority, but quoted what he believed a popular saying.
“Others there are,” continued Dunn, still deep in his own thoughts, “that would consult their own ease, and, throwing off this drudgery, devote what remained to them of life to the calm enjoyments of a home.”
Mr. Hankes was disposed to add, “Home, sweet home;” but he coughed down the impulse, and was silent.
Dunn walked the room with his arms crossed on his breast and his head bent down, deep in his own reflections, while his lips moved, as if speaking to himself. Meanwhile Mr. Hankes busied himself gathering together his papers, preparatory to departure.
“They 've taken that fellow Redlines. I suppose you 've heard it?” said he, still sorting and arranging the letters.
“No,” said Dunn, stopping suddenly in his walk; “where was he apprehended?”
“In Liverpool. He was to have sailed in the 'Persia,' and had his place taken as a German watchmaker going to Boston.”
“What was it he did? I forget,” said Dunn, carelessly.
“He did, as one may say, a little of everything; issued false scrip on the Great Coast Railway, sold and pocketed the price of some thirty thousand pounds' worth of their plant, mortgaged their securities, and cooked their annual accounts so cleverly that for four years nobody had the slightest suspicion of any mischief.”
“What was it attracted the first attention to these frauds, Hankes?” said Dunn, apparently curious to hear an interesting story.
“The merest accident in the world. He had sent a few lines to the Duke of Wycombe to inquire the character and capacity of a French cook. Pollard, the Duke's man of business, happened to be in the room when the note came, and his Grace begged he would answer it for him. Pollard, as you are aware, is Chairman of the Coast Line; and when he saw the name 'Lionel Redlines,' he was off in a jiffy to the Board room with the news.”
“One would have thought a little foresight might have saved him from such a stupid mistake as this,” said Dunn, gravely. “A mode of living so disproportioned to his well-known means must inevitably have elicited remark.”
“At any other moment, so it would,” said Hankes; “but we live in a gambling age, and no one can say where, when, the remedy be curative or poisonous.” Then, with a quick start round, he said, “Hankes, do you remember that terrific accident which occurred a few years ago in France,—at Angers, I think the place was called? A regiment in marching order had to cross a suspension-bridge, and coming on with the measured tramp of the march, the united force was too much for the strength of the structure; the iron beams gave way, and all were precipitated into the stream below. This is an apt illustration of what we call credit. It will bear, and with success, considerable pressure if it be irregular, dropping, and incidental. Let the forces, however, be at once consentaneous and united,—let the men keep step,—and down comes the bridge! Ah, Hankes, am I not right?”
“I believe you are, sir,” said Hankes, who was not quite certain that he comprehended the illustration.
“His Lordship is waiting breakfast, sir,” said a smartly dressed footman at the door.
“I will be down in a moment. I believe, Hankes, we have not forgotten anything? The Cloyne and Carrick Company had better be wound up; and that waste-land project—let me have the papers to look over. You think we ought to discount those bills of Barrington's?”
“I'm sure of it, sir. The people at the Royal Bank would take them to-morrow.”
“The credit of the Bank must be upheld, Hankes. The libellous articles of those newspapers are doing us great damage, timid shareholders assail us with letters, and some have actually demanded back their deposits. I have it, Hankes!” cried he, as a sudden thought struck him,—“I have it! Take a special train at once for town, and fetch me the balance-sheet and the list of all convertible securities. You can be back here—let us see—by to-morrow at noon, or, at latest, to-morrow evening. By that time I shall have matured my plan.”
“I should like to hear some hint of what you intend,” said Hankes.
“You shall know all to-morrow,” said he, as he nodded a good-bye, and descended to the breakfast-room. He turned short, however, at the foot of the stairs, and returned to his chamber, where Hankes was still packing up his papers. “On second thoughts, Hankes, I believe I had better tell you now,” said he. “Sit down.”
And they both eat down at the table, end never moved from it for an hour. Twice—even thrice—there cane messages from below, requesting Mr. Dunn's presence at the breakfast-table, but a hurried “Yes, immediately,” was his reply, and he came not.
At last they rose? Hankes the first, saying, as he looked at his watch, “I shall just be in time. It is a great idea, a very great idea indeed, and does you infinite credit.”
“It ought to have success, Hankes,” said he, calmly.
“Ought, Sir! It will succeed. It is as fine a piece of tactics as I ever heard of. Trust me to carry it out, that's all.”
“Remember, Hankes, time is everything. Goodby!”