so.”
If Major White was not a man of quick comprehension, he was, at all events, honest in his density2. He never said that he understood when he did not do so. When he received a telegram in barracks at Dover to come up to London the next day and meet Cornish at his club at one o'clock, the major merely said that he was in a state of condemnation3, and fixing his glass very carefully into his more surprised eye, studied the thin pink paper as if it were a unique and interesting proof of the advance of the human race. In truth, Major White never sent telegrams, and rarely received them. He blew out his cheeks and said a second time that he was damned. Then he threw the telegram into a waste-paper basket, which was rarely put to so legitimate5 a use; for the major never wrote letters if he could help it, and received so few that they hardly kept him supplied in pipe-lights.
He apparently6 had no intention of replying to Cornish's telegram, arguing very philosophically7 in his mind that he would go if he could, and if he could not, it would not matter very much. A method of contemplating8 life, as a picture with a perspective to it, which may be highly recommended to fussy9 people who herald10 their paltry11 little comings and goings by a number of unnecessary communications.
Without, therefore, attempting a surmise12 as to the meaning of this summons, White took a morning train to London, and solemnly reported himself to the hall porter of a club in St. James's Street as the well-dressed throng13 was leisurely14 returning from church.
“Mr. Cornish told me to come and have lunch with him,” he said, in his usual bald style, leaving explanations and superfluous15 questions to such as had time for luxuries of that description.
He was taken charge of by a button-boy, whose head reached the major's lowest waistcoat button, was deprived of his hat and stick, and practically commanded to wash his hands, to all of which he submitted under stolid16 and silent protest.
Then he was led upstairs, refusing absolutely to hurry, although urged most strongly thereto by the boy's example and manner of pausing a few steps higher up and looking back.
“Yes,” said the major, when he had heard Cornish's story across the table, and during the consumption of a perfectly17 astonishing luncheon18—“yes; half the trouble in this world comes from the incapacity of the ordinary human being to mind his own business.” He operated on a creaming Camembert cheese with much thoughtfulness, and then spoke19 again. “I should like you to tell me,” he said, “what a couple of idiots like us have to do with these confounded malgamiters. We do not know anything about industry or workmen—or work, so far as that goes”—he paused and looked severely21 across the table—“especially you,” he added.
Which was strictly22 true; for Tony Cornish was and always had been a graceful23 idler. He was one of those unfortunate men who possess influential24 relatives, than which there are few heavier handicaps in that game of life, where if there be any real scoring to be done, it must be compassed off one's own bat. To follow out the same inexpensive simile25, influential relatives may get a man into a crack club, but they cannot elect him to the first eleven. So Tony Cornish, who had never done anything, but had waited vaguely26 for something to turn up that might be worth his while to seize, had no answer ready, and only laughed gaily27 in his friend's face.
“The first thing we must do,” he said, very wisely leaving the past to take care of itself, “is to get old Ferriby out of it.”
“'Cos he is a lord?”
“Partly.”
“Partly; but chiefly because he is not the sort of man we want if there is going to be a fight.”
A momentary29 light gleamed in the major's eye, but it immediately gave place to a placid30 interest in the Camembert.
“If there is going to be a fight,” he said, “I'm on.”
In which trivial remark the major explained his whole life and mental attitude. And if the world only listened, instead of thinking what effect it is creating and what it is going to say next, it would catch men thus giving themselves away in their daily talk from morning till night. For Major White had always been “on” when there was fighting. By dint31 of exchanging and volunteering and asking, and generally bothering people in a thick-skinned, dull way, he always managed to get to the front, where his competitors—the handful of modern knights-errant who mean to make a career in the army, and inevitably32 succeed—were not afraid of him, and laughingly liked him. And the barrack-room balladists had discovered that White rhymes with Fight. And lo! Another man had made a name for himself in a world that is already too full of names, so that in the paths of Fame the great must necessarily fall against each other.
After luncheon, in the smaller smoking-room, where they were alone, Cornish explained the situation at greater length to Major White, who did not even pretend to understand it.
“All I can make of it is that that loose-shouldered chap Roden is a scoundrel,” he said bluntly, from behind a great cigar, “and wants thumping34. Now, if there's anything in that line—”
“No; but you must not tell him so,” interrupted Cornish. “I wish to goodness I could make you understand that cunning can only be met by cunning, not by thumps35, in these degenerate36 days. Old Wade37 has taken us by the hand, as I tell you. They come to town, by the way, to-morrow, and will be in Eaton Square for the rest of the season. He says that it is his business to meet the low cunning of the small solicitors38 and the noble army of company promoters, and it seems that he knows exactly what to do. At any rate, it is not expedient39 to thump33 Roden.”
Major White shrugged40 his shoulders with much silent wisdom. He believed, it appeared, in thumps in face of any evidence in favour of milder methods.
“Deuced sorry for that girl,” he said.
“Miss Roden, chap's sister. She knows her brother is a dark horse, but she wouldn't admit it, not if you were to kill her for it. Women”—the major paused in his great wisdom—“women are a rum lot.”
Which, assuredly, no one is prepared to deny.
Cornish glanced at his companion through the cigarette smoke, and said nothing.
“However,” continued the major, “I am at your service. Let us have the orders.”
“To-morrow,” answered Cornish, “is Monday, and therefore the Ferribys will be at home. You and I are to go to Cambridge Terrace about four o'clock to see my uncle. We will scare him out of the Malgamite business. Then we will go upstairs and settle matters with Joan. Wade and Marguerite will drop in about half-past four. Joan and Marguerite see a good deal of each other, you know. If we have any difficulty with my uncle, Wade will give him the coup20 de grace, you understand. His word will have more weight than ours We shall then settle on a plan of campaign, and clear out of my aunt's drawing-room before the crowd comes.”
“And you will do the talking,” stipulated42 Major White.
“Oh yes; I will do the talking. And now I must be off. I have a lot of calls to pay, and it is getting late. You will find me here to-morrow afternoon at a quarter to four.”
Whereupon Major White took his departure, to appear again the next day in good time, placid and debonair—as he had appeared when called upon in various parts of the world, where things were stirring.
They took a hansom, for the afternoon was showery, and drove through the crowded streets. Even Cambridge Terrace, usually a quiet thoroughfare, was astir with traffic, for it was the height of the season and a levee day. As the cab swung round into Cambridge Terrace, White suddenly pushed his stick up through the trap-door in the roof of the vehicle.
“Ninety-nine,” he shouted to the driver in his great voice. “Not nine.”
Cornish turned and looked at him in surprise. “Gone off your head?” he inquired. “It is nine—you know that well enough.”
“Yes,” answered White, “I know that, my good soul; but you could not see the door as I could when we came round the corner. Roden and Von Holzen are on the steps, coming out.”
“Roden and Von Holzen in England?”
“Not only in England,” said White, placidly44, “but in Cambridge Terrace. And “—he paused, seeking a suitable remark among his small selection of conversational45 remnants—“and the fat is in the fire.”
The cab had now stopped at the door of number ninety-nine. And if Roden or Von Holzen, walking leisurely down Cambridge Terrace, had turned during the next few moments, they would have seen a stationary46 hansom cab, with a large round face—mildly surprised, like a pink harvest moon—rising cautiously over the roof of it, watching them.
When the coast was clear, Cornish and White walked back to number nine. Lord Ferriby was at home, and they were ushered47 into his study, an apartment which, like many other things appertaining to his lordship, was calculated to convey an erroneous impression. There were books upon the tables—the lives of great and good men. Pamphlets relating to charitable matters, missionary48 matters, and a thousand schemes for the amelioration of the human lot here and hereafter, lay about in profusion49. This was obviously the den1 of a great philanthropist.
His lordship presently appeared, carrying a number of voting papers, which he threw carelessly on the table. He was, it seemed, a subscriber50 to many institutions for the blind, the maimed, and the halt.
“Ah!” he said, “I generally get through my work in the morning, but I find myself behindhand to-day. It is wonderful,” he added, directing his conversation and his benevolent51 gaze towards White, “how busy an idle man may be.”
“M—m—yes!” answered the major, with his stolid stare.
Cornish broke what threatened to be an awkward silence by referring at once to the subject in hand.
“It seems,” he began, “that this Malgamite scheme is not what we took it to be.”
Lord Ferriby looked surprised and slightly scandalized. Could it be possible for a fashionable charity to be anything but what it appeared to be? In his eyes, wandering from one face to the other, there lurked52 the question as to whether they had seen Roden and Von Holzen quit his door a minute earlier. But no reference was made to those two gentlemen, and Lord Ferriby, who, as a chairman of many boards, was a master of the art of conciliation53 and the decent closing of both eyes to unsightly facts, received Cornish's suggestion with a polite and avuncular54 pooh-pooh.
“We must not,” he said soothingly55, “allow our judgment56 to be hastily affected57 by the ill-considered statements of the—er—newspapers. Such statements, my dear Anthony—and you, Major White—are, I may tell you, only what we, as the pioneers of a great movement, must be prepared to expect. I saw the article in the Times to which you refer—indeed, I read it most carefully, as, in my capacity of chairman of this—eh—char—that is to say, company, I was called upon to do. And I formed the opinion that the mind of the writer was—eh—warped.” Lord Ferriby smiled sadly, and gave a final wave of the hand, as if to indicate that the whole matter lay in a nutshell, and that nutshell under his lordship's heel. “Warped or not,” answered Cornish, “the man says that we have formed ourselves into a company, which company is bound to make huge profits, and those profits are naturally assumed to find their way into our pockets.”
“My dear Anthony,” replied the chairman, with a laugh which was almost a cackle, “the labourer is worthy58 of his hire.”
Which seems likely to become the dernier cri of the overpaid throughout all the ages.
“Even if we contradict the statement,” pursued Cornish, with a sudden coldness in his manner, “the contradiction will probably fail to reach many of the readers of this article, and as matters at present stand, I do not see that we are in a position to contradict.”
“My dear Anthony,” answered Lord Ferriby, turning over his papers with
a preoccupied59 air, as if the question under discussion only called for
a small share of his attention—“my dear Anthony, the money was
subscribed60 for the amelioration of the lot of the malgamite workers. We
have not only ameliorated their lot, but we have elevated them morally
and physically61. We have far exceeded our promises, and the subscribers,
who, after all, take a small interest in the matter, have every reason
which they intended it. They were kind enough to intrust us with the
financial arrangements. The concern is a private one, and it is the
business of no one—not even of the Times—to inquire into the method
which we think well to adopt for the administration of the Malgamite
Fund. If the subscribers had no confidence in us, they surely would not
have given the management unreservedly into our hands.” Lord Ferriby
spread out the limbs in question with an easy laugh. Has not a greater
than any of us said that a man “may smile, and smile, and be a
villain”? A silence followed, which was almost, but not quite, broken
by the major, who took his glass from his eye, examined it very
carefully, as if wondering how it had been made, and, replacing it with
a deep sigh, sat staring at the opposite wall.
“Then you are not disposed to withdraw your name from the concern?” asked Cornish.
“Most certainly not, my dear Anthony. What have the malgamiters done that I should, so to speak, abandon them at the first difficulty which has presented itself?”
“And what about the profits?” inquired Cornish, bluntly.
“Mr. Roden is our paid secretary. He understands the financial situation, which is rather a complicated one. We may, I think, leave such details to him. And if I may suggest it (I may perhaps rightly lay claim to a somewhat larger experience in charitable finances than either of you), I should recommend a strict reticence63 on this matter. We are not called upon to answer idle questions, I think. And if—well—if the labourer is found worthy of his hire ... buy yourself a new hat, my dear Anthony. Buy yourself a new hat.”
Cornish rose, and looked at his watch. “I wonder if Joan will give us a cup of tea,” he said. “We might, at all events, go up and try.”
“Certainly—certainly. And I will follow when I have finished my work. And do not give the matter another thought—either of you—eh!”
“He's been got at,” said Major White to his companion as they walked upstairs together, as if Lord Ferriby were a jockey or some common person of that sort.
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1
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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density
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| n.密集，密度，浓度 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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5
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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6
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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7
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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8
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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9
fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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11
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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14
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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15
superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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16
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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17
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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18
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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19
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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20
coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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21
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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22
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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23
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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24
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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25
simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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30
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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32
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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33
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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34
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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35
thumps
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| n.猪肺病；砰的重击声( thump的名词复数 )v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的第三人称单数 ) | |
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36
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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38
solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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39
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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40
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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41
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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42
stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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43
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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44
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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45
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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46
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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47
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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49
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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50
subscriber
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| n.用户，订户；（慈善机关等的）定期捐款者；预约者；签署者 | |
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51
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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52
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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53
conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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54
avuncular
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| adj.叔伯般的，慈祥的 | |
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55
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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56
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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57
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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58
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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59
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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60
subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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61
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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62
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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63
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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