Capitalists and financiers -- Fiction; Great Britain -- Politics and government -- Fiction; Political fiction
The two were closeted together for something less than an hour; it was
not four o'clock when they parted. Mr. Hatton's secretary, forgetting
all social distinctions, shook hands warmly at the door with the
Confidential Clerk, who passed out heedless of his friend's eager
pantomime in the outer office. And thus it was that by the morning of
the next day, while poor Mr. Clutterbuck's temperature was hovering
round 104° (Fahrenheit), no small portion of his goods were already
earmarked for the Great Crusade to Redeem the Negro Race.
Mr. Clutterbuck's illness reached its crisis and passed; but for many
days he was not allowed to hear the least news, still less to occupy
himself with business. The Confidential Clerk was far too careful of
his master's interests to jeopardise them by too early a call upon his
energies. He wrote a daily report to Mrs. Clutterbuck to the effect
that nothing had been done beyond the written instructions left by her
husband, that all was well, and the office in perfect order. He was
at the pains of dictating a daily synopsis of the correspondence he
had opened and answered; and though the offer of marriage which since
his new stroke of fortune he had made to Miss Pugh for the second time
had for the second time been rejected, he continued to utilise her
services, both on his own account and on that of his absent principal.
He dictated considerable reports upon the movements of his favourite
stocks to greet Mr. Clutterbuck's eye upon his recovery, and in a
hundred ways gave evidence of his discretion and his zeal now that he
could look forward to his master's early return.
Meanwhile Barnett and Sons, after assuring themselves by certain
general questions that Mr. Clutterbuck had said nothing with regard to
any Italian investment, held the parcel over till it could be dealt
with in person, and were satisfied of the tenacity of purpose of their
client.
In the first week of May Mr. Clutterbuck, his crescent of a moustache
untrimmed, his hair quite grey, but the broad fan of it still clinging
to his large, bald forehead, was permitted for the first time after so
many days to see the papers and hear news of the world.
He was languid and utterly indifferent, as convalescents are, to what
had hitherto been his chief interests, but as a matter of wifely duty
Mrs. Clutterbuck felt herself bound to read him at full length the
City article in the _Times_, and as she did so on the third day her
philanthropic and evangelising eye was caught, in the midst of names
that had no meaning for her, by the one name Manatasara. It was the
feature of the moment that the new company had been successfully
launched.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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