CHAPTER I
BONES AND BIG BUSINESS

There was a slump in the shipping market, and men who were otherwise decent citizens wailed for one hour of glorious war, when Kenyon Line Deferred had stood at 88 1/2, and even so poor an organization as Siddons Steam Packets Line had been marketable at 3 3/8.

Two bareheaded men came down the busy street, their hands thrust intotheir trousers pockets, their sleek, well-oiled heads bent in dejection.

No word they spoke, keeping step with the stern precision of soldiers.Together they wheeled through the open doors of the Commercial TrustBuilding, together they left-turned into the elevator, andsimultaneously raised their heads to examine its roof, as though in itspanelled ceiling was concealed some Delphic oracle who would answer theriddle which circumstances had set them.

They dropped their heads together and stood with sad eyes, regardingthe attendant's leisurely unlatching of the gate. They slipped forthand walked in single file to a suite of offices inscribed "PoleBrothers, Brokers," and, beneath, "The United Merchant Shippers'Corporation," and passed through a door which, in addition to thisdeclaration, bore the footnote "Private."

Here the file divided, one going to one side of a vast pedestal deskand one to the other. Still with their hands pushed deep into theirpockets, they sank, almost as at a word of command, each into hiscushioned chair, and stared at one another across the table.

They were stout young men of the middle thirties, clean-shaven andruddy. They had served their country in the late War, and had mademany sacrifices to the common cause. One had worn uniform and one hadnot. Joe had occupied some mysterious office which permitted and, indeed, enjoined upon him the wearing of the insignia of captain, buthad forbidden him to leave his native land. The other had earned alittle decoration with a very big title as a buyer of boots for Alliednations. Both had subscribed largely to War Stock, and a reminder oftheir devotion to the cause of liberty was placed to their credit everyhalf-year.

But for these, war, with its horrific incidents, its late hours, itsmidnight railway journeys by trains on which sleeping berths could notbe had for love or money, its food cards and statements of excessprofits, was past. The present held its tragedy so poignant as toovershadow that breathless terrifying moment when peace had come andfound the firm with the sale of the Fairy Line of cargo steamersuncompleted, contracts unsigned, and shipping stock which had livedlight-headedly in the airy spaces, falling deflated on the floor of thehouse.

The Fairy Line was not a large line. It was, in truth, a small line.It might have been purchased for two hundred thousand pounds, andnearly was. To-day it might be acquired for one hundred and fiftythousand pounds, and yet it wasn't.

"Joe," said the senior Mr. Pole, in a voice that came from hisvarnished boots, "we've got to do something with Fairies."

"Curse this War!" said Joe in cold-blooded even tones. "Curse theKaiser! A weak-kneed devil who might at least have stuck to it foranother month! Curse him for making America build ships, curse himfor – "

"Joe," said the stout young man on the other side of the table, shakinghis head sadly, "it is no use cursing, Joe. We knew that they werebuilding ships, but the business looked good to me. If Turkey hadn'tturned up her toes and released all that shipping – "

"Curse Turkey!" said the other, with great calmness. "Curse the Sultanand Enver and Taalat, curse Bulgaria and Ferdinand – "

"Put in one for the Bolsheviks, Joe," said his brother urgently, "and Ireckon that gets the lot in trouble. Don't start on Austria, or we'llfind ourselves cursing the Jugo-Slavs."

He sighed deeply, pursed his lips, and looked at his writing-padintently.

Joe and Fred Pole had many faults, which they freely admitted, such astheir generosity, their reckless kindness of heart, their willingnessto do their worst enemies a good turn, and the like. They had otherswhich they never admitted, but which were none the less patent to theirprejudiced contemporaries.

But they had virtues which were admirable. They were, for example, absolutely loyal to one another, and were constant in their mutualadmiration and help. If Joe made a bad deal, Fred never rested untilhe had balanced things against the beneficiary. If Fred in a weakmoment paid a higher price to the vendor of a property than he, aspromoter, could afford, it was Joe who took the smug vendor out todinner and, by persuasion, argument, and the frank expression of hisliking for the unfortunate man, tore away a portion of his ill-gottengains.

"I suppose," said Joe, concluding his minatory exercises, and reachingfor a cigar from the silver box which stood on the table midway betweenthe two, "I suppose we couldn't hold Billing to his contract. Have youseen Cole about it, Fred?"

The other nodded slowly.

"Cole says that there is no contract. Billing offered to buy theships, and meant to buy them, undoubtedly; but Cole says that if youtook Billing into court, the judge would chuck his pen in your eye."

"Would he now?" said Joe, one of whose faults was that he took thingsliterally. "But perhaps if you took Billing out to dinner, Fred – "

"He's a vegetarian, Joe" – he reached in his turn for a cigar, snippedthe end and lit it – "and he's deaf. No, we've got to find a sucker,Joe. I can sell the Fairy May and the Fairy Belle: they're littleboats, and are worth money in the open market. I can sell the wharfageand offices and the goodwill – "

"What's the goodwill worth, Fred?"

"About fivepence net," said the gloomy Fred. "I can sell all these, but it is the Fairy Mary and the Fairy Tilda that's breaking myheart. And yet, Joe, there ain't two ships of their tonnage to bebought on the market. If you wanted two ships of the same size andweight, you couldn't buy 'em for a million – no, you couldn't. I guessthey must be bad ships, Joe."

Joe had already guessed that.

"I offered 'em to Saddler, of the White Anchor," Fred went on, "and hesaid that if he ever started collecting curios he'd remember me. ThenI tried to sell 'em to the Coastal Cargo Line – the very ships for theNewcastle and Thames river trade – and he said he couldn't think of itnow that the submarine season was over. Then I offered 'em to youngTopping, who thinks of running a line to the West Coast, but he saidthat he didn't believe in Fairies or Santa Claus or any of that stuff."

There was silence.

"Who named 'em Fairy Mary and Fairy Tilda?" asked Joe curiously.

"Don't let's speak ill of the dead," begged Fred; "the man who had 'embuilt is no longer with us, Joe. They say that joy doesn't kill, butthat's a lie, Joe. He died two days after we took 'em over, and leftall his money – all our money – to a nephew."

"I didn't know that," said Joe, sitting up.

"I didn't know it myself till the other day, when I took the deed ofsale down to Cole to see if there wasn't a flaw in it somewhere. I'vewired him."

"Who – Cole?"

"No, the young nephew. If we could only – "

He did not complete his sentence, but there was a common emotion andunderstanding in the two pairs of eyes that met.

"Who is he – anybody?" asked Joe vaguely.

Fred broke off the ash of his cigar and nodded.

"Anybody worth half a million is somebody, Joe," he said seriously."This young fellow was in the Army. He's out of it now, running abusiness in the City – 'Schemes, Ltd.,' he calls it. Lots of peopleknow him – shipping people on the Coast. He's got a horrible nickname."

"What's that, Fred?"

"Bones," said Fred, in tones sufficiently sepulchral to be appropriate,"and, Joe, he's one of those bones I want to pick."

There was another office in that great and sorrowful City. It wasperhaps less of an office than a boudoir, for it had been furnished onthe higher plan by a celebrated firm of furnishers and decorators, whose advertisements in the more exclusive publications consisted of aset of royal arms, a photograph of a Queen Anne chair, and the boldsurname of the firm. It was furnished with such exquisite taste thatyou could neither blame nor praise the disposition of a couch or theset of a purple curtain.

The oxydized silver grate, the Persian carpets, the rosewood desk, withits Venetian glass flower vase, were all in harmony with the panelledwalls, the gentlemanly clock which ticked sedately on the Adammantelpiece, the Sheraton chairs, the silver – or apparently so – wallsconces, the delicate electrolier with its ballet skirts of purple silk.

All these things were evidence of the careful upbringing and artisticyearnings of the young man who "blended" for the eminent firm ofMessrs. Worrows, By Appointment to the King of Smyrna, His Majesty theEmperor – (the blank stands for an exalted name which had beenpainted out by the patriotic management of Worrows), and divers otherroyalties.

The young man who sat in the exquisite chair, with his boots elevatedto and resting upon the olive-green leather of the rosewoodwriting-table, had long since grown familiar with the magnificence inwhich he moved and had his being. He sat chewing an expensivepaper-knife of ivory, not because he was hungry, but because he wasbored. He had entered into his kingdom brimful of confidence and withunimagined thousands of pounds to his credit in the coffers of theMidland and Somerset Bank.

He had brought with him a bright blue book, stoutly covered andbrassily locked, on which was inscribed the word "Schemes."

That book was filled with writing of a most private kind and of afrenzied calculation which sprawled diagonally over pages, as forexample:

Buy up old houses… say 2,000 pounds.

Pull them down… say 500 pounds.

Erect erect 50 Grand Flats… say 10,000 pounds.

Paper, pante, windows, etc… say 1,000 pounds.

—

Total… 12,000 pounds.

50 Flats let at 80 pounds per annum. 40,000 lbs.

Net profit… say 50 per cent.

NOTE. – For good middel class familys steady steady people. By thismeans means doing good turn to working classes solving houseing problemand making money which can be distribbuted distribbutted to the poor.

Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, late of H.M. Houssa Rifles, was, as hisdoorplate testified, the Managing Director of "Schemes, Ltd." He was asevere looking young man, who wore a gold-rimmed monocle on his greycheck waistcoat and occasionally in his left eye. His face was of thatbrick-red which spoke of a life spent under tropical suns, and whenerect he conveyed a momentary impression of a departed militarism.

He uncurled his feet from the table, and, picking up a letter, read itthrough aloud – that is to say, he read certain words, skipped others, and substituted private idioms for all he could not or would nottrouble to pronounce.

"Dear Sir," (he mumbled), "as old friends of your dear uncle, and so onand so forth, we are taking the first opportunity of making widdlywiddly wee… Our Mr. Fred Pole will call upon you and place himselfwiddly widdly wee – tum tiddly um tum. – Yours truly."

Mr. Tibbetts frowned at the letter and struck a bell with unnecessaryviolence. There appeared in the doorway a wonderful man in scarletbreeches and green zouave jacket. On his head was a dull red tarbosh,on his feet scarlet slippers, and about his waist a sash of Orientalaudacity. His face, large and placid, was black, and, for all hissuggestiveness of the brilliant East, he was undoubtedly negroid.

The costume was one of Mr. Tibbetts's schemes. It was faithfullycopied from one worn by a gentleman of colour who serves the Turkishcoffee at the Wistaria Restaurant. It may be said that there was nospecial reason why an ordinary business man should possess a bodyguardat all, and less reason why he should affect one who had the appearanceof a burlesque Othello, but Mr. Augustus Tibbetts, though a businessman, was not ordinary.

"Bones" – for such a name he bore without protest in the limited circlesof his friendship – looked up severely.

"Ali," he demanded, "have you posted the ledger?"

"Sir," said Ali, with a profound obeisance, "the article was toocopious for insertion in aperture of collection box, so it wastransferred to the female lady behind postal department counter."

Bones leapt up, staring.

"Goodness gracious, Heavens alive, you silly old ass – you – you haven'tposted it – in the post?"

"Sir," said Ali reproachfully, "you instructed posting volume in exactformula. Therefore I engulfed it in wrappings and ligatures of string, and safely delivered it to posting authority."

Bones sank back in his chair.

"It's no use – no use, Ali," he said sadly, "my poor uncivilized savage,it's not your fault. I shall never bring you up to date, my poor sillyold josser. When I say 'post' the ledger, I mean write down all themoney you've spent on cabs in the stamp book. Goodness gracious alive!You can't run a business without system, Ali! Don't you know that, mydear old image? How the dooce do you think the auditors are to knowhow I spend my jolly old uncle's money if you don't write it down, hey?Posting means writing. Good Heavens" – a horrid thought dawned onhim – "who did you post it to?"

"Lord," said Ali calmly, "destination of posted volume is yourlordship's private residency."

All's English education had been secured in the laboratory of anEnglish scientist in Sierra Leone, and long association with thatlearned man had endowed him with a vocabulary at once impressive andrecondite.

Bones gave a resigned sigh.

"I'm expecting – " he began, when a silvery bell tinkled.

It was silvery because the bell was of silver. Bones looked up, pulleddown his waistcoat, smoothed back his hair, fixed his eye-glass, andtook up a long quill pen with a vivid purple feather.

"Show them in," he said gruffly.