“And why do you wish me to be secretary?” he further demanded.
“Because I think we may depend upon you; because I know we could not depend on the secretary nominated by Mr. Black. In matters of this kind it does not do to stand too much upon ceremony. Am I wrong, Mr. Dudley, in supposing a thousand a year would prove an agreeable addition to your income?”
“I am not aware, sir,” answered Arthur, in a moment all in a flame with anger, “that I have, in the course of our conversation, led you to believe I am short of money.”
“There is a difference between being short of money and desiring more money,” answered Mr. Stewart, calmly. “I concluded that, if you were a perfectly satisfied man, you would have rested content among your herds and flocks, and not sought to increase your store in the City. I thought I would come and talk this affair over with you before our next meeting; but if my doing so has assumed the character of an intrusion, I can only apologise and withdraw.”
Having concluded which speech, Mr. Stewart rose from his chair, and, bowing to Arthur, would have left the room, had his host not entreated him to remain.
“I am almost mad, I think,” said the Squire, putting his hand to his forehead. “Excuse me if I seemed rude. I do not believe I knew what I was saying. It is a desperate experiment, Mr. Stewart, for a man who knows nothing whatever of business to allow himself to be drawn into it.”
“Yes,” answered the director, coolly; “and it is in the interests of such men that I decline permitting this Company to be made a job, for the advancement and enriching of the few at the expense of the many. In my opinion, you have acted foolishly in advancing large sums of money to Mr. Black; but it is to Mr. Black you should look for repayment, not to the shareholders.”
Arthur made no reply. He sat with his head bent forward thinking to himself, “what a cursed idiot I have been!” This was the first check he had met with, and he bore it with proportionate impatience. When a man has grown used to disappointment and reverses; when he has met with a long series of losses and failures; when his temper has become, after a fashion, macadamized, and his spirit broken under the wheels of constantly passing hearses containing the bodies of his hopes, his certainties, his ambitious aspirings; then the sharp pang which was once so impossible to endure, is dulled to a kind of quiet aching. The pain wears itself out as the months and the years go by; and he who once chafed, grows apathetic; and she who formerly wept, now smiles and bears in silence.
But Arthur Dudley’s pain was fresh, and it had, moreover, come sharply and suddenly upon him.
He had been stricken unprepared, and, though the wound inflicted might not be very severe, still it smarted as much as though his life had been placed in jeopardy.