England -- Fiction; Patent medicines -- Marketing -- Fiction; Pharmaceutical industry -- Fiction; Satire; Science fiction
I drifted out of business affairs into my research much more than
either I or my uncle had contemplated. Finance was much less to my
taste than the organisation of the Tono-Bungay factory. In the new
field of enterprise there was a great deal of bluffing and gambling, of
taking chances and concealing material facts—and these are hateful
things to the scientific type of mind. It wasn’t fear I felt so much as
an uneasy inaccuracy. I didn’t realise dangers, I simply disliked the
sloppy, relaxing quality of this new sort of work. I was at last
constantly making excuses not to come up to him in London. The latter
part of his business career recedes therefore beyond the circle of any
particular life. I lived more or less with him; I talked, I advised, I
helped him at times to fight his Sunday crowd at Crest Hill, but I did
not follow nor guide him. From the Do Ut time onward he rushed up the
financial world like a bubble in water and left me like some busy
water-thing down below in the deeps.
Anyhow, he was an immense success. The public was, I think,
particularly attracted by the homely familiarity of his field of
work—you never lost sight of your investment they felt, with the name
on the house-flannel and shaving-strop—and its allegiance was secured
by the Egyptian solidity of his apparent results. Tono-Bungay, after
its reconstruction, paid thirteen, Moggs seven, Domestic Utilities had
been a safe-looking nine; here was Household Services with eight; on
such a showing he had merely to buy and sell Roeburn’s Antiseptic
fluid, Razor soaks and Bath crystals in three weeks to clear twenty
thousand pounds.
I do think that as a matter of fact Roeburn’s was good value at the
price at which he gave it to the public, at least until it was strained
by ill-conserved advertisement. It was a period of expansion and
confidence; much money was seeking investment and “Industrials” were
the fashion. Prices were rising all round. There remained little more
for my uncle to do therefore, in his climb to the high unstable crest
of Financial Greatness but, as he said, to “grasp the cosmic oyster,
George, while it gaped,” which, being translated, meant for him to buy
respectable businesses confidently and courageously at the vendor’s
estimate, add thirty or forty thousand to the price and sell them
again. His sole difficulty indeed was the tactful management of the
load of shares that each of these transactions left upon his hands. But
I thought so little of these later things that I never fully
appreciated the peculiar inconveniences of that until it was too late
to help him.
III
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account