The Public discovering no small appetite for the Debentures at 8%.
They didn’t know Trefusis; they didn’t know the dear old Public; they didn’t even know the time of year.
Profits are always in season. The Public is quite fond of eight per cent. Trefusis—to repeat the classic phrase—knew his way about.
But the people who were most hopelessly wrong were those who prophesied after the event. When the obscure army of placers had rushed to oversubscribe nearly three times over, these prophets shook their heads knowingly and said, “Wait for the slump!” It never came. It is too early to be certain yet, perhaps, and nothing lasts for ever: but that debenture interest was paid at the end of the first quarter as easily as a bus fare; and the next, and the next; and any of the first-comers could sell if they liked, any time in the end of the second year, for a very nice little premium indeed.
On a day of that late summer, with autumn already in the air, the new Session and the Opening of the Courts not so distant, Trefusis reviewed his position.
He had thought on that blazing July morning that he was cornered. He had cursed inwardly and set out to save what could be saved. In the two hours of wrestling with Terrard (the silent, impenetrable John K. Petre looking on) he had envisaged some necessary loss. On the contrary, he had gained.
His hours of lonely scheming had borne fruit. On a much larger capitalization his holding was less in proportion but it was worth more. So was his brother’s. And he was fond of his brother.
His interest was worth more to-day than his holding in its original form—a good tenth more; even allowing for that stiff present to Charlie—which gratitude for tolerable terms had rendered necessary, and on which, indeed, Charlie had insisted. Not only was he richer: he was in a rapidly growing thing—and the Public had paid. Nor were the Public wrong. For apart from the big Service uses and Tidal and Lighting and all the new Colonial and Indian contracts, the private use of the Rotor was suddenly expanding. The dealings in ordinaries didn’t cover a fiftieth of the bulk, yet the price already stood close on one hundred and twenty shillings. And now—the inexplicable Petre left him wholly free! Never interfered, hardly appeared. Yes. He had done well, had Trefusis. It was worth being thrashed at such a price. He would be delighted to take a second thrashing on such terms. There was little of the Pun-d’Onor about Trefusis, in spite of the stage-villain face.