‘Yes,’ responded John quietly, endeavouring to conceal any disquietude he might feel; ‘yes, I’ve noticed that.’
‘Waal, we’ve got enough to bust their shop up pretty well, and if your people don’t come into my showyard I’ll give their shares away with a pound of tea,’ and here he pulled out a handful of certificates from his trousers’ pocket and flourished them in John’s face, which was gradually growing longer as the other unrolled his arguments.
‘But how did you get the necessary capital?’ John inquired after a pause, professional curiosity piqued at this unexpected revelation of means.
‘Waal,’ replied the American, as he carelessly lit another cheroot, expectorating with relish into John’s carefully-trimmed fire, ‘I’ll tell you straight out, for I’m one of them that goes straight to the point—fibbin’ ain’t in it with truthfulness, and bluffin’s no good when the cards are on the table. Waal, I bank with the Old Bank here, and decent enough people they are, too, but a trifle slow, so no sooner did the Joint Stock Bank open out a new branch in Old Quay than in I go, and I says, “Look here, boss, I want £5,000 of the ready, and I’ll bring you business,” I says. Well, the boss rubs his hands in butter, and he says, “Sartinly, sartinly, Mr. Coody, we know your name well, sir; most happy to oblige, I’m sure, and much obliged if you could introduce us to a few of your friends,” so after a bit more palaver and a deposit of some shares the deal’s done. Waal, down the street goes Bill Coody, and into the parlour of the Old Bank, and says to the partners straight out: “Now, look here, gentlemen, there’s no beatin’ about the bush with me, and no frivolity in matters of business, and what I want is £5,000 straight down, which is the figure I’ve just been offered by the new Joint Stock Bank over the way. Now I like your style,” I says, “and I should be sorry to leave you; but sentiment’s not my style of doin’ business, so there you have it.” Waal, the old gentleman looked at me over his spectacles, same way as you do, John, and under his spectacles also, and offers me a pinch of snuff, while he and his partner waggle their heads together in a far-off corner of the room. Waal, after a bit more palaver and a little “pi” jaw thrown in gratis about the evils of speculatin’, and a hope that a strange bank will not interfere with mutual friendly business relations, that deal’s done, and Bill Coody has £10,000 to draw upon by feedin’-time that morning.
‘Waal, John, I think you’ll have the hang of it now, and will be able to advise your bosses as to what’s best for them and the community, too, at large, and I want an answer—a regular business-like document—signed, sealed, and delivered, by this time to-morrow night, for there’s a shipload of my goods in already and lyin’ at the quay, and I can’t let the thing dry-rot while two thickheads worry the situation out and try to tinker up a mind between them. So fix it up for them, John, yourself. Ta-ta; I must be off. There’s a chap waitin’ for me at the club on business.’ And rising as he spoke, he went as unceremoniously as he came, leaving a trail of rank tobacco that was as penetrating to John’s nostrils as his communications had been to his intellect.
John lit his pipe again, which had gone out as he listened to Bill’s scheme, and thought for a while how ‘George’ would have dealt with the situation; how his penetrating intellect would have pierced through Bill’s armour-plating, and revealed the naked artificer within.
Ah! if ‘George’ had only been there for five minutes, several of the questions that were troubling him might have received instant solution. He could not feel certain how far Bill meant business with his store. It was not all bluff, of course; but how much of it was bluff, how much business, he could not of himself determine.
It might be that he wanted to be bought off at a price, or be offered a post upon the directorate, or was merely a ‘bull’ of the shares. However, one thing was certain: there must be no shilly-shallying. Either Bill must be squared or he must be defied.
That was the question for him to determine. No doubt, from a strictly business point of view, the chief matter to be considered was which of the two courses was likely to prove most beneficial to his principals; but the thought of the poor shopkeepers was present in John’s mind, and operated largely in influencing his mind in the direction of defiance. There was poor old Mrs. S——, for example, who kept herself and two grandchildren on the proceeds of a small florist’s business, once her son-in-law’s. What would happen to her if Bill were to flood the town with rose-trees at a shilling the dozen?
To-morrow was Saturday, and Bill demanded an answer by the evening. The next day being ‘first-day,’ he would have to satisfy his conscience—that ‘still small voice’ which, even in the silence of the meeting, interrogated him severely on his dealings during the past week, and permitted no subterfuge or evasive answer—and it was useless to think he could do so by pleading that he was only a subordinate, not an official, in this affair of the store. Well, so be it. It must be defiance, then—war to the knife—if Bill was in earnest; for to offer to put him on the directorate of the supply stores would merely mean setting up Bill’s store under the old title.