Acherley took it differently. He cared nothing for Griffin's opinion; he was in money difficulties and had passed far beyond that. He laughed. "Put you out? I'll swear he would! There's no fool like an old fool! But he won't have the chance."
"No, I think not," Ovington said blandly. "But his attitude presents difficulties, and I am sure that our Chairman will agree with me that if we can meet his views, it will be worth some sacrifice."
"Can't Arthur get round him?" Acherley suggested.
"No," Arthur replied, smiling. "Perhaps if you----"
"Will you see him, Mr. Acherley?"
"Oh, I'll see him!" carelessly. "I don't say I shall persuade him."
"Still, we shall have done what we can to meet his views," the banker replied. "If we fail we must fall back--on my part most reluctantly--on the compulsory clauses. But that is looking ahead, and we need not consider it at present. I don't think that there is anything else? It is close on the half-hour. Will you see, Bourdillon, if all is ready in the bank?"
Arthur went out, leaving the door ajar. There came through the opening a murmur of voices and the noise of shuffling feet. Ovington turned over the papers before him. "In the event of the subscriptions exceeding the sum required, what day will suit you to allot? Thursday, Sir Charles?"
"Friday would suit me better."
"Friday be it then, if Mr. Acherley--good. On Friday at noon, gentlemen. Yes, Bourdillon?"
Arthur did not sit down. He was smiling. "It's something of a sight,"
he said. "By Jove it is! I think you ought to see it."
Ovington nodded, and they rose, some merely curious, others eager to show themselves in their new role of dignity. Arthur opened the door and stood aside. Beyond the door the cashier's desk with its green curtains formed a screen which masked their presence. Ovington separated the curtains, and Sir Charles and Acherley peeped between them. The others looked round the desk.
The space devoted to the public was full. It hummed with low voices, but above the hum sharp sentences from time to time rang out. "Here, don't push! It's struck, Mr. Rodd! Hand 'em out!" Then, louder than these, a lusty voice bawled, "Here, get out o' my road! I want money for a cheque, man!"
The two clerks were at the counter, with piles of application forms before them and their eyes on the clock. Clement and Rodd stood in the background. The impassive attitude of the four contrasted strikingly with the scene beyond the counter, where eighteen or twenty persons elbowed and pushed one another, their flushed faces eloquent of the spirit of greed. For it had got about that there was easy money and much money to be made out of the Railroad shares--to be made in particular by those who were first in the field. Some looked to make the money by a sale at a premium, others foresaw a profit but hardly knew how it was to come, more had heard of men who had suddenly grown rich, and fancied that this was their chance. They had but to sign a form and pay an instalment, and profit would flow in, they did not care whence. They were certain, indeed, but of one thing, that there was gain in it; and with every moment their number grew, for with every moment a newcomer forced his way, smiling, into the bank.
Meantime the crowd gave good-humored vent to their impatience. "Let's have 'em! Hand 'em out!" they murmured. What if there were not enough to go round?
The man with the cheque, hopelessly wedged in, protested. "There, someone hand it on," he cried at last. "And pass me out the money, d--n you! And let me get out of this."
The slip was passed from hand to hand, and "How'll you have it, Mr.
Boumphry?" Rodd asked.
"In shares!" cried a wit.
"Notes and a pound in silver," gasped Boumphry, who thought the world had gone mad. "And dunno get on my back, man!" to one behind him. "I'm not a bullock! Here, how'm I to count it when I canna get----"
"A form!" cried a second wit. "Neither can we, farmer! Come, out with 'em, gentlemen. Hullo, Mr. Purslow! That you? Ha' you turned banker?"
The draper, who had showed himself over-confidently, fell back purple with blushes. "Certainly an odd sight," said the banker quietly. "It promises well, I think, Sir Charles."
"Hanged well!" said Acherley.
Sir Charles acquiesced. "Er, I think so," he said. "I certainly think so." But he felt himself a little out of place.
The minute hand touched the half-hour, and the clerks began to distribute the papers. After watching the scene for a moment the Board separated, its members passing out modestly through the house door.
They parted on the pavement, even Sir Charles unbending a little and the saturnine Acherley chuckling to himself as visions of fools and fat premiums floated before him. It was a vision which they all shared in their different ways.
Arthur was about to join the workers in the bank when Ovington beckoned him into the dining-room. "You can be spared for a moment,"
he said. "Come in here. I want to speak to you." He closed the door.
"I've been considering the matter I discussed with you some time ago, lad, and I think that the time has come when it should be settled. But you've said nothing about it and I've been wondering if anything was wrong. If so, you had better tell me."
"Well, sir----"
The banker was shrewd. "Is it the money that is the trouble?"
The moment that Arthur had been dreading was come, and he braced himself to meet it. "I'm afraid that there has been some difficulty,"
he said, "but I think now----"
"Have you given your uncle notice?"
Arthur hesitated. If he avowed that they had not given his uncle notice, how weak, how inept he would appear in the other's eyes! A wave of exasperation shook him, as he saw the strait into which his mother's obstinacy was forcing him. The opportunity which he valued so highly, the opening on which he had staked so much--was he to forfeit them through her folly? No, a hundred times, no! He would not let her ruin him, and, "Yes, we have given it," he said, "but very late, I'm afraid. My mother had her doubts and I had to overcome them. I'm sorry, sir, that there has been this delay."
"But the notice has been given now?"
"Yes."
"Then in three months, as I understand----"
"The money will be ready, sir." He spoke stoutly; the die was cast now, and he must go through with it. After all it was not his fault, but his mother's; and for the rest, if the notice was not already given it should be this very day. "It will be ready in three months, but not earlier, I am afraid."
Ovington reflected. "Well," he said, "that must do. And we won't wait.
We will sign the agreement now and it shall take effect from next Monday, the payment to be made within three months. Go through the articles"--he opened his desk and took a paper from it and gave it to Arthur--"and come in with one of the clerks at five o'clock and we will complete it."
Arthur hardly knew what to Bay. "It's uncommonly kind of you, sir!" he stammered. "You may be sure I shall do my best to repay your kindness."
"Well, I like you," the banker rejoined. "And, of course, I see my own advantage in it. So that is settled."
Arthur went out taking the paper with him, but in the passage he paused, his face gloomy. After all it was not too late. He could go back and tell Ovington that his mother--but no, he could not risk the banker's good opinion. His mother must do it. She must do it. He was not going to see the chance of a lifetime wasted--for a silly scruple.
He moved at last, and as he went into the bank he jostled two persons who, sheltered by the cashier's desk, were watching, as the Board had watched a few minutes before, the scene of excitement which the bank presented. The one was Betty, the other was Rodd, the cashier. It had occurred to Rodd that the girl would like to view a thing so unusual, and he had slipped out and fetched her. They faced about, startled by the contact. "Oh, it's you!" said Betty.
"Yes," drily. "What are you doing here, Betty?"
"I came to see the Lottery drawn," she retorted, making a face at him.
"Mr. Rodd fetched me. No one else remembered me."
"Well, I should have thought that he--ain't you wanted, Rodd?" There was a new tone in Arthur's voice. "Mr. Clement seems to have his hands full."
Rodd's face reddened under the rebuke. For a moment he seemed about to answer, then he thought better of it. He left them and went to the counter.
"And what would you have thought?" Betty asked pertly, reverting to the sentence that he had not finished.
"Only that Rodd might be better employed--at his work. This is just the job he is fit for, giving out forms."
"And Clement, too, I suppose? It is his job, too?"