“There would have been a strike if the old man hadn’t put his foot down. The men held a meeting and reconsidered their position. It’s well for them they did, otherwise I had orders to close down the whole works for six months—or for a year, if need be.”
“But you’d have lost very heavily, wouldn’t you?”
“Lost? I should rather think so. We should have had to pay damages for breach of contract with the Italian railways to the tune of a nice round sum. But what does it matter to the guv’nor. When he takes a stand against what he calls the tyranny of labour he doesn’t count the cost.”
“Well,” sighed Max, looking across at Marion’s brother, “it’s rather nice to be in such a position, and yet—”
“And yet it isn’t all honey to be in his shoes—eh? No, Max, it isn’t,” he said. “I know more about old Sam than most men, and I tell you I’d rather be as I am than stifled by wealth as he is. He’s a millionaire in gold, but a pauper in happiness.”
“I can’t help thinking that his unhappiness must, in a great measure, be due to himself,” Max remarked, wondering why Charlie had visited him after this length of time. “I think if I had his money I should try and get some little enjoyment out of it. Other wealthy men have yachts, or motor cars, or other hobbies. Why doesn’t he?”
“Because he doesn’t care for sport. He told me once that in his younger days abroad he was as keen a sportsman as anybody. But now-a-days he’s too old for it, and prefers his armchair.”
“And yet he isn’t a very old man, is he?”
“Sometimes wealth rejuvenates a man, but more often the worry of it ages him prematurely,” Rolfe remarked. “I only got back from Glasgow again last night, and I thought I’d look in and see you. Seen Marion lately?”
“I was with her at Earl’s Court last night. She’s all right.”