# Lord Stranleigh, Philanthropist/Chapter 9

Layout 2
CHAPTER IX.
WHEN GREEK MEETS GREEK.
At the edge of the wood which skirted that section of Stranleigh Park surrounding the Manor-house, and in the deep shadow of fringing trees, young Lord Stranleigh lay stretched out, a picture of indolence, on sward as green as the Emerald Isle, and soft as a Persian carpet. The summer heat caused him to abandon the knickerbocker suit of faded Harris tweed that all his underlings thought scandalous for a nobleman to wear, and he had put on a scarcely more respectable costume of Oxford boating flannels that had once been white, with a blazer sporting the arms of his College. Around his waist was knotted a scarf, many-hued like Joseph's coat, and his cravat was red as the flag of an anarchist procession. His fingers were interlaced behind his head, and he gazed up at the blue sky flecked by little white clouds that promised continued good weather.
​A person so attired in boating garb should have been reclining in a punt, or on the banks of the Thames, but Stranleigh felt compensated for that celebrated river's remoteness by a subdued murmur from the waterfall in the forest depths, where the crystal flood of his favourite trout stream took a header over rocks into a deep pool secluded in the green glade.
Stranleigh congratulated himself that he was not in London on such a day, and that no London men were within calling distance. He remembered dreamily that nothing more strenuous was ahead of him than the casting of a fly upon the stream as evening approached, and evening was still a long way off. As he thought of this pleasure, an extra wave of laziness swept over him, and he sleepily estimated that the day was too clear and bright for the successful capture of trout.
The silence was so intense that he distinguished afar off the sound of carriage wheels, and even the clop-clop-clop of a loosened horse-shoe on the hard high road. Then there was a pause, just long enough for the Park gate to be opened, and Stranleigh partially roused himself, hoping this was no visitor, consoled by the thought, a minute later, that very few people knew where he was. ​Presently he saw, slowly ascending the carriage drive, one of the railway station vehicles, and seated within a man of painfully respectable appearance, wearing a tall silk hat.
Stranleigh murmured an exclamation, for uttering which, according to the public Press, a delinquent had been fined one pound a few days before. It was therefore to his financial advantage that there were no listeners. He lay down once more, resolved to refuse audience if any of his servants discovered him, and order that the visitor be turned over to the new bailiff who had taken Wilson's place. He was just dropping into a doze again when one of his men aroused him.
"My lord: Mr. Peter Mackeller wishes to know if you will receive him."
"H'm! Did anyone inform Mr. Peter Mackeller I was at home?"
"He seemed to know your lordship was in residence."
"Hang it all, I'm not in residence; I'm in flannels." He sighed deeply. "Bring Mr. Mackeller here."
As Peter approached, Stranleigh sat up and looked at him. The visitor's conductor disappeared down the hill, leaving the two young men together.
​"Well, you are a sight!" was Stranleigh's greeting.
Mackeller glanced nervously at his costume.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Wrong? Everything. That apparel belongs to Piccadilly at about five o'clock in the afternoon, or, worse still, it pertains to the region of Threadneedle Street. You look like a prosperous banker who has lost his bearings in the country, and also lost his luggage."
"Well," said Mackeller deliberately, looking Stranleigh over, "your clothes are nothing to boast of."
"Maybe not, but they hang loose on me, and they fit in with the landscape. You are a blot on one of Nature's fairest scenes. I hope you have got knickerbockers in your bag."
"I didn't bring a bag. I'm returning by the 4.20 train."
"I'll lend you an old cap," continued Stranleigh, unheeding. "I never can stand that topper you're wearing. I'm at this moment resisting an almost uncontrollable temptation to bash it down over your eyes."
"I'm going back on the 4.20," reiterated Mackeller. Stranleigh rose to his feet.
"Who's your tailor?" he asked.
​"You ought to know. You recommended him to me."
"Oh, you mean Dressley & Sons? That's all right. I'll telegraph them to send on a few summer and country outfits by the five o'clock train from London. They've got your measure, and I'm taking it now. Never did I see such a ludicrous misfit as Peter Mackeller attempting to imitate a Pall Mall swell out here in Nature's green and simple country. To think, Peter, that I am responsible for this! I recommended the tailor! Great heavens; do you remember the time on the yacht when I had such trouble inducing you to wear evening clothes, and to think it should come to this. Oh, what a fall is here, my countrymen! Well, never mind, I'll soon have you rigged out sanely. You're merely dreaming about the 4.20 train. You look haggard and careworn, Peter, despite the fact that Solomon in all his glory never wore a topper like that, so you'll stop with me a few days and recuperate."
"Thank you, Stranleigh, but it's impossible. I'm here on business."
"Oh, I can see that all right enough. To transact business with me just now would be difficult in any case, but it is utterly out of the question ​when you are costumed like a banker. You'd take advantage of me."
"It's rather odd," commented Mackeller musingly, "that you should reiterate the word 'banker.'"
"I use it," said Stranleigh, "as a term of reproach. Don't sadden me by saying you have become one."
"Yes; I have,"
"Oh, this is too much! A double blow, as one might say, when your clothes alone were more than I could bear. I hoped you were merely acting the part. I'd like to ask you to sit here on the grass with me, but that would stain green your too, too beautiful coat and trousers. Let's saunter down to the house, where I may send off that telegram. I do not know the resources of my own wardrobe, but perhaps I may fit you out with suitable togs. I am slightly taller than you are, but that is equalised by you being slightly stouter than I am. Let us therefore make the wardrobe our happy hunting ground, fortified by the knowledge that nothing we can find there will be so grotesque as what you are now wearing."
"I think I told you, Stranleigh, that I intend to catch the 4.20. I must be in London this evening."
"London, my dear Peter, will be happier and more contented without you, while you will be ​purer and better for a night spent in the the healthful, innocent country."
Mackeller made a gesture of impatience. He was always a serious man, who would endure a certain amount of flippancy, but speedily knew when he had had enough. He said very slowly, measuring off his words, as if explaining a simple problem to a child:—
"My dear Lord Stranleigh, the tyranny of business demands that I should be in my office at nine o'clock to-morrow morning."
"Oh, you're just saying that to seem important. It's all brag. If you weren't Scotch, I should go so far as to say it was bounce. One difference between us is that I know what I'm talking about, and you don't. This visit of yours, it becomes more and more apparent to me, is not one of friendship, as might have been the case."
"If I were not a friend of yours. Lord Stranleigh, I shouldn't be here."
"Evasion, evasion, Peter. What I mean is that you call on business. Is not that so?"
"Certainly it is so."
"Very well. You do not wish to return to London without accomplishing that quest on which you come?"
​"That also is true."
"This happens to be one of the days when I do not transact business. The sky is too blue, the birds are singing too sweetly, the murmur of the water is too cooling and soothing, for any sane man to plunge into business. Business to-morrow, Mackeller, but never business to-day."
By this time they had arrived at the house, and Stranleigh saw, standing in the shade, that dejected animal whose shoe was loose, still attached to the one-horse vehicle it had dragged from the station.
Mackeller, a sullen frown on his brow, said curtly—
"Good morning: I'm sorry to have troubled you on a day that is sacred to indolence."
With that he walked to the victoria and stepped inside, sat down, and folded his arms, with grim determination across his breast. The edge of the situation, however, was somewhat dulled by the fact that the patient horse never lifted its head, and the driver, doubtless asleep somewhere, failed to appear. Stranleigh sauntered up alongside, a smile on his face.
"Peter," he said, "you make me feel inhospitable, somehow, although reason whispers to me that such a charge is absurd, because if I have failed at all, it has been in pressing my hospitality too ​urgently upon you. I confess defeat, and withdraw at once my too importunate invitation. You shall return to London on the 4.20, and meanwhile get down, not from your perch, but from this vehicle. We will adjourn to the shady pergola, and there, seated on a garden chair, you can discourse on business to your heart's content, as long as you don't object to my slumbering while you are doing so. Stranleigh Park is supposed to be a relaxing place; a climatic feature for which an iron man like you makes no allowance. You mustn't expect the alertness of Threadneedle Street when you are within sound of a waterfall, and not of a motor-bus."
"My lord," said Mackeller, formally, "I have had enough of genial persiflage."
"My dear Peter, if you compel a man, against his will, to gulp down the bitter powder of business, may he not be allowed a tablespoonful of persiflage to take away the taste? I have already acknowledged defeat, so, as you are strong, be merciful. Come along to the pergola, and there divulge your nefarious plans. I will help you if I can."
"You promise that?"
"I do if your needs can be satisfied with money. I do not if you require personal exertion from me ​while this lovely weather lasts. I refuse to go to London on any account. I decline to do anything more strenuous than sign a cheque. Come along."
Stranleigh waved his difficult guest into a very comfortable wicker chair, and flung himself down on a similar seat opposite. A gentle breeze blew through the pergola, and the matted foliage of vines overhead kept out the rays of the midday sun. The waterfall's murmur came very faintly on the wings of an indolent wind.
Mackeller began in a tone that was almost combative.
"I must apologise for intruding upon your Garden of Eden——"
"In the guise of a business serpent," interrupted Stranleigh. "That's a rather fine piece of imagery, and I claim half the credit of it. Apology accepted. Fire ahead."
"My excuse is this. I understood from you that some experiments in philanthropy had not come off to your satisfaction."
"They failed utterly."
"So I thought, perhaps, you might be induced to extend your philanthrophy to an acquaintance——"
"A friend, Peter, a friend. Don't be pessimistic."
​"A friend, if you are good enough to put it in that light. I think I can guarantee that you will not be disappointed. You said a while ago I looked like a banker; said it twice, in fact, so you may not be surprised to hear that I have lately promoted a financial company which is called the Surrey and Southern Counties Bank, Ltd."
"Isn't that title rather tautological, Peter? Surely Surrey is itself a southern county?"
"Surrey does not touch the sea at any point. I call the counties southern that border the Channel, such as Kent, Sussex, Hampshire, and so on."
"All right, my dear banker, you always could upset me on points of geography. I suppose that's because you've travelled so much. Now, one more nasty objection. Aren't there banks enough in England?"
"There are banks enough, of a kind. They are hide-bound institutions, steeped in tradition, and bound by red tape. For example, when formerly I was in a difficulty, from which you kindly extricated me, I offered Selwyn's Bank ample security to cover the amount I wished to borrow. They refused to advance me a penny. The Surrey and Southern Counties Bank will deal more generously with its patrons."
​"As how, for instance?"
"The case of which I speak is an instance. I a man of my standing approached the Surrey Bank, offering as security valuable landed property, he could negotiate a loan with me. I have never forgiven Selwyn's Bank for that rebuff."
"But I understood that your landed property was already mortgaged up to the hilt? You were offering Selwyn's Bank a secondary security."
"My estate was mortgaged, certainly, but it was worth three times the amount of that mortgage. Alexander Corbitt refused a loan simply through his personal dislike of me, but I'll make him sit up before I'm done with him."
"Peter, you are surely not building a bank on the unstable foundation of revenge?"
"Certainly not. Revenge comes by the way. There is in my possession a list of Selwyn's clients. That bank is supported by country gentlemen, and they will be customers of mine before the year is out."
Whether Mackeller would succeed in making Alexander Corbitt sit up or not, he certainly caused Stranleigh to discard his languid air, and assume as perpendicular a seated attitude as the wicker arm-chair would allow.
​"Do you call that fair competition, Mackeller?"
"Why not?"
"You intend to build the fortunes of your financial house on the ruins of Selwyn's Bank?"
"Not necessarily on its ruins. Indeed, if Corbitt wakes up in time, my competition may be to the advantage of Selwyn's Bank, but he is such a conceited ass that he may not come to a realisation of the crisis until it is too late. His methods are antiquated. Nowadays a man must search for business and find it. The days have passed when the manager of a bank could sit in his room, and wait for the good things of life to fall into his lap."
A shade of perplexity troubled the face of the younger man. He bent his head, and remained silent for a few moments, deep in thought. It was evident that with all his researches through the inner workings of Selwyn's Bank, Mackeller had no suspicion it was really owned by Lord Stranleigh himself, who had heedlessly promised to aid an enterprise which now proved to be a raid upon his own property. Had any suggestion of this outcome occurred to him, he would have stopped Mackeller before he got so far in the unravelling of his plot. The young nobleman found himself in a quandary. Should he tell Mackeller at this stage ​who was the real owner of Selwyn's Bank? Mackeller evidently entertained a bitter enmity against Corbitt, and even if Stranleigh divulged the secret, his guest would very likely stipulate that Corbitt should be discharged, a condition to which Stranleigh could not agree. He resolved, therefore to keep his own counsel.
Next, would he be justified in warning Corbitt of the conspiracy against the institution over which he presided? Such a course would come completely within the circle of modern business ethics, and indeed, the average man in the street would consider him a fool for not using the weapon thus placed into his hand. But could a gentleman use to his own advantage information that had come to him in confidence? Stranleigh instantly decided that he could not. Corbitt must look out for himself. That was why he was so highly paid.
No thought of withdrawing his promise occurred to the young man. His word was pledged, and there an end. At last he looked up at his guest, who had been watching him narrowly, rather scowling as he did so.
"Mackeller, I must confess I don't like this scheme. Will you reconsider your plan, and inaugurate your bank in the ordinary way?"
​"You make that proposal out of sympathy with Selywn?"
"Yes; I acknowledge a great liking and respect for Sir George Selwyn, even if he is old-fashioned, and Alexander Corbitt seems to me an upright, energetic man, whom I should be sorry to see come a cropper."
"Then let him look out for himself," replied Mackeller with determination. "Now, may I ask you a question or two? Do I exceed my rights in founding a bank?"
"Certainly not."
"Is it not a fact that every man with money possesses a bank account?"
"I suppose that is true."
"Consequently, must not all the customers I procure for my bank be drawn from some similar institution?"
"Doubtless that also is a fact."
"Then, as my bank must be recruited from the dissatisfied depositors of other banks, why should Selwyn's alone be exempt?"
"Why, indeed? That question seems unanswerable. Am I to take it, then, that the advent of Mr. Peter Mackeller into the banking business is going to sow consternation among all existing organisations similar to his own?"
​"Ah, now you're sneering. I shall, of course, take my customers wherever I can find them."
"Naturally. But you don't quite catch my objection. Why should you make a dead set at Selwyn's? Why not tackle someone your own size; the Bank of England, for choice?"
"We've got into the persiflage stage again, I'm sorry to notice. Excuse me if I bring the conversation down to a common-sense level. I have now explained to you my plans for establishing a new bank."
"Yes; and I don't like them."
"You will soon recognise their success."
"Probably, but I should not respect them any more on that account."
"Are you hedging, Stranleigh?"
"No."
"You'll do what you promised?"
"Your question is superfluous, Peter. I shall not add what I think of it."
"Will you lend me fifty thousand pounds on my note of hand?"
"Yes."
"Will you deposit a hundred thousand pounds in my new bank?"
"Yes, if you insist on it."
​"I thank you, Stranleigh, most sincerely. You will find it one of the best deals you have ever made."
"It is not a business deal, Peter: it is philanthropy. I told you I was making experiments in that line. Every capitalist in England would reject your proposal. However, I have a good reason for my action."
"What is that?"
"It is because 'Peter' and 'philanthropy' begin with the same initial. So does 'persiflage,' now I come to think of it. Ah, there is the luncheon bell. Come into the house, and I will sign the two cheques; when those are in your pocket I hope you will enjoy a substantial meal, if you care for farmhouse fare. There is no Camperdown Club cuisine when you penetrate this far into the country."
Summer faded into autumn, and autumn chilled into winter. The interval between July and January brought to Lord Stranleigh many new experiences, and added considerably to his list of friends. There was no doubt about it that the young man possessed the gift of ingratiating himself even with casual acquaintances. When, during the hot afternoon of that July day, Peter Mackeller ​departed for London on the 4.20 train, he left behind him a host rather perturbed and dissatisfied in mind. Attempting to resume his dolce far niente attitude toward things in general, that host found his peace irretrievably shattered, for the time at least. His thoughts turned to banking; a subject of which he knew practically nothing. He had been a philanthropist to the considerable sum of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds, yet he experienced none of that feeling of genial superiority which should be the reward of the generously disposed.
Despite the two munificent cheques he carried in his pocket, Mackeller went away as grumpy as he had arrived, showing no exaltation over success, nor even gratitude towards the beneficence that had saved his mission from failure, while Stranleigh himself grew more and more disturbed over the fact that he had placed financial dynamite in the hands of a ruthless man; dynamite that could be used for the destruction of his friends. He cut short his vacation, and went up to London, determined to consult Sir George Selwyn, not upon recent events, but upon banking in general.
He found the old man in his summer home on the Kentish coast, enjoying the fresh breezes from the Channel, sitting in a comfortable easy chair ​on his broad verandah, where he watched through a pair of powerful binoculars the great steamers making their way to and from America.
It was, perhaps, the sight of this shipping that suggested a journey to his lordship, and confirmed his decision to say nothing of the crisis to Sir George, who had aged pathetically since last he saw him. He thought it would be cruel to agitate the old gentleman who, after all, was rather helpless, but he bitterly censured himself for having given in so easily to the strenuous Mackeller.
The upshot of his visit was that he brought away with him several letters of introduction from Sir George, commending Edmund Trevelyan to the courtesies of bankers in Montreal, Toronto, and New York. Trevelyan had been the nom de guerre that Stranleigh used during his former visit to America. On this occasion he sailed on one of the Canadian turbine steamers direct to Montreal, where he met a surprise that caused him to wonder if he was still within the boundaries of the British Empire.
The Government official whom he encountered on landing was up to snuff. He was the man who had discovered that on several occasions emigrants assisted by their friends travelled first class, instead ​of second or third, in order to escape the new restrictions which the Canadian Government had placed upon the pauper incomer. He was therefore not to be deceived by a spruce and rather flippant young man who had enjoyed cabin fare during the voyage.
"Do you possess twenty-five dollars?" asked the official sternly of the richest man in England, who gave the name of Edmund Trevelyan.
"I've got two dollars," answered Stranleigh, "or perhaps sixpence less since my last bottle of Bass."
"Are you a farm labourer?" was the next question.
"I have occasionally worked upon a farm, but I never made any money at it."
"Did you earn the money that paid your passage?"
"Well, now that you corner me, I can't say that I did."
"Were you assisted by friends, or did you come over through the aid of any charity?"
"Through the charity of old George Selwyn I received some help."
"Then you must go back."
"I intend to."
​"If you have a return ticket, why didn't you say so?"
"Because I didn't take a return ticket. I sail for England in a month or two via New York."
"Merely came this way to view the scenery?" suggested the officer.
"Exactly; still, I hope to get assistance when I land. I carry letters to people over here."
"You won't land," said the guardian of his country, with firmness. "The Dominion expects every man to pay his own way, and we consider it servile for any one to accept out-door relief. You flash up twenty-five dollars, or else stay aboard this ship."
"I agree with you," said Stranleigh, "that that's a very good spirit to work on."
He dug down into his pockets, and fished up some Canadian silver, which he counted.
"I find I have only a dollar and eighty cents. That last bottle of beer has wrecked me. What do you suggest?"
"I don't suggest. I order. It's you for the raging main once more. I've caught several of your tribe already."
"Ah, I understand now why Lord Kitchener avoided Canada, and came home through the ​United States. Horatio, Herbert Kitchener is a wise man, and there are not more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
The young man glanced to the rear.
"Ponderby," he said, quietly.
The deferential valet stepped forward.
"How much money have you?"
Ponderby had been trained to substitute "sir" for "my lord."
"I have about a thousand dollars in currency, sir, and the letter of credit for ten thousand."
"Bring hither the wherewithal, and crush this official. Perhaps we can both crawl into Canada under cover of our ill-gotten gains."
During his stay in the Dominion and the Republic, Edmund Trevelyan learned much about banking, and managed to enjoy an exceedingly good time as well.
When Stranleigh returned to his town house in London, he found a plethora of communications awaiting his attention, or rather, the attention of Blake, his secretary. Blake reported to him that, as the philosopher said, most of these letters and telegrams had answered themselves, being hopelessly out of date, but among the few that were ​submitted to his lordship was one which he answered immediately. It was a request, now a week old, from Alexander Corbitt, asking for an interview as soon as possible after Stranleigh reached London. In response to the appointment Corbitt, with that politeness which is the attribute of kings and bankers, appeared exactly at the moment set.
"I'm very glad to see you home again," he began. "Indeed, a fortnight ago I'd almost determined to sail for New York, but the situation being rather ominous, I was compelled to remain in London."
"My dear Alexander; it was to escape such strenuous personalities as yours that I fled to America. I found the seclusion of Stranleigh Park was not enough to protect me from business worry, so I fled to the innocent peace and quiet of Chicago and New York, so restful to jaded nerves. You've been in a crisis, Corbitt?"
"I've been between the devil and the deep sea, with no Stranleigh to advise me."
The younger man laughed.
"Your implied compliment is refreshing. I have always found my advice to be at a discount; at a bank discount, I might say, with financiers like yourself. My advice was to be shaken, but not ​taken. As for your situation between the devil and the deep sea, that's easy. Avoid the deep sea, unless you're a good swimmer, but resist the devil, and he will flee from you."
Corbitt smiled grimly.
"That's exactly what I resolved to do," he said.
"Then you're not yet out of the dilemma?"
"No, the devil still goeth about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour, which seems to be Selwyn's Bank."
"Ah, the bank's in a bad way, is it?"
"No; it never was in a better position."
"Then what is there to growl about?"
"I'm not growling."
"Oh, excuse me; I thought you were. I see you've set out to bewilder me. I shall become puffed up by thinking you regretted my absence."
"No; I thank whatever gods there be that you were out of the country."
"This is brutal, Corbitt!"
"Your absence gave me a chance for once to have my own way, because I speedily overcame Sir George Selwyn's opposition. I feared an unexpected return on your part, for I thought it likely you would support him."
"Your surmise was quite correct."
​"Then it was a blessing you were not here. You see, for years now Selwyn's Bank has been in an unsatisfactory position, steadily growing worse. It became an old-fogey institution, falling more and more to the rear in the procession."
"Curiously enough, Corbitt, I heard that same criticism made of our bank shortly before I left England."
"Whoever made it, knew what he was talking about. Selwyn's was the bank of the country gentlemen, presided over by Sir George, a country gentleman, for the benefit of country gentlemen. We lent money on landed property, which, as you know, cannot be turned quickly into cash if there is an urgent need for money. For years I have protested against this, wishing to do business with the City, rather than with the country, but Sir George, being very conservative, distrusting the Stock Exchange and all its works, would never give his consent to our catering for commercial business. He was always suspicious of stocks and shares, but sound securities that have a quotable value in the market are much better to deal with than mortgages on estates. I predicted disaster, and disaster came."
"Disaster? In what way?"
​"Why; we drifted into the hands of a soulless capitalist, namely, Earl Stranleigh of Wychwood."
"Ah, I see. I had forgotten."
"About the time you left for America there was floated a bank under the title of the 'Surrey and Southern Counties,' founded by a brainless fool named Mackeller, who knows as much about banking as does my foot."
"You underestimate yourself, Corbitt. Your capable foot must be rather efficient."
"It will be, when it wafts Peter Mackeller into oblivion."
"What has he done to you?"
"He has lured away most of our customers."
"Really? What did you do?"
"I made no effort to check his raid, but as speedily as possible replaced the dunderheads he took away by shrewd, alert business men, who have long wished to deal with Selwyn's Bank, because of its good name and respectability, and now, by the gods! we're making money."
"Ah, through the usual method of taking big risks?"
"Not so. I'm taking less risk to-day than ever I did. I know the intrinsic value of the chief securities in the market, so, by lending conservatively ​and keeping an eye on the Stock Exchange, I can realise at once in case of a decline if sufficient margin is not instantly placed in my possession to protect the loan. I had much difficulty in getting Sir George to agree; indeed, he was determined to cable for you, and I was equally determined he should not."
"How did you prevent him?"
"I sent in my resignation, fortified by the fact that he didn't know exactly where you were, and he could not remember under what nom-de-guerre you travelled."
Stranleigh laughed.
"Clever Corbitt," he said, "and poor Sir George. Now I suppose you want me to go back again?"
"No. I've been using my head so far, and now, as you suggested, the time for the foot has come."
"Not against me, I hope?"
"Against Mr. Peter Mackeller. I made it my business to learn everything that could be learned regarding his bank. I was amazed to discover that his chief helper had been your lordship; that you had actually placed on deposit with him the sum of a hundred thousand pounds. It is a question I don't care to ask, but I should like to know if ​your lordship was aware that money would be used for the destruction of Selwyn's Bank."
"Being so recently from the States, I'll answer your question by asking another. Do you take me to be a fool?"
"Well," hesitated Corbitt, as he thoughtfully scratched his smooth-shaven, masterful chin. "I don't suppose you're so big a fool as that transaction would indicate."
"I see. I'm merely a sort of mitigated idiot. Thanks, Corbitt. Still, I don't like fulsome eulogy."
"Do you know how much interest Mackeller is promising to pay you?"
"I do not. Mackeller's an old friend of mine, and I made no bargain with him."
"He says he will pay three per cent."
"Isn't that all right?"
"It is if you think so. But he decoyed away our customers by offering them six-and-a-half per cent.; a quite impossible figure. Say the bank-rate stands at what it does to-day, namely, four per cent. He lends out money at five per cent. How, then, can he pay his depositors six-and-a-half? His bank is on an unpractical basis, and must come a cropper."
"What do you wish me to do, Corbitt?"
​"I want you to give me power of attorney to deal with that hundred thousand."
"Then at the psychological moment you will withdraw that deposit, and thus smash Mackeller's bank?"
"Precisely."
There was silence for a few minutes. Stranleigh paced up and down the room, deep in thought, while Corbitt scrutinised him keenly. At last Stranleigh stopped in his perambulation.
"Very well," he said. "Have a power of attorney made out, and I'll sign it."
"It is already made out," replied Corbitt, pulling the document from his inside pocket. "If your secretary is within call, or indeed, anyone else, your signature may be witnessed, and we can complete the transaction."
This was done, and Corbitt departed with the drastic instrument in his possession.
Two days later, at ten o'clock in the morning, just as Stranleigh was finishing his breakfast, Peter Mackeller was announced, and shown in. His host greeted him cordially, rather shocked to notice how careworn his old friend had become since last he saw him.
"Sit down, Peter, sit down, and try some of these peaches."
​"I don't care for any, thank you. I came strictly on business."
"Never allow business to thrust aside the good things of life. Peaches are a luxury in January, and good to eat at any time in the year."
"Lord Stranleigh, you gave to Alexander Corbitt power of attorney over the money you deposited in my bank."
"Oh, that's no news. The transaction you mention happened two days ago."
"Perhaps it is news, my lord, that he gave me notice yesterday of his intention to transfer the hundred thousand to Selwyn's Bank."
"Yes, that is news; but surely the money amounts to more than a hundred thousand? Didn't you allow me any interest?"
"Interest? Of course."
"At what rate, Mackeller?"
"At three per cent."
"I understand that Selwyn's can allow me four, which I am told means a thousand pounds extra in a year on the sum I deposited, an increase of income which a hard-hearted commercial person like myself cannot afford to ignore. Being a shrewd business man you must commend my frugality. ​Take care of the thousand pounds, and the millions will look after themselves."
"You are, of course, within your rights to exact the utmost interest you could obtain safely, but I think you should have permitted me the opportunity of meeting Corbitt's offer before giving notice of withdrawal."
"I think so too, Peter, but Corbitt is the man dealing with the affair, so if anything strenuous has been done, he is the person to blame, and to whom you should complain."
"Nevertheless, you gave him the power to act."
"Oh, I always made bad bargains. People seem delighted to take advantage of my innocence. Corbitt being, like yourself, an excellent man of business, will see that I get justice."
"Have you ever found me take advantage of you? Have you ever lost even a penny piece on my account?"
"I can't say that I have."
"Then why don't you play fair?"
Stranleigh raised his eyebrows slightly.
"That charge has never before been made against me."
"Well, it's made against you now."
"Ah, in that case, do sit down. I haven't quite ​finished my breakfast yet, and I hate standing up so early in. the morning without adequate sustenance. Don't you see I cannot with courtesy seat myself while you stand there like Rhadamanthus? After your proclaiming to my face my unfairness, the next thing my face looks for is a blow from your fist; therefore I should feel much safer if you sat down."
"Oh, curse this foolish, frivolous talk of yours! Sit down and finish your breakfast. You have my permission. Why don't you speak out like a man, and say you're determined to ruin me?"
"One reason is that I'm not determined on any such thing," said Stranleigh, stepping back a pace or two, but taking no advantage of the permission accorded him. "Would you have given me the extra one per cent, if I had asked for it?"
"Certainly I would."
"Could you have afforded to do so?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you do it? I gave you the money unconditionally and without any haggling. To quote yourself, why didn't you play fair?"
"Three per cent. is a fair bank interest."
"Do any of your depositors get six-and-a-half?"
An added pallor spread over Mackeller's anxious ​face. He staggered back as if he had received the blow which Stranleigh professed to fear, and now, without invitation, he sank into the nearest chair.
Stranleigh seated himself more nonchalantly, and selecting a ripe peach, picked up a silver knife.
"Sure you won't have a peach? Some grapes, then?"
Mackeller made no reply.
"You see, I hope, how easily I might charge you with unfairness, but, of course, there's nothing unfair about the transaction. I told you, when I gave you the money, that it was philanthropy, and not business, so there could be no unfairness if you never paid me a penny for it."
"Then why, without warning to me, do you suddenly transform philanthropy into business?"
"Don't you see why? In the first place, I wished to bring you here, which I've done. In the second place, I desire you shall make friends with Alexander Corbitt."
Mackeller sprang to his feet, and a red flush of anger chased the pallor from his countenance.
"Before asking a favour of Alexander Corbitt, I'll see him damned, and cast into the lowest and hottest corner of——"
Stranleigh raised his hand.
​"Tut, tut!" he cried. "Such an example of hatred, and such language before an innocent youth like myself, are not permissible. Sit down again, and if you don't behave yourself, I'll cause the stalwart Ponderby to tie you to your chair. You'd look rather ridiculous springing up in your disturbing fashion with a chair attached to you."
"I'll have nothing to do with that man Corbitt!" shouted Mackeller, his fists clenched.
"Yes; I gathered that from your previous profane remark, and we will take your determination as fixed. Therefore, sit down quietly, and enlighten me as to what you expect from your fellow-men. You make a quite unprovoked attack on Corbitt and his bank. You jeopardise his own position, because if he cannot successfully combat you, he must go under. Now, for the first time, Corbitt, with a club in his hands, is prepared to smash you. What else can you anticipate? You asked for a fight, and you've got it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall send for Corbitt, and should he be imbued with your uncompromising spirit, I shall then stand aside and let the best man win."
Stranleigh touched the bell, and when Ponderby appeared, asked—
"Is the motor-car at the door?"
​"Yes, my lord."
"Then just put on your hat, Ponderby. Ride down to Selwyn's Bank as fast as the police will allow, and bring Corbitt back with you. If he pleads press of business or any other motive for delay, don't argue with him, but take him under your arm to the car, and tell the chauffeur to get back here as quick as he can."
"Yes, my lord," replied the faithful Ponderby, without even the faintest suggestion of a smile.
Mackeller rose.
"I am sorry I troubled you, Lord Stranleigh," he said.
"Won't you wait until Corbitt comes?"
"No."
"It is essentially a case for compromise," said Stranleigh very quietly.
"There can be no compromise between Alexander Corbitt and me."
"Very well, Mr. Mackeller, I am sorry to bid you good-morning."
He struck again the little silver bell, and Ponderby entered, with his hat in hand.
"Ponderby, I find I shall not need Mr. Corbitt after all. The next time Mr. Mackeller comes to this house, I am not at home."
​"Very good, my lord."
Mackeller stood there hesitating. Ponderby apparently didn't know he was in the room. Stranleigh, with some care, selected another peach. Mackeller, clearing his throat several times, said huskily—
"I will wait for Corbitt if that is your wish."
"Bring Mr. Alexander Corbitt here, Ponderby."
"Very good, my lord," reiterated Ponderby, fading from the room.
"May I suggest a peach?" proffered Stranleigh, with the accents and tones of a seraph.
"Thank you," replied Mackeller, reaching forward and helping himself.
"They are really excellent for this time of the year," commented his lordship genially.
Nothing more was said until the door opened, and—
"Mr. Alexander Corbitt," announced the footman.
The bank manager stepped inside, then paused abruptly as he saw Mackeller, while a frown ruffled his brow.
"You sent for me?" he said.
"Yes, Corbitt. I am ever so much obliged for your promptness."
"That is due, my lord, to the recklessness of your ​chauffeur. Your number must have been taken half-a-dozen times since we left the bank."
"Oh, that's all right! I think you and Mr. Mackeller are acquainted?"
"I have met him." Corbitt's strong jaws snapped like a steel trap.
"I have brought you together to suggest a compromise."
"To speak quite frankly, my lord——"
"Sit down, Alexander, and drop the 'my lord'; then speak as frankly as you like."
"I expected this gentleman would make an appeal to you," continued Corbitt. "That is why I asked that my option should run for a month. Even you cannot interfere with it until twenty-eight days are past. A writ has already been issued. The Surrey and Southern Counties Bank is insolvent."
"You are, then, determined to smash it?" enquired Stranleigh.
"Quite."
"Help yourself to a peach, Corbitt. They are really first-rate."
Corbitt took one. Mackeller had risen once more, in spite of his lordship's look of protest.
"Lord Stranleigh, I beg you to do me the justice of acknowledging that I made no appeal to you."
​"Quite right, Peter, you didn't. Sit down, please, How the deuce can we carry on a sober business conference if you insist on acting jack-in-the-box? I am the one forced to make appeals, and I appeal to you now, Alexander, as I have already appealed to Peter here, for a settlement between you two."
"I cherish no rancour in this matter, Stranleigh," said Corbitt, "and furthermore, am under no illusion regarding my own position. I quite realise that you can dismiss me at any moment, but while I am manager at Selwyn's Bank I shall act entirely in the interests of Selwyn's Bank."
"Good man," murmured Stranleigh gently. "This is but another phase, Alexander, of your threat to resign, that terrified our mutual friend, Sir George Selwyn, into granting your request. Now, Sir George is a notable business man, and doubtless his surrender to you was wise. I am not a business man, and, wise or unwise, I'm not going to surrender. Now, I wish to ask you a question, and if you do not answer it in the affirmative, I shall be anxious to learn what is the reason of your reply. My question is this: Have I a right to dispose of my own property as best pleases me? Now, do not answer rashly, because if you answer in the negative I had no right to give you that power of attorney."
​"I answer in the affirmative, of course, and without hesitation."
"Now, Peter, I put the same question to you, and I caution you as I did Corbitt, for if you also do not answer in the affirmative I had no right to give you that hundred and fifty thousand pounds last July."
"I say yes," replied Peter promptly.
"Let us thank the gods of peace that we have discovered one small platform on which you two men can stand together. Now I want a little more information about your bank, Peter. Do you own the majority of its stock?"
"No."
"Who does?"
"No one person. It has been taken up by various capitalists in the City."
"They must have felt a rather supreme confidence in your business qualities."
"I suppose so."
"Did you never set afoot any enquiries regarding the ownership of your bank?"
"I didn't need to. I got the cash, and that was the main thing."
"H-m! Perhaps. Still, if you'd troubled yourself to trace those sales of stocky the tracing would ​have led you to my door in every instance. I am the owner of the Surrey and Southern Counties Bank, Mr. Mackeller. Corbitt, tell your competitor who owns Selwyn's Bank."
"Selwyn's Bank is owned by Earl Stranleigh of Wychwood."
"Now, gentlemen, don't you see how easy the solution is? We will amalgamate these two banks, and call the result, say, Selwyn's and Southern Counties. Selwyn's has a splendid array of customers engaged in business. The Southern Counties has a conservative body of patrons from the landed aristocracy. The amalgamated company will boast of both respectability and energy. Now, Alexander Corbitt, I offer you the choice of being president of the new combination, or its business manager. Sir George Selwyn has written to me that he wishes to retire."
"I would rather be business manager," said Corbitt promptly, "so long as I am not interfered with too much by my nominal superior."
"You shall be untrammelled. I guarantee that."
"Then I suppose you take the presidency yourself, Stranleigh?"
"No. I offer that to Mr. Peter Mackeller."
Peter's head sunk into his hands.
​"You see, Peter," continued Stranleigh, taking no notice of Mackeller's evident emotion, "things have got in rather a tangle with the Surrey and Southern Counties. You can't pay six-and-a-half to depositors. You're losing money every day, and the course is so shaped that the more customers you get the greater is your loss. Now, you and I will place the straightening out of that on the broad shoulders of this callous man, Corbitt. We shall have nothing to do but play. Meanwhile, to the business world, you score a great triumph, for it will appear that your new and energetic bank has swallowed the old-fogey concern, otherwise you never would be nominated president. Do you accept, Peter?"
"Yes, and thank you, Stranleigh," came from between Peter's hands.
"Now, gentlemen, see how easy it is so long as you act on the principle of never shoving a man against the wall, even if you have the power."
Corbitt laughed.
"Don't be a humbug, Stranleigh," he said. "You've shoved us both against the wall."
Stranleigh laughed in turn.
"We all pose a bit, but one thing there's no humbug about. It is evident that three of these delicious peaches are left in the dish. Let's have one each."