“And he that busy that he’ll snap my nose off! And you’re just from London. Come, Mr. Bourdillon, just for two or three hundred pounds. A good ’un! A real good ’un! I know you know one!”
Arthur gave way. The man’s wheedling tone, the sense of power, the ability to confer a favor were too much for him. He named the Antwerp Navigation Company. “But don’t stop in too long,” he added. And he snatched himself away, and hurried on, and many were those who found his frank eager face irresistible.
As he ploughed his way through the crowd, his head on a level with the tallest, he seemed to be success itself. His careless greeting met everywhere a cheery answer, and more than one threw after him, “There goes the old Squire’s nevvy! See him? He’s a clever ’un if ever there was one!” They gave him credit for knowing mysteries dark to them, yet withal they owned a link with him. He too belonged to the land. A link with him and some pride in him.
In the parlor where the Board met he had something of the same effect. Sir Charles and Acherley had taken their seats and were talking of county matters, their backs turned on their fellows. Wolley stood before the fire, glowering at them and resenting his exclusion. Grounds sat meekly on a chair within the door. But Arthur’s appearance changed all. He had a word or a smile for each. He set Grounds at his ease, he had a joke for Sir Charles and Acherley, he joined Wolley before the fire. Ovington, who had left the room for a moment, noted the change, and his heart warmed to the Secretary. “He will do,” he told himself, as he turned to the business of the meeting.
“Come, Mr. Wolley, come, Mr. Grounds,” he said, “pull up your chairs, if you please. It has struck twelve and the bank should be open to receive applications at half-past. I conveyed your invitation, gentlemen, to Mr. Purslow two days ago, and I am happy to tell you that he takes two hundred shares, so that over one-third of the capital will be subscribed before we go to the public. I suppose, gentlemen, you would wish him to take his seat at once?”
Sir Charles and Acherley nodded, Wolley looked sullen but said nothing, Grounds submitted. Neither he nor Wolley was over-pleased at sharing with another the honor of sitting with the gentry. But it had to be done. “Bring him in, Bourdillon,” Ovington said.
Purslow, who was in waiting, slid into the room and took his seat, between pride and humility. “I have reason to believe, gentlemen,” Ovington continued, “that the capital will be subscribed within twenty-four hours. It is for you to say how long the list shall remain open.”
“Not too long,” said Sir Charles, sapiently.
“Shall I say forty-eight hours? Agreed, gentlemen? Very good. Then a notice to that effect shall be posted outside the bank at once. Will you see to that, Bourdillon?”
“And what of Mr. Griffin?” Wolley blurted out the question before Ovington could restrain him. The clothier was anxious to show Purslow that he was at home in his company.