CHAPTER VII
In a handsomely appointed room of one of the largest hotels in Londona man was sitting at the head of a table strewn with blotting-paper andwriting materials of every description. Half a dozen chairs had beencarelessly pushed back, there were empty champagne bottles upon thesideboard, the air was faintly odorous of tobacco smoke--blue wreathswere still curling upwards towards the frescoed ceiling. Yet thegathering had not been altogether a festive one. There were sheets ofpaper still lying about covered with figures, a brass-bound ledger layopen at the further end of the table, In the background a young man,slim, pale, ill-dressed in sober black, was filling a large tin box withdocuments and letters.
It had been a meeting of giants. Men whose names were great in the worldof finance had occupied those elaborately decorated leather chairs.There had been cynicism, criticism, and finally enthusiasm. For the manwho remained it had been a triumph. He had appeared to do but little inthe way of persuasion. His manners had been brusque, and his words hadbeen few. Yet he remained the master of the situation. He had gaineda victory not only financial but moral, over men whose experience andknowledge were far greater than his. He was no City magnate, nor had heever received any training in those arts and practices which go to themaking of one. For his earlier life had been spent in a wilder countrywhere the gambling was for life and not merely for gold. It was ScarlettTrent who sat there in thoughtful and absorbed silence. He was leaning alittle back in a comfortably upholstered chair, with his eyes fixed ona certain empty spot upon the table. The few inches of polished mahoganyseemed to him--empty of all significance in themselves--to be reflectingin some mysterious manner certain scenes in his life which were nowvery rarely brought back to him. The event of to-day he knew to be theculmination of a success as rapid as it had been surprising. He was amillionaire. This deal to-day, in which he had held his own against theshrewdest and most astute men of the great city, had more than doubledhis already large fortune. A few years ago he had landed in Englandfriendless and unknown, to-day he had stepped out from even amongstthe chosen few and had planted his feet in the higher lands whitherthe faces of all men are turned. With a grim smile upon his lips, herecalled one by one the various enterprises into which he had entered,the courage with which he had forced them through, the solid strengthwith which he had thrust weaker men to the wall and had risen a littlehigher towards his goal upon the wreck of their fortunes. Where othermen had failed he had succeeded. To-day the triumph was his alone. Hewas a millionaire--one of the princes of the world!
The young man, who had filled his box and also a black bag, was readyto go. He ventured most respectfully to break in upon the reflections ofhis employer.
"Is there anything more for me to do, sir?"
Trent woke from his day-dream into the present. He looked around theroom and saw that no papers had been omitted. Then he glanced keenlyinto his clerk's face.
"Nothing more," he said. "You can go."
It was significant of the man that, notwithstanding his hour of triumph,he did not depart in the slightest degree from the cold gruffness of histone. The little speech which his clerk had prepared seemed to stick inhis throat.
"I trust, sir, that you will forgive--that you will pardon the liberty,if I presume to congratulate you upon such a magnificent stroke ofbusiness!"
Scarlett Trent faced him coldly. "What do you know about it?" he asked."What concern is it of yours, young man, eh?"
The clerk sighed, and became a little confused. He had indulged insome wistful hopes that for once his master might have relaxed, that anopportune word of congratulation might awaken some spark of generosityin the man who had just added a fortune to his great store. He had agirl-wife from whose cheeks the roses were slowly fading, and verysoon would come a time when a bank-note, even the smallest, would be apriceless gift. It was for her sake he had spoken. He saw now that hehad made a mistake.
"I am very sorry, sir," he said humbly. "Of course I know that these menhave paid an immense sum for their shares in the Bekwando Syndicate. Atthe same time it is not my business, and I am sorry that I spoke."
"It is not your business at any time to remember what I receive forproperties," Scarlett Trent said roughly. "Haven't I told you thatbefore? What did I say when you came to me? You were to hear nothing andsee nothing outside your duties! Speak up, man! Don't stand there like ajay!"
The clerk was pale, and there was an odd sensation in his throat. But hethought of his girl-wife and he pulled himself together.
"You are quite right, sir," he said. "To any one else I shouldnever have mentioned it. But we were alone, and I thought that thecircumstances might make it excusable."
His employer grunted in an ominous manner.
"When I say forget, I mean forget," he declared. "I don't want to bereminded by you of my own business. D'ye think I don't know it?"
"I am very sure that you do, sir," the clerk answered humbly. "I quitesee that my allusion was an error."
Scarlett Trent had turned round in his chair, and was eying the pale,nervous figure with a certain hard disapproval.
"That's a beastly coat you've got on, Dickenson," he said. "Why don'tyou get a new one?"
"I am standing in a strong light, sir," the young man answered, with anew fear at his heart. "It wants brushing, too. I will endeavour to geta new one--very shortly."
His employer grunted again.
"What's your salary?" he asked.
"Two pounds fifteen shillings a week, sir."
"And you mean to say that you can't dress respectably on that? What doyou do with your money, eh? How do you spend it? Drink and music-halls,I suppose!"
The young man was able at last to find some spark of dignity. A pinkspot burned upon his cheeks.
"I do not attend music-halls, sir, nor have I touched wine or spiritsfor years. I--I have a wife to keep, and perhaps--I am expecting--"
He stopped abruptly. How could he mention that other matter which, forall its anxieties, still possessed for him a sort of quickening joy inthe face of that brutal stare. He did not conclude his sentence, themomentary light died out of his pale commonplace features. He hung hishead and was silent.
"A wife," Scarlett Trent repeated with contempt, "and all the rest of itof course. Oh, what poor donkeys you young men are! Here are you, withyour way to make in the world, with your foot scarcely upon the bottomrung of the ladder, grubbing along on a few bob a week, and you chooseto go and chuck away every chance you ever might have for a moment'sfolly. A poor, pretty face I suppose. A moonlight walk on a BankHoliday, a little maudlin sentiment, and over you throw all your chancesin life. No wonder the herd is so great, and the leaders so few," headded, with a sneer.
The young man raised his head. Once more the pink spot was burning. Yethow hard to be dignified with the man from whom comes one's daily bread.
"You are mistaken, sir," he said. "I am quite happy and quitesatisfied."
Scarlett Trent laughed scornfully.
"Then you don't look it," he exclaimed.
"I may not, sir," the young man continued, with a desperate courage,"but I am. After all happiness is spelt with different letters for allof us. You have denied yourself--worked hard, carried many burdens andrun great risks to become a millionaire. I too have denied myself, haveworked and struggled to make a home for the girl I cared for. You havesucceeded and you are happy. I can hold Edith's--I beg your pardon,my wife's hand in mine and I am happy. I have no ambition to be amillionaire. I was very ambitious to win my wife."
Scarlett Trent looked at him for a moment open mouthed and open-eyed.Then he laughed outright and a chill load fell from the heart of the manwho for a moment had forgotten himself. The laugh was scornful perhaps,but it was not angry.
"Well, you've shut me up," he declared. "You seem a poor sort of acreature to me, but if you're content, it's no business of mine. Herebuy yourself an overcoat, and drink a glass of wine. I'm off!"
He rose from his seat and threw a bank-note ove
r the table. The clerkopened it and handed it back with a little start.
"I am much obliged to you, sir," he said humbly, "but you have made amistake. This note is for fifty pounds."
Trent glanced at it and held out his hand. Then he paused.
"Never mind," he said, with a short laugh, "I meant to give you a fiver,but it don't make much odds. Only see that you buy some new clothes."
The clerk half closed his eyes and steadied himself by grasping the backof a chair. There was a lump in his throat in earnest now.
"You--you mean it, sir?" he gasped. "I--I'm afraid I can't thank you!"
"Don't try, unless you want me to take it back," Trent said, strollingto the sideboard. "Lord, how those City chaps can guzzle! Not a drop ofchampagne left. Two unopened bottles though! Here, stick 'em in your bagand take 'em to the missis, young man. I paid for the lot, so there's nouse leaving any. Now clear out as quick as you can. I'm off!"
"You will allow me, sir--"
Scarlett Trent closed the door with a slam and disappeared. The youngman passed him a few moments later as he stood on the steps of the hotellighting a cigar. He paused again, intent on stammering out some wordsof thanks. Trent turned his back upon him coldly.