Jacob's Ladder. Oppenheim Edward Phillips

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СКАЧАТЬ Jacob remarked equably, “can go to hell.”

      Mr. Smith was a short, thin man with a cynical expression, a bloodless face and a loveless heart. He opened his mouth a little, a habit of his when surprised.

      “I suppose it is too early in the morning to suggest that you have been drinking,” he said.

      “You are right,” Jacob acknowledged. “A little later in the day I shall be able to satisfy everybody in that respect.”

      Mr. Smith came out from behind the stack of leather. He was wearing a linen smock over his clothes and paper protectors over his cuffs.

      “I don’t think you’re quite yourself this morning, Pratt,” he observed acidly.

      “I am not,” Jacob answered. “I have had good news.”

      Mr. Smith was a farseeing man, with a brain which worked quickly. He remembered in a moment the cause of Jacob’s failure. Oil might be found at any time!

      “I am very glad to hear it, Pratt,” he said. “Would you like to come into the office and have a little chat?”

      Jacob looked his employer squarely in the face.

      “Never so long as I live,” he replied. “Just the few words I want to say to you, Mr. Smith, can be said here. You gave me a job when I was down and out. You gave it to me not out of pity but because you knew I was a damned good traveller. I’ve trudged the streets for you, ridden in tram-cars, ’buses and tubes, sold your leather honestly and carefully for two years. I’ve doubled your turnover; I’ve introduced you to the soundest connection you ever had on your books. Each Christmas a clerk in the counting house has handed me an extra sovereign – to buy sweets with, I suppose! You’ve never raised my salary, you’ve never uttered a word of thanks. I’ve brought you in three of the biggest contracts you ever had in your life, and you accepted them with grudging satisfaction, pretended they didn’t pay you, forgot that I knew what you gave for every ton of your leather that passed through my hands. You’ve been a cold, calculating and selfish employer. You’ll never be a rich man because you haven’t the imagination, and you’ll never be a poor one because you’re too stingy. And now you can go on with your rotten little business and find another traveller, for I’ve finished with you.”

      “You can’t leave without a week’s notice,” Mr. Smith snapped.

      “Sue me, then,” Jacob retorted, as he turned away. “Put me in the County Court. I shall have the best part of a million to pay the damage with. Good morning to you, Mr. Smith, and I thank Providence that never again in this life have I got to cross the threshold of your warehouse!”

      Jacob passed out into the street, whistling lightly. He was beginning to feel himself.

      Half an hour later, seated in the most comfortable easy chair of Mr. Pedlar’s private office, a sanctum into which he had never before been asked to penetrate, Jacob discussed the flavour of a fine Havana cigar and issued his instructions for the payment of his debts in full. Mr. Stephen Pedlar, a suave, shrewd man of much versatility, congratulated himself that he had, at all times during his connection with Jacob, treated this erstwhile insignificant defaulter with the courtesy which at least had cost him nothing.

      “Most interesting position, yours, Pratt,” the man of figures declared, loitering a little over the final details. “I should like to talk it over with you sometime. What about a little lunch up in the West End to-day?”

      Jacob shook his head.

      “I am lunching with a friend,” he said. “Thank you very much, all the same.”

      “Some other time, then,” Mr. Pedlar continued. “Have you made any plans at all for the future?”

      “None as yet worth speaking of.”

      “You are a young man,” the accountant continued. “You must have occupation. If the advice of a man of the world is worth having, count me at your disposal.”

      “I am very much obliged,” Jacob acknowledged.

      “I can be considered wholly impartial,” Mr. Pedlar went on, “because I have no direct interest in whatever you may choose to do with your money, but my advice to you, Mr. Pratt, would be to buy a partnership in one of the leading firms engaged in the industry with which you have been associated.”

      “I see,” Jacob reflected. “Go into business again on a larger scale?”

      “Exactly,” the accountant assented, “only, go into an established business, with a partner, where you are not too much tied down. You’ll want to enjoy yourself and see a little of the world now. A bungalow down the river for the summer, eh? A Rolls-Royce, of course, and a month or so on the Riviera in the winter. Plenty of ways of getting something out of life, Mr. Pratt, if only one has the means.”

      Jacob drew a deep sigh and murmured something noncommittal.

      “My advice to you,” his mentor continued, “would be to enjoy yourself, get value for your money, but – don’t give up work altogether. With the capital at your command, you could secure an interest in one of the leading firms in the trade.”

      “Were you thinking of any one in particular?” Jacob asked quietly.

      Mr. Pedlar hesitated.

      “To tell you the truth, Mr. Pratt,” he admitted candidly, “I was. I know of a firm at the present moment, one of the oldest and most respected in the trade – I might almost say the most prominent firm – who would be disposed to admit into partnership a person of your standing and capital.”

      “You don’t, by any chance, mean Bultiwell’s?”

      The accountant’s manner became more earnest. He had the air of one who releases a great secret.

      “Don’t mention it, Pratt, whatever you do,” he begged. “Mr. Bultiwell would probably be besieged by applications from people who would be quite useless to him.”

      “I shall not tell a soul,” Jacob promised.

      “You see,” his companion went on, watching the ash of his cigar for a moment, “the Mortimers and the Craigs have both come to an end so far as regards participation in the business. Colonel Craig was killed playing polo in India, and had no sons, and old Mortimer, too, had only one son, who went into the diplomatic service. That leaves Mr. Bultiwell the sole representative of the firm, and though he has, as you know, a great dislike for new associations, it is certainly too much responsibility for one man.”

      “The Mortimer and Craig interests have had to be paid out, I suppose?” Jacob enquired.

      “To a certain extent, yes,” Mr. Pedlar admitted. “That is where the opportunity for new capital comes in.”

      “I have made no plans yet,” Jacob declared, rising to take his leave. “If you like to place the figures before me within the course of the next week or so, and the suggested terms, I might consider the matter – that is, if I decide to go into business at all.”

      “I can’t conceive a more comfortable position for a young man with your knowledge of the trade,” Mr. Pedlar said, as he wished his guest good morning. “You shall have all the figures placed before you. Good morning, and once more my heartiest congratulations, Mr. Pratt.”

      CHAPTER III

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