The sun was on the rocks and the lichen shone in rings of soft and varied color. Blue shadows filled the dale, which, from the side of the Buttress, looked profoundly deep. A row of young men and women followed a ledge that crossed the face of the steep crag; Mortimer Hyslop leading, a girl and Vernon a few yards behind, Lister and Barbara farther off.
Hyslop knew the rocks and was a good leader. He was cool and cautious and did not undertake a climb until he was satisfied about his companions' powers. The slanting edge looked dangerous, but was not, although one must be steady and there was an awkward corner. At the turning, the ledge got narrow, and one must seize a knob and then step lightly on a stone embedded in mossy soil.
When they reached the spot Hyslop stopped and told Vernon what to do; the girl immediately behind him was a clever mountaineer. They went round and Lister watched from a few yards off. For a moment or two each in turn, supported by one foot with body braced against the rock, grasped the knob and vanished round the corner. It was plain one must get a firm hold, but Lister thought this was all. He was used to the tall skeleton trestles that carried the rails across Canadian ravines.
After the others disappeared Lister seized the knob. He thought the stone he stood on moved and he cautiously took a heavier strain on his arm. He could get across, but he obeyed an impulse and gave the stone a push. It rolled out and, when he swung himself back to the ledge, plunged down and smashed upon the rocks below. For a few moments the echoes rolled about the crags, and then Hyslop shouted: "Are you all right? Can you get round?"
Lister said he thought not, and Hyslop replied that it did not matter. Barbara would take him up a grassy ridge and the others would meet them at the top. A rattle of nailed boots indicated that he was going off and Lister turned and glanced at Barbara. She had sat down on an inclined slab and her figure and face, in profile, cut against the sky. A yard or two beneath her, the sloping rock vanished at the top of a steep pitch and one saw nothing but the crags across the narrow dale. Yet Lister thought the girl was not disturbed.
"I expect I was clumsy,'' he apologized.
"Well," she said, "it looks like that!"
He gave her a quick glance and pondered. Although he had gone to Carrock since she came home, she had been strangely cold and, so to speak, aloof. He had imagined their meeting might embarrass her, but she was not embarrassed. In fact, she had met him as if he were a friend, but he had not seen her afterwards unless somebody was about. Now he meant to force her to be frank.
"I was clumsy," he resumed. "All the same, when I felt the stone begin to move I might have pulled myself across by my hands. I expect the block would have been firm enough to carry you."
"Yes, I know," said Barbara. "You didn't want me to get across!"
Lister studied her. He doubted if it was altogether exertion that had brought the blood to her skin and given her eyes the keen sparkle. Clinging to the rock, with the shadowy gulf below, she looked strangely alert and virile. Her figure cut against the sky; he noted its slenderness and finely-drawn lines. She was not angry, although he had admitted he pushed down the stone, but he felt as if something divided them and doubted if he could remove the obstacle.
"I wanted to talk and had found I could not get near you unless the others were about," he said. "It looked as if I had unconsciously given you some grounds for standing me off. Well, I suppose I did put your relations on your track."
"It wasn't that," said Barbara. "I imagine Harry Vernon helped you there. You were forced to tell your story."
"I was forced. All the same, I think Harry's plan was good."
"He went away a few days before I arrived!" Barbara remarked.
Lister thought he saw where she led and knitted his brows. He was on awkward ground and might say too much, but to say nothing might be worse.
"Harry's a good sort and I expect he pulled out because he imagined you'd sooner he did so," he said. "For all that, I reckon he ought to have stayed."
Although her color was vivid, Barbara gave him a searching glance. "In order to imply I had no grounds for embarrassment if I met him? Harry was at the camp in the woods."
"He knew you had no grounds for embarrassment," Lister declared. "I knew, and Harry's an older friend."
Barbara turned her head, and when she looked back Lister thought his boldness was justified. In a sense she had been very frank, although perhaps this situation made for frankness. They were alone on the face of the towering crag. All was very quiet but for the noise of falling water, and the only living object one could see was a buzzard hovering high up at a white cloud's edge. One could talk in the mountain solitude as one could not talk in a drawing-room. For all that, Lister felt he had not altogether broken the girl's reserve.
"One envies men like you who build railways and sail ships," she said, and now Lister wondered where she led. "You live a natural life, knowing bodily strain and primitive emotions. Sometimes you're exhausted and sometimes afraid. Your thought's fixed on the struggle; you're keenly occupied. Isn't it like that?"
"Something like that," Lister agreed. "Sometimes the strain gets monotonous."
"But it's often thrilling. Men and women need to be thrilled. People talk about the modern lust for excitement, but it isn't modern and I expect the instinct's sound. Civilization that gives us hot water before we get up and food we didn't grow is not all an advantage. Our bodies get soft and we're driven back on our emotions. Where we want action we get talk. Then one gets up against the rules; you mustn't be angry, you mustn't be sincere, you must use a dreary level calm."
Lister was puzzled and said nothing, but Barbara went on: "Perhaps some girls like this; others don't, and now and then rebel. We feel we're human, we want to live. Adventure calls us, as it calls you. We want to front life's shocks and storms; unsatisfied curiosity drives us on. Then perhaps romance comes and all the common longings of flesh and blood are transfigured."
She stopped, and Lister began to see a light. This was her apology for her rashness in Canada, all she would give, and he doubted if she had given as much to others. On the whole, he thought the apology good.
"Romance cheats one now and then," he remarked, and pulled himself up awkwardly, but Barbara was calm.
"I wonder whether it always cheats one!"
"I think not," he said. "Sometimes one must trust one's luck, and venture. All the same, philosophizing is not my habit, and when I didn't step lightly on the stone—"
"You mean, when you pushed the stone down?" Barbara interrupted.
"Oh, well. Anyhow, I didn't mean to philosophize. I wanted to find out why you kept away from me."
"Although you knew why I did so? You admitted you knew why Harry went off!"
"I see I've got to talk," said Lister. "Shillito was a cheat, but when you found him out you tried to jump off the train. You let me help because I think you trusted me."
"I did trust you. It's much to know my trust was justified. For one thing, it looks as if I wasn't altogether a fool."
"Afterwards, when I met you at Montreal, you were friendly, although you tried to persuade me you were a shop girl."
Barbara smiled. "I was a shop girl. Besides, you were a stranger, and it's sometimes easy to trust people one does not expect to see again."
"My plan's to trust the people I like all the time," Lister replied. "When I found you on the car platform I knew I ought to help, I saw you meant to escape from something mean. Then at Montreal it was plain you were trying in make good because you were proud and would not go back. I liked that, although I thought you were not logical. Well, I told your story because Vernon bluffed me, but if I'd known your step-father as I know him now, I'd have told the tale before."
"Then, it was in order that I might understand this you sent the stone down the crag?"
"I think it was," said Lister. "I hope I have, so to speak, cleared the ground."
Barbara gave him a puzzling smile. "You're rather obvious, but it's important you mean to be nice. However, I expect the others are waiting for us and we must join them, although we won't go by the grass ridge," She indicated the slope of cracked rock in front. "The hold is pretty good. Do you think you can get up?"
Lister doubted. He was athletic and steady, but the climb looked awkward for a beginner.
"If you are going, I'll try."
"You imagine you can go where I can go?"
"Something like that," Lister admitted. "If I'm beaten, you're accountable and will have to help."
He was satisfied by Barbara's frank laugh. Her mood was changeable. Not long since he had, with awkward sympathy, thought her a proud humiliated woman; now she was marked by the humor of a careless girl. He could, however, play up to her later mood, and when they set off he began to joke.
The rock slanted, and cracks and breaks gave a firm hold, but there was not a crack wherever one was needed and the pitch was steep. Then in places the slabs were slippery with wet lichen and Lister's ordinary walking boots could get no grip. His jokes stopped and the sweat began to dew his face. His breath got hard and he felt his heart beat. It was obvious that climbing needed study.
For all that, he went on and found a strange delight in watching Barbara. Her clothes harmonized with the soft colors of lichen and stone; her movements were confident and light. He got no sense of effort; her pose was seldom strained and the lines of her limbs and body flowed in easy curves. He thought she rather flitted than labored up the rock. Practice no doubt accounted for much, but something was due to temperament. Barbara did not hesitate; she trusted her luck and went ahead.
At length she stopped, pressed against the stone in the hollow of a gully, while Lister crept obliquely across a long wet slab. He looked up and saw her face, finely colored after effort, against a background of green and gold. The berries on a small mountain-ash in a cranny harmonized with the carmine of her skin. She looked down and smiled with careless amusement.
Then Lister's foot slipped and he could get no hold for his hands. His smooth boots drew a greasy line across the wet slab as he slid down. Perhaps the risk was not very daunting, but he knew he must not roll down far. At the bottom of the slab he brought up with his foot braced against a knob, and he saw Barbara coming after him. When she stopped her glance was apologetic.
"I forgot you hadn't proper boots. Give me your hand and try again."
"No, thanks," said Lister. "Do you think I'm going to let you pull me up?"
"Why not?" she asked with a twinkle.
"To begin with, I'm obstinate and don't mean to be beaten by a bit of greasy rock. Then I expect I'm heavier than you think."
"You're ridiculously proud. It would hurt to let a girl help," Barbara rejoined. "After all, you're a conventionalist, and I rather thought you were not."
"Anyhow, I'm going up myself," Lister declared.
He got up, but his clothes gathered some slime from the rock and his skin was stained by soil and moss. Barbara looked at him with a twinkle.
"Your obstinacy cost you something," she remarked. "If you're tired, you had better stop and smoke."
Lister lighted a cigarette. She had been rather keen about rejoining the others, but he thought she had forgotten. Barbara's carelessness gave her charm. Perhaps he ought to go on, but he meant to take the extra few minutes luck had given him.
"I'm really sorry I forgot about your boots and brought you up the rock," she said.
"I wonder why you did bring me up?"
"Oh, well, a number of the men I know have a comfortable feeling of superiority. Of course, nice men don't make you feel this, but it's there. One likes to give such pride a jolt."
"I think I see. If it's some comfort, I'll own you can beat me going up awkward rocks. But where does this take us?"
Barbara smiled. "It takes us some distance. When you admit a girl's your equal, friendship's easier. You know, one reason Mortimer and I can't agree is, his feeling of superiority is horribly strong."
"Couldn't you take him up an awkward gully and get him stuck?"
"No," said Barbara, in a regretful voice. "He's really a good cragsman and knows exactly how far he can go. When he starts an awkward climb he reckons up all the obstacles and is ready to get round them when they come. The plan's good. People like Mortimer don't get stuck."
"It's possible, but I expect they miss something now and then. There isn't much thrill in knowing you are safe."
"Sometimes you play up rather well," Barbara remarked.
"I'm not playing up. I'm preaching my code. I'm not as sober and cautious as you perhaps think."
"For example?"
"You'll probably get bored, but in Canada I turned down a pretty good job because it was monotonous. I wanted something fresh, and thought I'd go across and see the Old Country. Well, I'm here and all's charming, but I don't know how I'll get back when my wad runs out."
"Ah," said Barbara, "you mean your money will soon be gone? But you have relations. Somebody would help."
"It's possible, but I would refuse," Lister rejoined. "You're not adventuring much when another meets the bill. When my wallet's empty I'll pull out and take any old job. The chances are I'll go to sea."
Barbara gave him an approving glance. She had known but one other adventurer and he was a rogue. Lister was honest and she thought he would go far. She liked his rashness, but if he found it hard to get on board ship, she imagined she could help. All the same, she would not talk about this yet.
"We really must go," she said, and they started up a gully where holes and wedged stones helped them up like steps.
When they left the gully they saw a group of people on the neighboring summit of the hill and for a moment Lister stopped.
"We have had a glorious climb," he said, "Now it's over, I hope you're not going to stand me off again."
Barbara gave him a curious smile. "One can't stop on the mountains long. We're going down to the every-day level and all looks different there."
The others began to wave to them, and crossing a belt of boggy grass they joined the group. When they returned to Carrock, Cartwright was not about and Mrs. Cartwright said he had got a telegram calling him to Liverpool.
Cartwright had read the morning's letters and theJournal of Commerce, and finding nothing important, turned his revolving chair to the fire. He had been forced to wait for a train at a draughty station, and his feet were cold. His office occupied an upper floor of an old-fashioned building near the docks. Fog from the river rolled up the street and the windows were grimed by soot, but Cartwright had not turned on the electric light. The fire snapped cheerfully, and he lighted his pipe and looked about.
The furniture was shabby, the carpet was getting threadbare, and some of the glass in the partition that cut off the clerks' office was cracked. Cartwright had thought about modernizing and decorating the rooms, but to do the thing properly would cost five hundred pounds, and money was scarce. Besides, a number of the merchants who shipped goods by his boats were conservative and rather approved his keeping the parsimonious rules of the old school.
The house was old and had been at one time rich and powerful. Cartwright's father, however, had used sailing ships too long, and Cartwright's speculations and extravagance when he took control had not mended its fortunes. Then had come a number of lean years when few shipping companies earned a dividend and the line's capital steadily melted. Now the shareholders were not numerous and the ships were small.
Cartwright glanced at the pictures in tarnished gold frames.Oreana, drawn plunging across an Atlantic comber, was the best of the fleet, but her engineer had for some time demanded new boilers. Since the reserve fund was low and other boats needed expensive repairs, Cartwright resolved to wait. He had boughtMelphomene, above the fireplace, very cheap; but her engines were clumsy compounds and she cost much to coal. Still she was fast, and now and then got a paying load by reaching a port where freights were high before theConferencefound out that Cartwright meant to cut the rates.
Titania, with the white deckhouse and shade-deck, carried a good load on a light draught, and sometimes picked up a profitable cargo in shallow African lagoons. When he glanced at her picture Cartwright's look got thoughtful. She was one of two sister ships, launched at a famous yard, and Cartwright had wanted both, but the builders demanded terms of payment he could not meet, and another company had bought the vessel. She was wrecked soon afterwards, and now lay buried in the sand by an African river bar. The salvage company had given up their efforts to float her, but Cartwright imagined she could be floated if one were willing to run a risk. But no one, it seemed was willing. On the failure of the salvage company the underwriters had put the steamer into the hands of Messrs. Bull and Morse, a firm of Ship Brokers and Marine Auctioneers, but at the public auction no bids whatever had been made. Subsequently advertisements appeared in the shipping papers inviting offers for the ship as she lay and for the salvage of the cargo. These had run for several weeks, but without result. Cartwright had cut them out. Now and then he looked at them and speculated about the undertaking.
By and by the bookkeeper came in and filed some letters. Gavin's hair was going white, and he had been with Cartwright's since he was a boy. He was fat, red-faced, and humorous, although his humor was not refined. Gavin liked to be thought something of a sport, but Cartwright knew he was staunch.
"You imagine Mrs. Seaton will look me up this morning?" Cartwright said presently.
"Yes, sir. She called and demanded to see you. In fact, I think she doubted when I told her you hadn't come back from the North. She said the shareholders' meeting would be soon and she expected you to give a bigger dividend; the Blue Funnel people had paid five per cent. If you didn't return before long, she might run up to Carrock. So I sent the telegram."
Cartwright nodded. He trusted his bookkeeper, who had grounds for imagining it was not altogether desirable Mrs. Seaton should arrive at Carrock.
"Have you heard anything from Manners while I was away?"
"Nothing direct, sir. His nephew, Hatton, came round with a tender for the bunker coal, and implied that he ought to get the job. Then I had a notion Mrs. Seaton, so to speak, wasprimed. Looked as if somebody had got at her; her arguments about the dividend were rather good."
"It's possible," said Cartwright dryly. "If she comes, you can show her in. But what about the wine?"
"I don't know if it will see you out. There's not a great deal left, and last time—"
Cartwright's eyes twinkled. "Exactly! Send for another bottle and see you get the proper stuff. Some of the biscuits, too; you know the kind. Rather a bother, but perhaps the best plan!"
"Safer than going out to lunch," Gavin remarked. "Then, in the office, you're on your own ground. That counts."
"Gives you moral support and handicaps an antagonist who's not a business man?" Cartwright suggested. "Well, perhaps it does so, but I see some drawbacks. Anyhow, get the wine."
Gavin went off and Cartwright mused by the fire. The morning was raw and foggy, and if he went out, the damp might get at his throat; moreover, Gavin would reply to his letters. Cartwright had begun to feel it was time to let others work while he looked on. His control counted for less than he had thought; things went without much guidance and it was enough to give them a push in the proper direction now and then. To rouse himself for an effort was getting harder and he would have been satisfied to rest, had not his pride, and, to some extent, his step-children's antagonism, prevented his doing so. He needed money and would not use his wife's.
One must pay for old extravagances, and the bills were coming in; Mrs. Seaton's expected call was an example. Ellen was a widow, but before she married Seaton, Cartwright knew she counted him her lover. They were alike in temperament; rash, strong-willed, and greedy for all that gave life a thrill. In fact, Ellen was a stimulating comrade, but not the kind of girl one married. Cartwright married Clara and knew Mrs. Seaton bore him a lasting grudge.
Since Seaton was a merchant whose investments in Liverpool were numerous, it was perhaps not strange he left his widow shares that gave her some control of the Cartwright line. Although she was not poor, she was greedy and extravagant. In fact, Cartwright imagined greed was now her ruling passion.
By and by he heard steps in the passage behind the partition and thought he knew the tap of high-heeled shoes. Then he heard a laugh and Gavin's voice. Ellen was using her charm on his bookkeeper and the old sport would play up. The door opened, the room smelt of violets, and Mrs. Seaton came in. She was tall and her furs gave her large figure a touch of dignity. Her color was sharply white and red, and in the rather dim light her skin was like a girl's. Cartwright knew Ellen was younger than he, but not very much.
"You look hipped and rather slack, Tom," she said when he got up and Gavin fetched a chair.
"I feel the cold and damp," Cartwright replied. "Then managing a tramp-steamship line when freights are low is a wearing job."
Mrs. Seaton took off her coat. "Your office is shabby and climbing all those stairs is a pull. Why don't you launch out, get a lift, and modernize things?"
"My trouble is to keep the boats supplied with coal and stores. Besides, you see, I don't often use my office for a drawing-room."
"You're very cautious," Mrs. Seaton remarked with a laugh. "You start to get on guard before I begin my attack."
"Oh, well," said Cartwright, smiling, "I know your power. But would you like a cigarette?"
She took the curiously-decorated box he gave her and broke the seal. "Since you don't smoke these things, Tom, you were rather nice to remember."
"You had better take the box," said Cartwright. "I sent for a few whenTitaniawent to the Levant. One understands they're hard to get in England. But I have something else you like. If you will wait a moment—"
He rang a bell and Gavin entered, carrying two small glasses, a bottle, and some biscuits. When he went out, Cartwright turned the bottle so Mrs. Seaton could see the label.
"Climbing our stairs is a fag," he said, and filled the glasses.
Mrs. Seaton smiled and took hers. Cartwright saw her rings sparkle and the gleam of her regular, white teeth. The reflection from the grate touched her hair and it shone a smooth golden-brown. He admitted with amusement that Ellen was nearly as attractive as he had thought her thirty years since.
"This is like old times, Tom," she said. "I remember evenings when you brought me sandwiches and iced cup at a dance—but I don't think you were ever remarkably romantic."
Cartwright remembered an evening when they sat under a shaded lamp in a quiet corner of a supper room, listening to music that somehow fired one's blood. But perhaps it was the iced cup he had generously drunk. All the same he had not been a fool, though he was tempted. He knew something about Ellen then, but he knew her better now. Perhaps it was typical that she had promptly put the box of Eastern cigarettes in her muff.
"Managing ships is not a romantic occupation," he rejoined.
"Anyway, your welcome's kind and I feel shabby because I'm forced to bother you. But suppose some of your customers arrive?"
"We shall not be disturbed," said Cartwright, smiling. "Gavin knows his job."
"Very well. Do you expect to declare a better dividend at the shareholders' meeting?"
"I do not. If I'm lucky, I may keep the dividend where it is, but I don't know yet."
"Two per cent. is really nothing," Mrs. Seaton remarked. "I've been forced to study economy and you know how I hate to pinch. Besides, I know an investment that would give me eight per cent."
"Then, if you're satisfied the venture is not risky, you ought to buy the shares."
"I want to buy, but it's a small, private company and the people stipulate I must take a large block. I have not enough money."
Cartwright doubted, but her plan was obvious. "When trade is slack, one ought to be careful about investing in a private company that pays eight per cent," he said. "After all, it might be prudent to be satisfied with a small profit."
"But I'm not satisfied and your dividend is remarkably small! Are you really unable to make it larger?"
"One can't pay dividends out of capital. Anyhow, one can't keep it up for long!"
"Then, as I mean to make a plunge, I must sell some of the investments that don't earn me much. My shares in the line carry a good number of votes and, if people grumble at the meeting, would give you some control. Will you buy them, Tom?"
Cartwright knitted his brows. He thought her hint about the shares giving him useful power was significant. In fact, it looked as if somebody had put Ellen on his track. He wondered whether Manners.... But she must not think him disturbed.
"What is your price?" he asked.
"My price?" she said with a puzzled look he thought well done. "Of course, I want the sum the shares stand for."
"I'm sorry it's impossible. Just now the shares of very few shipping companies are worth their face value. For example, five-pound shares in a good line were not long since offered at two pounds ten."
Mrs. Seaton looked disturbed. "That's dreadful!" she exclaimed. "But I'm not rich enough to bear a heavy loss, and if you bought my lot, the voting power would enable you to break the grumblers' opposition. They're worth more to you than anybody else. Can't you help me?"
Cartwright gave her a smiling glance, although he was bothered. Ellen was not a fool and he noted her insistence on the value of the shares to him. Where this led was obvious. He had one or two powerful antagonists and knew of plots to force his retirement. Ellen had given him his choice; he must promise a larger dividend or buy her shares at something over their market price. This, of course, was impossible, but he imagined she did not know how poor he was.
"I can't buy," he said. "I must trust my luck and fighting power. Although we have had stormy meetings and rates are bad, the line is running yet."
"If you haven't enough money, why don't you ask your wife? She's rich and hasn't risked much of her capital in the line."
"That is so," Cartwright agreed. Ellen meant to be nasty but he must be cool. "Although my wife is rich, I don't use her money."
"You're not logical, and sometimes your fastidiousness isn't very marked. However, it looks as if you didn't marry because Clara was rich. She was romantic before she began to get fat."
Cartwright's face got red. He had had enough and saw Ellen was getting savage. She had not forgotten that, in a sense, he ought to have married her, and since he would not buy her shares, she would, no doubt, help his antagonists. Crossing the floor, he poked the fire noisily.
"Shall I give you some more wine?" he asked, and while he was occupied with the glasses the telephone bell rang behind the partition. A few moments afterwards Gavin came in.
"Moreton has rung up, sir. If you can give him five minutes, he'll come across. He says it's important."
Mrs. Seaton put on her coat. "I mustn't stop when an important customer is coming." Then she laughed and gave Cartwright her hand. "You are very obstinate, Tom, but I know your pluck."
She went off. Gavin took away the wine, and Cartwright opened the window. The smell of violets vanished, but when he sat down again he pondered. He knew Mrs. Seaton, and thought she meant to hint his pluck might soon be needed. When Ellen smiled like that she was plotting something.
The drawing-room at Mrs. Cartwright's house on the Cheshire side of the Mersey was large and old-fashioned. Cartwright thought the stiff, thick curtains and Victorian walnut furniture ugly, but Mrs. Cartwright liked the things and he was satisfied. Clara herself frankly belonged to the old school. She was conventional and often dull, but she had a placid dignity that did not mark all the up-to-date women Cartwright knew. Moreover, the house was comfortable. One got there by the Mersey tunnel and it was only a few minutes' walk from the station. For all that, the encroaching town had not yet reached the neighborhood, and the windows commanded a pleasant view of clean rolling country and the blue Welsh hills.
Cartwright felt the house was a snug harbor where he could rest when he was too old and battered to front the storms that had for some time been gathering, and sitting by the fire one evening, he speculated about the rocks and shoals ahead. All the same, the time to run for shelter was not yet; he thought he could ride out another gale.
An arch with heavy molding occupied the middle of the spacious room. The folding doors had been removed and curtains partly screened the arch. On the other side, a group of young men and women stood about the piano. On Cartwright's side the lights were low. He had dined well and liked to loaf after dinner. Besides, he felt dull; his gout bothered him and he had been forced to run for his train. He had begun to find out one could not do that kind of thing. Mrs. Cartwright sat opposite, knitting quietly, and her smooth, rhythmic movements were soothing. Clara was never abrupt and jerky.
"I got a letter from Stormont's by the afternoon post," she said. "They have been repaid the mortgage, and there's something about a foreign bond, drawn for redemption. They want to talk about a new investment."
Stormont, Wilmot and Stormont were her lawyers, and Cartwright nodded. "The money ought to be earning interest and you can safely buy stock Stormont's approve. Their judgment's sound."
"For all that, I think I'd like to choose for myself. Suppose I bought some shares in the line? I have a number, but it's really not large and I have felt I'm not supporting the house as I ought."
Cartwright knitted his brows. Clara did not know much about business, but she was sometimes shrewder than one thought. He wondered whether Mortimer had been talking. If the pup had talked, the thing was ominous, because it implied that others knew the difficulties Cartwright might have to meet.
"Do you imagine the house needs supporting?" he asked carelessly.
Mrs. Cartwright hesitated. "I really know nothing about it; but don't people grumble when you can't pay them much and their shares go down? Perhaps if the family owned a good part of the capital, you could take a firmer line."
It was plain that Clara had been pondering. Mortimerhadtalked and somebody who was not Cartwright's friend had informed him. Cartwright was tempted to let his wife do as she wanted: Clara owned shares in the line that he had let her buy when freights were good and she had afterwards refused to sell. Now, however, freights were very bad and the company was nearer the rocks than he hoped the shareholders knew. Cartwright imagined he could yet mend its fortunes, if he were left alone, but the job was awkward and opposition might be dangerous. To command a solid block of votes would certainly help.
For all that, there was a risk Clara ought not to run. His antagonists were getting stronger, and if they meddled and baffled him, the company would fail. Its bankruptcy would not ruin his wife, but she would feel the loss of her money, and he was not going to use Clara for a shield against Ellen Seaton's attacks. The thing was shabby. All the same, the situation was humorous, and he saw, with an ironical smile, the advantages of Mrs. Cartwright's plan.
"I'm not a business woman, but I have noted you're sometimes moody, as if you were anxious, and I want to help," she resumed.
"You do help. The storms I've weathered have left a mark, and now I'm old and strained it's much to make a quiet port at night. You take all bothers from me, and send me out in the morning, braced for another watch in the pilot-house."
"Some time you must give another the helm," said Mrs. Cartwright quietly. "I wish I could persuade you to do so soon."
Cartwright sighed, for the strain was heavy and he wanted to rest. The trouble was the put-off reckoning for past extravagance was at hand and he shrank from asking his wife to pay. He had not been very scrupulous, but he had his code. Then Hyslop came through the arch, and stopping, noted Cartwright's awkwardly stretched-out leg.
"Gout bothering you again, sir?" he said. "You ought to lie up for a few days, but I expect you're needed at the office. I heard the E.P. line had a stormy meeting and the dissatisfied shareholders came near turning out the directors. Johnson declared they only saved the situation by a few votes."
"They ought to be turned out! A blundering lot! They've let a good fleet down."
Hyslop smiled. He had pale and watery blue eyes that generally annoyed Cartwright. "An awkward doctrine, sir! If all the steamship directors who might have used the shareholders' money to better advantage were called to account, I imagine a number of respectable gentlemen would find their occupation gone. Besides, when people start deposing rulers they don't know where to stop. The thing's, so to speak, contagious, and panicky investors are not logical."
He went off and Cartwright braced himself. Mortimer meant to be nasty, but his languid malice bit deeper than he knew. Cartwright had hesitated, weighing the value of his wife's help against his scruples, until his step-son's hints had tipped the beam. After all, if he used Clara's money and saved his skin at her cost, the pup would have some grounds to sneer.
"I must keep control for some time yet," he said. "Times are bad, and if I let go the helm I doubt if my successor could steer a safe course. When the need is gone I'll willingly give up, but I must bring the old ship into port first. In the meantime, you had better let Stormont's buy you sound Corporation stock."
Mrs. Cartwright acquiesced and Cartwright watched the young people beyond the arch. With the stiff curtains for wing-scenes and the lights concealed, the end of the room made a proscenium: it was like looking at a drawing-room comedy on the stage. Two of the girls were pretty and he approved their fashionable clothes. When she was quiet, Grace was almost beautiful, but somehow none had Barbara's charm. Yet Cartwright thought the girl was getting thin and her color was too bright. A friend of Mortimer's occupied the music stool and Cartwright admitted that the fellow played well, although he was something like a character from a Gilbert opera.
Lister sat near the piano, and talked to Barbara, He smiled, but his smile had a touch of gravity. Cartwright thought him a good Canadian. A bit rugged perhaps, but staunch, and his quiet sincerity was after all better style than the cleverness of Mortimer's friends. Cartwright imagined Barbara studied Lister, who did not know. In fact, it looked as if he were puzzled, and Cartwright smiled. Lister had not his talents; when Cartwright was young he knew how to amuse a pretty girl.
The man at the piano signed to Barbara, who got up and began to sing. The song was modern and the melody not marked. Cartwright liked the Victorian ballads with tunes that haunted one and obvious sentiment, but because Barbara sang he gave the words and music his languid interest. After all, the thing was clever. There was, so to speak, not much on the surface, but one heard an elusive note of effort, as if one struggled after something one could not grasp. On the whole, Cartwright did not approve that kind of sentiment; his objects were generally plain. Then he thought the hint of strain was too well done for a young girl, and when Barbara stopped he turned to his wife.
"Are you satisfied about Barbara?" he asked.
"Why should I not be satisfied?"
"I have felt she's not quite up to her proper form. Looks thin and sometimes she's quiet. Then why has young Vernon gone off? I haven't seen him recently."
"Harry's in town; he goes home in a few days," Mrs. Cartwright replied. She hesitated and resumed, "I imagined he wanted to marry Barbara, although she told me nothing about this. Barbara does not tell one much."
"Do you think she likes him?"
"I don't know, but I rather think if she had liked him she would have refused."
"Ah!" said Cartwright thoughtfully. "Well, Vernon's a good sort, but I see some light; the girl is sensitive and very proud! No doubt, she feels her Canadian adventure—ridiculous, of course! But Barbara's hard to move. All the same, if Vernon's the proper man and is resolute—"
"I doubt if he is the proper man," Mrs. Cartwright replied.
Cartwright pondered. Sometimes Clara did not say all she thought, and his glance wandered back to the group at the other end of the room. Barbara was again talking to Lister. He looked thoughtful and her face was serious. They were obviously not engaged in philandering; Cartwright felt their quiet absorption was significant. After a minute or two, however, the party about the piano broke up and went off. Barbara stopped to put away some music and then came through the arch.
"Mr. Lister wants to go a voyage," she said to Cartwright. "I suggested you might help him to get a post on board a ship."
"I imagine he did not suggest you should persuade me?"
"Certainly not! He refused to bother you," Barbara replied and, with some hesitation, added: "However, perhaps in a sense we ought to help."
"That is so," Cartwright agreed. "Why did Mr. Lister come to Liverpool?"
"He wanted to go round the shipping offices. Mother told him our house was always open—"
Cartwright nodded, "Of course! Well, I'll think about it and may see a plan."
Barbara went off and Cartwright looked at his wife. "I don't know if this is a fresh complication; but if she refused Harry, she'd no doubt refuse the other. Perhaps it's important that she's willing he should go to sea."
"One is forced to like Mr. Lister and we owe him much," Mrs. Cartwright remarked.
"Certainly," Cartwright agreed. "However, it looks as if some engineering talent is all he has got, and I think a long voyage is indicated—" He stopped, and resumed with a twinkle: "For all that, the fellow is not an adventurer, and I married a rich woman."
Mrs. Cartwright gave him a gentle smile. "I have been happy and Barbara is not; but, in one sense, I don't imagine we need be disturbed. Barbara has not recovered from the jar."
She got up, and Cartwright dozed until he heard a step and Lister crossed the floor.
"Hallo!" he said. "Are you going? There is no train just now."
Lister said he meant to walk to the tramline, but Cartwright asked him to stop for a few minutes.
"Barbara tells me you are trying for a post in an engine-room," he remarked.
"That is so," said Lister with a touch of embarrassment. "Still, I didn't mean Miss Hyslop to bother you."
"Barbara likes to meddle and I'm a ship-owner. To begin with, why d'you want to go to sea?"
"I must go to sea or back to Canada," Lister said, smiling. "I've had a pretty good holiday, but my wad's nearly gone."
"Then, wouldn't it be prudent to return to your occupation?"
"I haven't an occupation; I turned mine down. It's possible I'll find another, but I'm not ready yet. In Canada, we're a restless, wandering lot, and I want to look about the world before I go back. You see, when you only know the woods and our Western towns—"
Cartwright saw and sympathized. He remembered how adventure called when he was young. Well, he had got adventure, but perhaps not the kind Lister seemed to enjoy. Anyhow, he had not started off with an empty wallet to look about the world.
"How much does your roll amount to?" he asked with a bluntness he sometimes used.
When Lister told him he laughed. The young fellow was good stuff; Cartwright liked his rashness.
"Well," he said, "you have pluck, and if you're obstinate, pluck takes you far. Have you got a promise from any of our shipping offices?"
Lister said he had not. There were some difficulties about certificates. He had sailed on lake boats and made coasting voyages, but the English Board of Trade rules were strict. Then he looked at the clock and Cartwright gave him his hand.
"Come and see me at the office. We'll talk about this again."
Lister thanked him, and when he had gone Cartwright mused. The young fellow was not an adventurer; anyhow not in the sense Shillito was an adventurer. His honesty was obvious, it was plain he did not want Barbara's money, and Cartwright thought he did not know she was rich. In fact, he was Barbara's sort. There was the trouble. Cartwright weighed this for a time and then went to sleep.
Frost sparkled on the office windows and Cartwright, with his feet on the hearthrug studied an Atlantic weather chart. The temperature reported by the liners' captains was low, and winter had begun unusually soon. Since Cartwright had hoped for a mild November, this was unlucky. As a rule, cargo is plentiful at Montreal shortly before the St. Lawrence freezes and the last steamers to go down the river do so with heavy loads. Cartwright's plan was to run a boat across at the last moment and pick up goods the liners would not engage to carry, and he had sentOreanabecause she was fast. When the drift ice began to gather, speed was useful.
A cablegram two or three days since stated that she had sailed, and Cartwright, who knew the St. Lawrence, calculated the progress she ought to have made. Perhaps he had cut things rather fine, but Captain Davies was a good navigator and would push on. Although the narrow waters below Montreal, where the stream runs fast between the islands, would be open, Lake St. Peter was freezing, and the linerParthianhad some trouble to get through. Still the channels were not yet blocked, and when Davies had passed the Narrows he would get open water down the gorge to Quebec. Allowing for cautious navigation, Davies ought to be near Rimouski at the mouth of the river, and his passing would, no doubt, soon be telegraphed from the signal station. Cartwright admitted that to get the message would be some relief.
By and by his bookkeeper came in.
"Direct cablegram from Davies, sir."
Cartwright took the form and frowned. The message was not from Rimouski and ran: "Delayed Peter; passing Quebec."
"Awkward, sir," Gavin remarked sympathetically.
"Very awkward," said Cartwright. "Davies needed all the time he's lost. It will be a near thing if he gets out."
He picked up the weather chart and got no comfort. "Cable Malcolm at St. Johns. You'll find questions in the code-book about ice and wind."
Gavin withdrew and Cartwright grappled with disturbing thoughts. He had counted onOreana'searning a good sum, and had engaged a paying cargo for her when she got back. In fact, the two good runs ought to have made the disappointing balance sheet he must shortly submit to the shareholders look a little better. All the same, there was no use in meeting trouble. Davies had passed Quebec, and if he made good progress in the next twenty-four hours, one might begin to hope.
Below Quebec there were awkward spots where steamers used buoyed channels, and if these were blocked by ice Davies must risk crossing the shoals. If he got across, the water was deep and he need only bother about the floes until he came to the Gulf. Since Belle Isle Strait was frozen, Davies would go South of Anticosti and out by the Cabot passage, but the Gulf was often dark with snow and fog, and one met the old Greenland ice. Well, much depended on the weather, and Cartwright went to get his lunch.
The restaurant under a big building was warm, and for a time Cartwright occupied his favorite corner of the smoking-room. His tips were generous, and so long as he was punctual the waitress allowed nobody to use his chair. The noise of the traffic in the street was softened to a faint rumble, the electric light was cleverly shaded, and his big chair was easy. He got drowsy, but frowned when he began to nod. The trouble was, he was often dull when he ought to be keen. His doctor talked about the advantages of moderation, but when one got old one's pleasures were few and Cartwright liked a good meal. At the luncheon room they did one well, and he was not going to use self-denial yet.
By and by a merchant he knew pulled up a chair opposite. "Very cold and slippery outside," he remarked. "I nearly came down on the floating bridge, and looked in for a drink. A jar shakes a man who carries weight."
"What were you doing on the floating bridge?" Cartwright asked.
"I went to the stage to meet some Canadian friends on board theNepigon. They'd a bad voyage; thick mist down the St. Lawrence, and they lost a day cruising about among the floes in the Gulf. What about your little boat?"
"I understand she's coming down river."
"Hasn't she started rather late?"
"If I'd sent her sooner, theConferencewould have knocked me out," Cartwright rejoined. "I'd have got nothing but low-rated stuff the liners didn't want. One must run some risks."
The other nodded. "That is so, when shareholders must be satisfied. Well, I expect I'm lucky because my partner's a good sort. When you needn't bother about other folk's greediness, you can take a cautious line. Now I come to think of it, I heard some of your people grumbling. I hope your boat will get across all right."
He got up and Cartwright pondered. If outsiders knew his shareholders were dissatisfied, things were worse than he had thought and he might expect trouble at the next meeting. Then he looked at his watch, but his chair was deep and when he tried to get up his leg hurt. He sank back again. Gavin knew where to find him if a reply from St. Johns arrived.
By and by his office boy, carrying a cable company's envelope, came in, and Cartwright's hand shook when he opened the message. It stated that an easterly gale and snowstorm raged about the Newfoundland coast and the thermometer was very low. The gale would drive the drift ice up the Gulf and pack the floes. Things looked bad. Cartwright felt he ought to get about and make some plans to meet the threatened blow, but he did not see what he could do.
He sat still. The other customers had gone, and all was quiet but for the faint rumble of traffic and soothing throb of an electric fan. Cartwright mused aboutOreanaand pictured Davies sheltering behind the wind-screens on his bridge and trying to pierce the snow, and the look-out man half frozen in the spray that leaped about the forecastle.Oreanawas a wet boat when she was loaded deep. Now and then, perhaps, a buoy loomed in the tossing flakes. One tried to read the number and see the color. Then the steering-engine rattled as the rudder was pulled across andOreanaheaded for another mark.
The work was nervous, because dangerous shoals bordered the channels and Davies must let the steamer go. He knew when a risk must be run and the engineer was staunch. The trouble was,Oreana'sboilers were bad; the money Cartwright durst not spend on repairs would have been a good investment now. Still, the old boat was fast, and Davies would drive her full-speed.
The captain's job would not be easier when he left the shoals. The easterly gale would send the floes up stream. Cartwright knew the strange chill one felt when ice was about and the faint elusiveblinkthat marked its edge in the dark. Sometimes one did not see the blink until the floe was almost at the bows, and when the look-out's startled cry reached the bridge one must trust to luck and pull the helm over quick. Then to dodge the floe might mean one crashed upon the next. It was steering blind, but, as a rule, the sailor's instinct guided him right. Farther on, the river got wide and in thick weather one saw no lights: Davies must keep mid-channel and trust his reckoning while he rushed her along. For a thousand miles the old boat's track was haunted by dangers against which one could not guard, and Cartwright thought she carried his last chance to mend his broken fortunes.
If she were wrecked, the reckoning he had long put off must be fronted, for when his embarrassments were known his antagonists would combine and try to pull him down. One must pay for one's extravagance, but to pay would break him, and if he were broken, Mortimer would sneer and Grace treat him with humiliating pity. He would be their mother's pensioner, and to lose his independence was hard. He had long ruled, and bullied, others.
By and by a waitress moved some glasses and Cartwright looked up with a start. The afternoon was nearly over; he must have gone to sleep. Returning to the office, he gave his bookkeeper some orders and then went to the station. The pavements were slippery with frost, and tall buildings with yellow lights loomed in the fog. Cartwright shivered, but reflected that Davies, fighting the snow and gale, was no doubt colder. For a day or two he must bear the suspense, and then, if no cablegram arrived, he could take it for granted thatOreanahad reached the Atlantic. After dinner he sat by the fire and smoked while Mrs. Cartwright knitted.
"In the afternoon I went to Mrs. Oliver's and met Mrs. Seaton," she said presently. "She talked to me for some time. At the beginning, I thought it strange!"
"It's pretty obvious that you don't like her," Cartwright remarked.
"Ellen Seaton is not my sort, but I understand she was a friend of yours."
"She was my friend," said Cartwright carelessly. "It's long since, and I rather doubt if she is my friend now."
"Then why did she buy her shares in the line?"
"Ellen did not buy the shares. Seaton bought them when shipping was good."
Mrs. Cartwright looked relieved and Cartwright resumed: "All the same, I don't see her object for telling you she was a shareholder."
"She wanted to sell her shares to me; I knew she had some plan when she crossed the floor. I was talking to Janet, but Ellen got Janet away and persuaded a young man on the other side to move. It was clever. I don't think Mrs. Oliver or anybody else remarked what she was doing. But you know Ellen!"
"I know Ellen rather well," said Cartwright dryly. "However, when you saw she wanted to get you alone, why did you indulge her?"
"For one thing, I was curious; then it wasn't worth while to spoil her plan. I didn't think Ellen would persuade me, if I did not approve."
Cartwright smiled. Clara did not argue much and generally agreed with him, but sometimes she was as immovable as a rock. He pictured with amusement the little comedy at Mrs. Oliver's, but all the same he was annoyed.
"Well, Ellen wanted you to buy her shares? Did she give you any grounds?"
"She declared she wanted money. Then she said it would help you if I took the lot. There might be a dispute at the meeting; the directors' report would not be satisfactory. People would ask awkward questions, and she expected some organized opposition. It would be useful for you to command a large number of votes."
Cartwright's face got red. Ellen was well informed; in fact, it was ominous that she knew so much. Had she not been greedy, he thought she would have kept the shares in order to vote against him, but she obviously meant to sell them before the crash she expected came. If a number of others agreed with her, his retirement would be forced.
"What price were you to pay?" he asked.
Mrs. Cartwright told him, and he laughed. "If Ellen found a buyer at a number of shillings less, she would be lucky! Well, I understand you didn't take her offer?"
"I did not," said Mrs. Cartwright tranquilly. "When I wanted to buy some shares not long since, you did not approve. Since you refused to let me help, I didn't mean to be persuaded by Ellen Seaton!"
"You're staunch," said Cartwright and Mrs. Cartwright resumed her knitting. In the morning he went to the office sooner than usual, but there was no news and the dark, cold day passed drearily. When he started for home Gavin promised to wait until the cable offices closed, and Cartwright had gone to dinner when he was called to the telephone. When he took down the instrument his hand shook.
"Hallo!" he said hoarsely. "Is that you, Gavin?"
"Yes, sir," said a voice he knew. "Cablegram from Davies just arrived, part in code. I'll give it you slow—"
"Go on," said Cartwright.
"Oreanaashore east Cape Chat, surrounded ice, water in fore hold. Think some plates broken; have abandoned ship. Salvage impossible until ice breaks."
There was a pause, and Gavin added: "That's all. Have you got it, sir?"
"I've got enough," Cartwright replied.
He hung up the instrument, and going back to the dining-room, drained his glass. Then he turned to Mrs. Cartwright, who had remarked his grim look.
"I've got a nasty knock.Oreana'sin the ice and may be wrecked. Anyhow, we can't get her off until spring, and she's the best of the fleet."
Mrs. Cartwright gave him a sympathetic glance and signed a servant to bring another plate. As a rule she did not say much. She studied her husband quietly and was not much comforted when he resumed his dinner. This was characteristic, but it was plain he had got a nasty knock.
The afternoon was dark and electric lights burned along the cornice of the room engaged for the shareholders' meeting. The room was big and cold, and as Gavin moved about the table on the platform his steps echoed hollowly. He was the company's secretary and was putting down papers by the blotting pads. A group of gentlemen, engaged in thoughtful talk, stood by the fire. They were directors of the line and did not look happy. Nominally, by the company's constitution, the shareholders elected the Board; in practice, Cartwright had, so far, appointed the directors, and meant, if possible, to do so again. The gentlemen by the fire were eligible for reëlection, and Cartwright was satisfied, although he had not chosen them for their business talent. Their names were good in Liverpool and their honesty was known. Cartwright did not want clever men. He was head of the house and knew it would totter to a disastrous fall unless he kept his firm control.
Now and then Gavin gave his employer a keen glance. Cartwright's lips were rather blue and the lines round his eyes were sharply drawn. His white mustache stuck out, and one got a hint of stubbornness, but except for this his face was inscrutable. Although Gavin thought Cartwright would score again, he was anxious. Nobody but Cartwright could persuade the dissatisfied shareholders to acceptthatbalance sheet.
Cartwright himself felt in rather good form. He had curtailed his lunch and been satisfied with a single glass of liquor that generally braced him up. He imagined he would need all his skill and coolness before the meeting was over. The trouble was, he might not get much support. The directors did not know all he knew, but they knew something, and he saw one or two hesitated. Then Mrs. Cartwright was ill, and although she had given her husband her proxy votes, had sent Mortimer. Mortimer was entitled to come because he had some shares, but Cartwright did not know the line he meant to take. The pup did not like him and was cunning. Presently Cartwright looked at his watch.
"They won't be long. I imagine we are going to have some opposition."
"It's very possible," one of the others agreed. "A two-per-cent dividend is disappointing and we are paying this by cutting down the reserve fund. Then people know we have lost the use of our best boat for six months and may lose her for good. When we reduced our insurance, I urged that we were rash."
"We saved a good sum and economy was needful," Cartwright rejoined. "Insurance is expensive for our type of boats."
"The balance sheet looks bad. I'll admit I'd sooner not be accountable for a state of things like this," another remarked.
Cartwright smiled. The balance sheet looked better than it was, but Jordan had given him a useful lead. He knew his colleagues' weaknesses and how they might be worked upon.
"We are all accountable. I have consulted you frankly and you approved my plans."
Jordan gave him a rather doubtful look. "Anyhow, we must front an awkward situation. Suppose the shareholders ask for an investigation committee?"
"We must refuse," said Cartwright, with quiet firmness. "A frightened committee would probably urge a drastic re-construction scheme, the writing off much of our capital, and perhaps winding up the line. When rates are bad and cargo's scarce, one must take a low price for ships; our liabilities are large, and I imagine selling off would leave us much in debt—"
Cartwright paused. He saw his remarks carried weight and knew his co-directors. He would give them a few moments for thought before he finished his argument.
"Very well," he resumed. "Jordan declares he does not like to be accountable for an unsatisfactory balance sheet. I take it he would much less like to be made accountable for a bad bankruptcy! No doubt you sympathize with him?"
It was obvious that they did so and one said, "If I thought my occupying a seat on the Board would lead to this, I would sooner have given my shares away!"
"I have not talked about my feelings," Cartwright went on. "All the same, I am head of the old house; you can imagine I do not want to see it fall. But rates are not always low, and if I'm not embarrassed by rash meddlers, my persuasion is, I can keep the fleet running until better times arrive."
He saw he had won them. The number of shares they owned was not very large: for the most part, the men were rich and not disturbed about their money. They valued a high place in business and social circles and their good name. To be entangled by a bankruptcy was unthinkable.
"Then, I feel we ought to support you," Jordan replied. "For all that, our power's not very great. We are going to meet some opposition and if the dissatisfied people are resolute they can turn us out."
"So long as I know the Board will back me, I'm not afraid of the shareholders," Cartwright declared.
"You imagine you can save the situation?" a red-faced gentleman remarked.
"It's possible," said Cartwright dryly.
"Very well," said the other. "We must try to see you out."
They went to the table soon afterwards and the shareholders began to arrive. They were not numerous, and the scattered groups emphasized the bareness of the big echoing room. Cartwright studied the people as they came in. Some looked gloomy and some stubborn; a few looked frankly bored. There were five or six women and two whispered, while the others glanced about with jerky movements. Cartwright's face hardened when he saw Mrs. Seaton, and then he noted Hyslop in a back row. He thought Hyslop looked languidly amused.
When all was quiet, he took the notes Gavin handed him, glanced at the paper, and put it down. Then, speaking in a steady voice, he gave the report of the year's work and talked about the balance sheet. He was frank but not apologetic, and claimed, in view of the difficulties, that the directors had well guarded the company's interests. When he stopped there were murmurs of approval, as if some of the despondent had begun to hope; the cautious admitted that Cartwright had made a bad situation look better.
One or two asked questions, which he answered candidly, and then there was a pause and somebody moved the adoption of the chairman's report and balance sheet. His seconder made a short nervous speech, and Mrs. Seaton got up at the end of the room. She pushed back her veil, took out her handkerchief, put her hand on a chair in front, and gave the directors an apologetic smile.
"I don't know if it is usual for a woman to speak at a business meeting, but I have a number of shares in the line and it's long since I got a good dividend," she said. "Two per cent is ridiculous and my lawyer tells me I could get four per cent, where the security is really good." She paused and added naïvely: "To have twice as much to spend would be very nice."
Somebody laughed and Cartwright braced himself. Ellen Seaton was cleverer than she looked, and he thought her dangerous, but in the meantime he durst not stop her.
"One feels that security's important and it's plain ours is not first-class," she resumed. "Well, I suppose if we accept the report, it means we are satisfied to let the company's business be managed on the old plan?"
"It does mean something like that," a man agreed.
"Then I'mnotsatisfied. For one thing, I want a proper dividend."
"We all want a proper dividend," somebody remarked.
Mrs. Seaton smiled, as if she were encouraged. "To go without is disappointing, but perhaps the dividend is not most important. I'd like to feel my shares were worth the money they cost, and find out they are not. We have drawn on the reserves and I expect this implies we are losing money. You can't go on losing money very long, and we ought to stop while we have some capital left."
A number of the others applauded and she continued: "Our directors have worked very hard. To manage ships that don't pay must be tiring and perhaps we oughtn't to ask them to bear the heavy strain. Could we not choose somebody with fresh ideas to help?"
"That's what we want!" said one. "The Board needs new blood!"
Then the storm broke and for a time Cartwright lost control of the meeting. Mrs. Seaton had loosed passions he might have restrained and the shareholders were frankly moved by fear, distrust, and greed. Men got up, asking angry questions and shouting implications, but for a few minutes Cartwright sat like a rock and let them rage. When they stopped and there was an awkward pause, Mortimer Hyslop got up. He looked languid and his voice was soft, but Cartwright admitted his speech was clever.
He and Mrs. Cartwright, whom he represented, owned shares in the line, and he had not risen before because the chairman was his relation. Now, when attacks, perhaps not altogether justified, had been made on the Board, he was forced to state his conviction that nobody else could have steered the company past the dangers that threatened. One must admit the situation was bad; and for a minute or two Mortimer cleverly indicated its drawbacks. For all that, he argued, it was rash to change pilot and officers in the middle of a storm. The officers they knew and had trusted must be left control until the gale blew over.
Mortimer sat down and Cartwright knitted his brows. On the surface, his step-son had taken the proper line. Mortimer meant to support the Board, but he had indicated that he did so because it was his duty. His remarks about the dangers by which the company was surrounded had made things look worse. All the same, he had calmed the meeting, but Cartwright did not know if this was an advantage. Criticism was harder to meet when the critics were cool.
Another man got up and began to talk in a quiet voice.