Hugo: A Fantasia on Modern Themes. Arnold Bennett

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      'Then Hugo is not your—'

      'It is not. My real name is Owen. But think of "Owen" on a flag, and then think of "Hugo" on a flag.'

      'Exactly.'

      'I began. And because I had everything to learn I lost money at first. I took lessons in my own shop, and the course cost me a hundred a week for some months. But in two years I had proved that my theory of myself was correct. In ten I had made nearly a quarter of a million. Everyone knows the history of my growth.'

      Polycarp nodded.

      'In the eleventh year I determined to emerge from the chrysalis. I dreamed a dream of my second incarnation as universal tradesman. And the fabric of my dream, Mr. Polycarp, you behold around you.' He waved the cigar. 'It is the most colossal thing of its kind ever known.'

      Polycarp nodded again.

      'Some people regard it as extravagant. It is. It is meant to be. Hugo's store is only my fun, my device for amusing myself. We have glorious times here, I and my ten managers—my Council of Ten. They know me; I know them. They are well paid; they are artists. A trade spirit must, of course, actuate a trade concern; but above that, controlling that, is another spirit—the spirit which has made this undoubtedly the greatest shop in the world. I cannot describe it, but it exists. All my managers, and even many of the rank and file, feel it.'

      'Very interesting,' said the lawyer.

      'Mr. Polycarp,' Hugo announced solemnly, 'the direction of this establishment is my life. In the midst of this lovely and interesting organism I enjoy every hour of the day. What else can I want?'

      Polycarp raised his eyebrows.

      'Do you suppose it would add to my fun to have a million in the bank—I, with an income of two thousand a week? Do you suppose I should find it diverting to be at the beck and call of a board of directors—I, the supreme fount of authority? Do you suppose it would be my delight to consider eternally the interests of a pack of shareholders—I, who consider nothing but my fancy? And, finally, do you suppose it would amuse me, Hugo, to have "limited" put after my name? Me, limited!'

      'Then,' said the lawyer slowly, 'I am to understand you are not willing—'

      'My friend,' Hugo replied, dropping into his chair, 'I would sooner see the whole blessed place fall like the Bastille than see it "limited."'

      Polycarp rose in his turn.

      'My clients,' he remarked in a peculiar tone, 'had set their minds on this affair.'

      'For once in a way your clients will be disappointed,' said Hugo.

      'What do you mean—"for once in a way"?'

      'Who are your clients, Mr. Polycarp?'

      'Since the offer is rejected, it would be useless to divulge their names.'

      'I will tell you, then,' said Hugo. 'Your client—for there is only one—is Louis Ravengar. I saw it stated in a paper the other day that Louis Ravengar had successfully floated thirty-nine companies with a total capitalization of thirty millions. But my scalp will not be added to his collection.'

      'I shall not disclose the identity of my clients,' Mr. Polycarp minced. 'But, speaking of Mr. Ravengar, I have noticed that what he wants he gets. The manner in which the United Coal Company, Limited, was brought to flotation by him in the teeth of the opposition of the proprietors was really most interesting.'

      'You mean to warn me that there are ways of compelling a private concern to become public and joint-stock?'

      'Not at all, Mr. Hugo. I am incapable of such a hint. I am sure that nothing and nobody could force you against your will. I was only mentioning the case of the Coal Company. I could mention others.'

      'Don't trouble, my dear sir. Convey my decision to Louis Ravengar, and give him my compliments. We are old acquaintances.'

      'You are?' The solicitor seemed astonished in his imperturbable way.

      'We are.'

      'I will convey your decision to my clients.'

      Accepting a cigar, Mr. Polycarp departed.

      Without giving himself time to think, Hugo went straight to Department 42, and direct to the artist in hats. She stood pale and deferential to receive him. The heat was worse than ever.

      'Your name is Payne, I think?' he began. (He well knew her name was Payne.)

      'Yes, sir.'

      Other employés in the trying-on room looked furtively round.

      'About half-past eleven an old gentleman, with white moustache, came into this room, Miss Payne. You remember?'

      'Yes, sir.'

      'What did he want?'

      'He was inquiring about a hat, sir,' she hurriedly answered.

      'For a lady?'

      'Yes, sir.'

      'Thank you.'

      And he hastened back to his central office, and breathed a sigh. 'I have actually spoken to her,' he murmured. 'How charming her voice is!'

      But Miss Payne's physical condition desolated him. If she was so obviously exhausted at 12.30, what would she be like at the day's end?'

      'I've got it!' he cried.

      He seized a pen and wrote: 'Notice.—The public are respectfully informed that this establishment will close to-day at two o'clock.'

      He rang a bell, and a messenger appeared.

      'Take this to the printing-office instantly, and tell Mr. Waugh it must be posted throughout the place in half an hour.'

      Shortly after two o'clock Sloane Street was amazed to witness the exodus of the three thousand odd. The closure was attributed to a whim of Hugo's for celebrating some obscure anniversary in his life. Many hundreds of persons were inconvenienced, and the internal economy of scores of polite homes seriously deranged. The evening papers found a paragraph. And Hugo lost perhaps a hundred and fifty pounds net. But Hugo was happy, and he was expectant.

      At ten o'clock that night a youngish man, extremely like Simon Shawn, was brought by Simon into Hugo's presence under the dome. This was Simon's brother, Albert Shawn, a member of Hugo's private detective force.

      'Sit down,' said Hugo. 'Well?'

      'I reckon you've heard, sir,' Albert Shawn began impassively, 'the yarn that's going all round the stores.'

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