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Havoc, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Chapter 8. The Hand Of Misfortune |
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_ CHAPTER VIII. THE HAND OF MISFORTUNE Between the two men, seated opposite each other in the large but somewhat barely furnished office, the radical differences, both in appearance and mannerisms, perhaps, also, in disposition, had never been more strongly evident. They were partners in business and face to face with ruin. Stephen Laverick, senior member of the firm, although an air of steadfast gloom had settled upon his clean-cut, powerful countenance, retained even in despair something of that dogged composure, temperamental and wholly British, which had served him well along the road to fortune. Arthur Morrison, the man who sat on the other side of the table, a Jew to his finger-tips notwithstanding his altered name, sat like a broken thing, with tears in his terrified eyes, disordered hair, and parchment-pale face. Words had flown from his lips in a continual stream. He floundered in his misery, sobbed about it like a child. The hand of misfortune had stripped him naked, and one man, at least, saw him as he really was. "I can't stand it, Laverick,--I couldn't face them all. It's too cruel--too horrible! Eighteen thousand pounds gone in one week, forty thousand in a month! Forty thousand pounds! Oh, my God!" He writhed in agony. The man on the other side of the table said nothing. "If we could only have held on a little longer! 'Unions' must turn! They will turn! Laverick, have you tried all your friends? Think! Have you tried them all? Twenty thousand pounds would see us through it. We should get our own money back--I am sure of it. There's Rendell, Laverick. He'd do anything for you. You're always shooting or playing cricket with him. Have you asked him, Laverick? He'd never miss the money." "You and I see things differently, Morrison," Laverick answered. "Nothing would induce me to borrow money from a friend." "But at a time like this," Morrison pleaded passionately. "Every one does it sometimes. He'd be glad to help you. I know he would. Have you ever thought what it will be like, Laverick, to be hammered?" "I have," Laverick admitted wearily. "God knows it seems as terrible a thing to me as it can to you! But if we go down, we must go down with clean hands. I've no faith in your infernal market, and not one penny will I borrow from a friend." The Jew's face was almost piteous. He stretched himself across the table. There were genuine tears in his eyes. "Laverick," he said, "old man, you're wrong. I know you think I've been led away. I've taken you out of our depth, but the only trouble has been that we haven't had enough capital, and no backing. Those who stand up will win. They will make money." "Unfortunately," Laverick remarked, "we cannot stand up. Please understand that I will not discuss this matter with you in any way. I will not borrow money from Rendell or any friend. I have asked the bank and I have asked Pages, who will be our largest creditors. To help us would simply be a business proposition, so far as they are concerned. As you know, they have refused. If you see any hope in that direction, why don't you try some of your own friends? For every one man I know in the House, you have seemed to be bosom friends with at least twenty." Morrison groaned. "Those I know are not that sort of friend," he answered. "They will drink with you and spend a night out or a week-end at Brighton, but they do not lend money. If they would, do you think I would mind asking? Why, I would go on my knees to any man who would lend us the money. I would even kiss his feet. I cannot bear it, Laverick! I cannot! I cannot!" Laverick said nothing. Words were useless things, wasted upon such a creature. He eyed his partner with a contempt which he took no pains to conceal. This, then, was the smart young fellow recommended to him on all sides, a few years ago, as one of the shrewdest young men in his own particular department, a person bound to succeed, a money-maker if ever there was one! Laverick thought of him as he appeared at the office day by day, glossy and immaculately dressed, with a flower in his buttonhole, boots that were a trifle too shiny, hat and coat, gloves and manner, all imitation but all very near the real thing. What a collapse! "You're going to stay and see it through?" he whined across the table. "Certainly," Laverick answered. The young man buried his face in his hands. "I can't! I can't!" he moaned. "I couldn't bear seeing all the fellows, hearing them whisper things--oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!... Laverick, we've a few hundreds left. Give me something and let me out of it. You're a stronger sort of man than I am. You can face it,--I can't! Give me enough to get abroad with, and if ever I do any good I'll remember it, I will indeed." Laverick was silent for a moment. His companion watched his face eagerly. After all, why not let him go? He was no help, no comfort. The very sight of him was contemptible. "I have paid no money into the bank for several days," Laverick said slowly. "When they refused to help us, it was, of course, obvious that they guessed how things were." "Quite right, quite right!" the young man interrupted feverishly. "They would have stuck to it against the overdraft. How much have we got in the safe?" "This afternoon," Laverick continued, "I changed all our cheques. You can count the proceeds for yourself. There are, I think, eleven hundred pounds. You can take two hundred and fifty, and you can take them with you--to any place you like." The young man was already at the safe. The notes were between them, on the table. He counted quickly with the fingers of a born manipulator of money. When he had gathered up two hundred and fifty pounds, Laverick's hand fell upon his. "No more," he ordered sternly. "But, my dear fellow," Morrison protested, "half of eleven hundred is five hundred and fifty. Why should we not go halves? That is only fair, Laverick. It is little enough. We ought to have had a great deal more." Laverick pushed him contemptuously away and locked up the remainder of the notes. "I am letting you take two hundred and fifty pounds of this money," he said, "for various reasons. For one, I can bear this thing better alone. As for the rest of the money, it remains there for the accountant who liquidates our affairs. I do not propose to touch a penny of it." The young man buttoned up his coat with an hysterical little laugh. Such ways were not his ways. They were not, indeed, within the limit of his understanding. But of his partner he had learned one thing, at least. The word of Stephen Laverick was the word of truth. He shambled toward the door. On the whole, he was lucky to have got the two hundred and fifty pounds. "So long, Laverick," he said from the door. "I'm--I'm sorry." It was characteristic of him that he did not venture to offer his hand. Laverick nodded, not unkindly. After all, this young man was as he had been made. "I wish you good luck, Morrison," he said. "Try South Africa." _ |
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