He dismissed the lad and, with a dogged determination to master his nervous excitement, attacked the account-books and vouchers once more. His head was painfully clear now, and he was surprised at the sudden development of a hitherto unsuspected capacity for figures. He threaded the mazes of those long columns with what was for him singular rapidity and accuracy. He was rewarded by finding everything perfectly correct: the balance, although largely against him, was strictly in accordance with the items entered; and for every item, there was the voucher beside him.
He only paused when the fading light compelled him to rise and light the lamp. There was no mistake about it: the money had been spent in accordance with his directions, and there was no present return, nor any probability of a return in the future. A black lookout, truly; and he began to wonder gloomily whether it would not be best to undergo that whitewashing process of which Wrentham spoke so admiringly. By that means he would at anyrate save himself from the pain of losing more money which did not belong to him.
He passed his hand slowly over his head and stared vacantly, like one dazed by some mental vision of horror. Had he then lost faith in the work he had undertaken? Was he to bow down and own that he had blundered egregiously in imagining that there were men—and women too—willing to work and capable of seeing the advantages of being paid for what they produced—paid for quality as well as quantity—rather than by a fixed wage for so much time spent on the premises of the employer? No; he had not blundered: the system was in a minor degree already in vogue in various trades, and there was no reason why it should not be developed to its full extent, so that the workman should find that his labour was tangible capital, which would increase as it improved in quality and productiveness.
His eye fell on the open account-books on his table. What a cruel commentary on his brave speculations. He had tried to realise them—tried under the most favourable circumstances of time and money. The people were in a ferment of discontent with their condition, ready, apparently, to enter upon any scheme which promised to improve it; and the capital he had invested in his scheme for their benefit was considerable. And he had failed!
Again the dogged look came into his face. The failure was not due to the men or to the scheme: the fault lay in himself. He had mismanaged somehow; and he had not yet found out how.
He was roused from his reverie by a sharp knock at the door. It was Wrentham, who entered briskly and with the air of one who has important intelligence to communicate. His manner was not precisely excited; but it was flustered, as if he had been running a race and was a little out of breath. ‘No message yet, old man, I suppose?’
‘None,’ replied Philip, and his tone was not indicative of a pleasant humour. ‘Has anything happened—since I saw you?’
‘Yes, something has happened,’ was the answer.
Wrentham cooled suddenly when he observed how Philip had been occupied. ‘Have you seen Miss Heathcote?’
Philip had a repugnance to the sound of Madge’s name on this man’s lips, and yet it was pronounced respectfully enough.