the world.”
Political Economy will some day have to recognize Philanthropy as a possible—nay, a certain stumbling-block in the world's progress towards that millennium1 when Supply and Demand shall sit down together in peace. Charity is certainly sowing seed into the ridges2 of time which will bear startling fruit in the future. For Charity does not hesitate to close up an industry or interfere3 with a trade that supplies thousands with their daily bread. Thus the Malgamite scheme so glibly4 inaugurated by Lord Ferriby in his drawing-room bore fruit within a week in a quarter to which probably few concerned had ever thought of casting an eye. The price of a high-class tinted5 paper fell in all the markets of the world. This paper could only be manufactured with a large addition of malgamite to its other components6. In what may be called the prospectus7 of the Malgamite scheme it was stated that this great charity was inaugurated for the purpose of relieving the distress8 of the malgamiters—one of the industrial scandals of the day—by enabling these afflicted9 men to make their deadly product at a cheaper rate and without danger to themselves. This prospectus naturally came to the hands of those most concerned, namely, the manufacturers of coloured papers and the brokers10 who supply those manufacturers with their raw material.
Thus Lord Ferriby, beaming benignantly from a bower12 of chrysanthemums13 on a certain evening one winter not so many years ago, set rolling a small stone upon a steep hill. So, in fact, wags the world; and none of us may know when the echo of a careless word will cease vibrating in the hearts of some that hear.
The malgamite trade was what is called a close one—that is to say that this product passed out into the world through the hands of a few brokers and these brokers were powerless, in face of Lord Ferriby's announcement, to prevent the price of malgamite from falling. As this fell so fell the prices of the many kinds of paper which could not be manufactured without it. Thus indirectly14, Lord Ferriby, with that obtuseness15 which very often finds itself in company with a highly developed philanthropy, touched the daily lives of thousands and thousands of people. And he did not know it. And Tony Cornish knew it not. And Joan and the subscribers never dreamt or thought of such a thing.
The paper market became what is called sensitive—that is to say, prices rose and fell suddenly without apparent reason. Some men made money and others lost it. Presently, however—that is to say, in the month of March—two months after Tony Cornish had safely conveyed his malgamite makers16 to their new home on the sand dunes17 of Scheveningen—the paper markets of the world began to settle down again, and steadier prices ruled. This could be traced—as all commercial changes may be traced—to the original flow at one of the fountain-heads of supply and demand. It arose from the simple fact that a broker11 in London had bought some of the new malgamite—the Scheveningen malgamite—and had issued it to his clients, who said that it was good. He had, moreover, bought it cheaper. In a couple of days all the world—all the world concerned in the matter—knew of it. Such is commerce at the end of the century.
And Cornish, casually18 looking in at the little office of the Malgamite Charity, where a German clerk recommended by Herr von Holzen kept the books of the scheme, found his table littered with telegrams. Tony Cornish had a reputation for being clever. He was, as a matter of fact, intelligent. The world nearly always mistakes intelligence for cleverness, just as it nearly always mistakes laughter for happiness. He was, however, clever enough to have found out during the last two months that the Malgamite scheme was a bigger thing than either he or his uncle had ever imagined.
Many questions had arisen during those two months of Cornish's honorary secretary ship of the charity which he had been unable to answer, and which he had been obliged to refer to Roden and Von Holzen. These had replied readily, and the matter as solved by them seemed simple enough. But each question seemed to have side issues—indeed, the whole scheme appeared suddenly to bristle19 with side issues, and Tony Cornish began to find himself getting really interested in something at last.
The telegrams were not alone upon his office table. There were letters as well. It was a nice little office, furnished by Joan with a certain originality21 which certainly made it different from any other office in Westminster. It had, moreover, the great recommendation of being above a Ladies' Tea Association, so that afternoon tea could be easily procured22. The German clerk quite counted on receiving three half-holidays a week and Joan brought her friends to tea, and her mother to chaperon. These little tea-parties became quite notorious, and there was a question of a cottage piano, which was finally abandoned in favour of a banjo. It happened to be a wire-puzzle winter, and Cornish had the best collection of rings on impossible wire mazes23, and glass beads24 strung upon intertwisted hooks, in Westminster, if not, indeed, in the whole of London. Then, of course, there were the committee meetings—that is to say, the meeting of the lady committees of the bazaar25 and ball sub-committees. The wire puzzles and the association tea were an immense feature of these.
Cornish was quite accustomed to finding a number of letters awaiting him, and had been compelled to buy a waste-paper basket of abnormal dimensions—so many moribund26 charities cast envious27 eyes upon the Malgamite scheme, and wondered how it was done, and, on the chance of it, offered Cornish honourable28 honorary posts. But the telegrams had been few, and nearly all from Roden. There was a letter from Roden this morning.
“DEAR CORNISH” (he wrote),—
“You will probably receive applications from malgamite workers in different parts of the world for permission to enter our works. Accept them all, and arrange for their enlistment29 as soon as possible.
“Yours in haste,
“P.R.”
Percy Roden was usually in haste, and wrote a bad letter in a beautiful handwriting.
Cornish turned to the telegrams. They were one and all applications from malgamite makers—from Venice to Valparaiso—to be enrolled30 in the Scheveningen group. He was still reading them when Lord Ferriby came into the little office. His lordship was wearing a new fancy waistcoat. It was the month of April—the month assuredly of fancy waistcoats throughout all nature. Lord Ferriby was, as usual, rather pleased with himself. He had walked down Piccadilly with great effect, and a bishop31 had bowed to him, recognizing, in a sense, a lay bishop.
“What have you got there, Tony?” he asked, affably, laying his smart walking-stick on an inlaid bureau, which was supposed to be his, and was always closed, and had nothing in it.
“Telegrams,” answered Cornish, “from malgamite makers, who want to join the works at Scheveningen. Seventy-six of them. I don't quite understand this business.”
“Neither do I,” admitted Lord Ferriby, in a voice which clearly indicated that if he only took the trouble he could understand anything. “But I fancy it is one of the biggest things in charity that has ever been started.”
In the company of men, and especially of young men, Lord Ferriby allowed himself a little license33 in speech. He at times almost verged34 on the slangy, which is, of course, quite correct and de haut ton, and he did not want to be taken for an old buffer35, as were his contemporaries. Therefore he called himself an old buffer whenever he could. Qui s'excuse s'accuse.
“Of course,” he added, “we must take the poor fellows.”
Without comment, Cornish handed him Roden's letter, and while Lord Ferriby read it, employed himself in making out a list of the names and addresses of the applicants36. Cornish was, in fact, rising to the occasion. In other circumstances Anthony Cornish might with favourable37 influence—say that of a Scottish head clerk—have been made into what is called a good business man. Without any training whatever, and with an education which consisted only of a smattering of the classics and a rigid38 code of honour, he usually perceived what it was wise to do. Some people call this genius; others, luck.
“I see,” said Lord Ferriby, “that Roden is of the same opinion as myself. A shrewd fellow, Roden.” And he pulled down his fancy waistcoat.
“Then I may write, or telegraph, to these men, and tell them to come?” asked Cornish.
“Most certainly, my dear Anthony. We will collect them, or muster39 them, as White calls it, in London, and then send them to Scheveningen, as before, when Roden and Herr von Holzen are ready for them. Send a note to White, whose department this mustering40 is. As a soldier he understands the handling of a body of men. You and I are more competent to deal with a sum of money.”
Lord Ferriby glanced towards the door to make sure that it was open, so that the German clerk in the outer office should lose nothing that could only be for his good—might, in fact, pick up a few crumbs41 from the richly stored table of a great man's mind.
Lord Ferriby leisurely42 withdrew his gloves and laid them on the inlaid bureau. He had the physique of a director of public companies, and the grave manner that impresses shareholders43. He talked of the weather, drew Cornish's attention to a blot44 of ink on the high-art wallpaper, and then put on his gloves again, well pleased with himself and his morning's work.
“Everything appears to be in order, my dear Anthony,” he said. “So there is nothing to keep me here any longer.”
“Nothing,” replied Cornish; and his lordship departed.
Cornish remained until it was time to go across St. James's Park to his club to lunch. He answered a certain number of letters himself, the others he handed over to the German clerk—a man with all the virtues45, smooth, upright hair, and a dreamy eye. The malgamite makers were bidden to come as soon as they liked. After luncheon46 Cornish had to hurry back to Great George Street. This was one of his busy days. At four o'clock there was to be a meeting of the floor committee of the approaching ball, and Cornish remembered that he had been specially32 told to get a new bass47 string for the banjo. The Hon. Rupert Dalkyn had promised to come, but had vowed48 that he would not touch the banjo again unless it had new strings49. So Cornish bought the bass string at the Army and Navy Stores, and the first preparation for the meeting of the floor committee was the tuning50 of the banjo by the German clerk.
There were, of course, flowers to be bought and arranged tant bien que mal in empty ink-stands, a conceit51 of Joan's, who refused to spend the fund money in any ornament52 less serious, while she quite recognized the necessity for flowers on the table of a mixed committee.
The Hon. Rupert was the first to arrive. He was very small and neat and rather effeminate. The experienced could tell at a glance that he came from a fighting stock. He wore a grave and rather preoccupied53 air. He sat down on the arm of a chair and looked sadly into the fire, while his lips moved.
“Got something on your mind?” asked Cornish, who was putting the finishing touches to the arrangement of the room.
“Well, I would rather wait. I think I hear a carriage at the door,” said Cornish, hastily.
Rupert Dalkyn had to be elected to the floor committee because he was Mrs. Courteville's brother, and Mrs. Courteville was the best chaperon in London. She was not only a widow, but her husband had been killed in rather painful circumstances.
“Poor dear,” the people said when she had done something perhaps a little unusual—“poor dear; you know her husband was killed.”
So the late Courteville, in his lone20 grave by the banks of the Ogowe River, watched over his wife's welfare, and made quite a nice place for her in London society.
Rupert himself had been intended for the Church, but had at Cambridge
he really mustn't. So he didn't. Since then Rupert had, to tell the
truth, done nothing. The exquisite sense of humour had also slightly
evaporated. People said, “Oh yes, very funny,” than which nothing is
more fatal to humour; and elderly ladies smiled a pinched smile at one
side of their lips. It is so difficult to see a joke through those
long-handled eye-glasses.
Cornish was quite right when he said that he had heard a carriage, for presently the door opened, and Mrs. Courteville came in. She was small and slight—“a girlish figure,” her maid told her—and well dressed. She was just at that age when she did not look it—at an age, moreover, when some women seem to combine a maximum of experience with a minimum of thought. But who are we to pick holes in our neighbours' garments? If any of us is quite sure that he is not doing more harm than good in the world, let him by all means throw stones at Mrs. Courteville.
Joan arrived next, accompanied by Lady Ferriby, who knew that if she stayed at home she would only have to give tea to a number of people towards whom she did not feel kindly58 enough disposed to reconcile herself to the expense. Joan glanced hastily from Mrs. Courteville to Tony. She had noticed that Mrs. Courteville always arrived early at the floor committee meetings when these were held at the Malgamite office or in Cornish's rooms. Joan wondered, while Mrs. Courteville was kissing her, whether the widow had come with her brother or before him.
“Has he not made the room look pretty with that mimosa?” asked Mrs. Courteville, vivaciously59. People did not know how matters stood between Joan Ferriby and Tony Cornish, and always wanted to know. That is why Mrs. Courteville said “he” only when she drew Joan's attention to the flowers.
The meeting may best be described as lively. We belong, however, to an eminently60 practical generation, and some business was really transacted61. The night for the Malgamite ball was fixed62, and a list of stewards63 drawn64 up; and then the Hon. Rupert played the banjo.
Lady Ferriby had some calls to pay, so Cornish volunteered to walk across the park with Joan, who had a healthy love of exercise. They talked of various matters, and of course returned again and again to the Malgamite affairs.
“By the way,” said Joan, at the corner of Cambridge Terrace, “I had a letter this morning from Dorothy Roden. I was at school with her, you know, and never dreamt that Mr. Roden was her brother. In fact, I had nearly forgotten her existence. She is coming across for the ball. She says she saw you when you were at The Hague. You never mentioned her, Tony.”
“Didn't I? She is not interested in the Malgamite scheme, you know. And nobody who is not interested in that is worth mentioning.”
They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Then Cornish asked a question.
“What sort of person was she at school?”
“Oh, she was a frivolous65 sort of girl—never took anything seriously, you know. That is why she is not interested in the Malgamite, I suppose.”
“I suppose so,” said Tony Cornish.
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1
millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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2
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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4
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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components
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| （机器、设备等的）构成要素，零件，成分； 成分( component的名词复数 )； [物理化学]组分； [数学]分量； （混合物的）组成部分 | |
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7
prospectus
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| n.计划书；说明书；慕股书 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10
brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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12
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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13
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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14
indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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15
obtuseness
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| 感觉迟钝 | |
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makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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17
dunes
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| 沙丘( dune的名词复数 ) | |
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18
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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19
bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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20
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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22
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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23
mazes
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| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
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24
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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25
bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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26
moribund
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| adj.即将结束的，垂死的 | |
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27
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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28
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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29
enlistment
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| n.应征入伍，获得，取得 | |
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30
enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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31
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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33
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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34
verged
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| 接近，逼近（verge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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35
buffer
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| n.起缓冲作用的人(或物)，缓冲器；vt.缓冲 | |
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36
applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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37
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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38
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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40
mustering
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的现在分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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42
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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43
shareholders
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| n.股东( shareholder的名词复数 ) | |
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44
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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45
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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46
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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47
bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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48
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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49
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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50
tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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51
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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52
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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53
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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54
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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55
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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56
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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57
mimicry
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| n.（生物）拟态，模仿 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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vivaciously
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| adv.快活地；活泼地；愉快地 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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61
transacted
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| v.办理（业务等）( transact的过去式和过去分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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63
stewards
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| （轮船、飞机等的）乘务员( steward的名词复数 )； （俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的）管理员； （大型活动的）组织者； （私人家中的）管家 | |
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64
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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