“Guvnor’s asking for you, Kellock,” he said. “Five o’clock was the time.”
Jordan hurried on to the deserted mills, for the day was Saturday and work had ceased at noon. Threading the silent shops he presently reached a door on an upper floor, marked “Office,” knocked and was told to enter.
On the left of the chamber sat a broad-shouldered man writing at a roll-top desk; under the windows of the room, which faced north, extended a long table heaped with paper of all descriptions and colours.
The master twisted round on his office chair, then rose and lighted a cigarette. He was clean-shaved with iron-grey hair and a searching but genial expression. His face shone with intelligence and humour. It was strong and accurately declared the man, for indomitable perseverance and courage belonged to Matthew Trenchard.
His own success he attributed to love of sport and love of fun. These pursuits made him sympathetic and understanding. He recognised his responsibilities and his rule of conduct in his relations with the hundred men and women he employed was to keep in closest possible touch with them. He held it good for them and vital for himself that he should know what was passing in their minds; for only thus could he discover the beginning of grievances and destroy them in the egg. He believed that the longer a trouble grew, the more difficult it was to dissipate, and by establishing intimate relations with his staff and impressing upon them his own situation, his successes and his failures, he succeeded in fixing unusual bonds.
For the most part his people felt that Trenchard’s good was their own—not because he said so, but because he made it so; and save for certain inevitable spirits, who objected on principle to all existing conditions between capital and labour, the workers trusted him and spoke well of him.
Kellock was first vatman at Dene, and one of the best paper makers in England. Both knew their worth and each was satisfied with the other.
“I’ve heard from that South American Republic, Kellock,” said Mr. Trenchard. “They like the new currency paper and the colour suits them.”
“It’s a very fine paper, Mr. Trenchard.”
“Just the exact opposite of what I’m after for these advertisements. The public, Kellock, must be appealed to by the methods of Cheap Jack at the fair. They love a conjuring trick, and if you can stop them long enough to ask ‘how’s it done?’ you often interest them and win them. Now samples of our great papers mean nothing to anybody but the dealers. The public doesn’t know hand-made paper from machine-made. What we’ve got to do is to show them—not tip-top paper, but a bit of magic; and such a fool is the public that when he sees these pictures in water-mark, he’ll think the paper that produces them must be out of the common good. We know that it’s not ‘paper’ at all in our sense, and that it’s a special brew for this special purpose; but the public, amazed by the pictures, buys our paper and doesn’t know that the better the paper, the more impossible such sleight of hand would be upon it. We show them one thing which awakes their highest admiration and causes them to buy another!”