Part 1

SUDDEN FORTUNES.

Few things are so fascinating to read as stories of fortunes suddenly made. They lend to the adventures of miners in gold or diamond fields an interest possessed by enterprises of no other kind; they also impart a most seductive glamour to accounts published in continental newspapers of prize-winners in big lotteries. When the French annual state lotteries were abolished in 1837, a writer of some distinction, M. Alphonse Karr, protested energetically against what he called a hardship for the poor. His defence was curious. ‘For five sous,’ he said, ‘the most miserable of beings may purchase the chance of becoming a millionaire; by suppressing this chance, you take away the ray of hope from the poor man’s life.’

Almost any man can relate from his own experience tales of suddenly acquired wealth; and by this we do not mean the riches that may be inherited through the death of a relative, or those which are won by speculation. The professed money-hunter who succeeds on ‘Change is like the sportsman who brings home a good bag—his spoils, though they may be large, are not unexpected. But there is the man who goes out without any thought of sport, and returns with a plump bird that has dropped into his hands; or the man who, wandering on the seashore, picks up a pearl. It is with persons of this description that we may compare those lucky individuals who, awaiting nothing from fortune, are suddenly overwhelmed by her favours. A few examples of such luck may induce the reader who sees no signs of wealth on his path just yet, never to despair.

At the beginning of 1870, the Hôtel des Réservoirs at Versailles was for sale. It was the largest hotel in the city; but as Versailles had become a sleepy place, almost deserted in winter, and only frequented in summer by casual tourists and Sunday excursionists, the landlord had scarcely been able to pay his way. The hotel was disposed of in January for a very low figure, and the new proprietor entered upon his tenancy on the first of April. He soon repented of his bargain. The season of 1870 brought fewer excursionists than usual; and when, in the middle of July, war was declared against Germany, all the landlord’s chances of recouping himself during the months when foreign tourists abound, seemed gone, so that he had serious thoughts of reselling the house. Within eight weeks, the whole of his prospects were altered. The French were defeated, Paris was invested, Versailles became the headquarters of the invading armies, and suddenly the Hôtel des Réservoirs entered upon a period of such prosperity as doubtless could not be matched by the records of any other hostelry. From the middle of September till the following February it was the lodging-place of Grand Dukes and Princes, as many as it would hold; whilst its dining-rooms were resorted to by all the wealthiest officers in the German forces. As the siege operations kept troops in movement at all hours, meals were served at every time of the day and night. Three relays of cooks and as many of waiters had to be hired; and the consumption of wines, spirits, and liqueurs beggars all reckoning. Princes and rich officers going into action or returning from victory are naturally free with their money; every triumph of German arms was a pretext for banquets and toasts. In fact, from the 1st of October to the date when the occupation of the city ceased—a period of about one hundred and thirty days—the average number of champagne bottles uncorked every day exceeded five hundred! As the Prussians held Rheims, the landlord was enabled to renew his stock of champagne as often as was necessary; but he could not renew his stock of Bordeaux—the Bordelais being in French hands, so that towards the end of the war he was selling his clarets at fancy prices.

The Germans marched away in February; but still the Hôtel des Réservoirs’ marvellous run of luck continued. In March the Communist insurrection broke out; the National Assembly transferred its sittings to Versailles, which was proclaimed the political capital of France; and during the second siege of Paris the hotel was crowded with ministers, foreign ambassadors, deputies, and other persons of note. The result of all this and of the steady custom which the hotel received so long as Versailles remained the seat of government, was that the landlord, who was at the point of ruin in 1870, retired in 1875 worth one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, after selling the hotel for three times what he had paid for it. We may add that in 1870 other very fine hauls of money were made by hotel-keepers in cities which the German armies occupied, and at Tours and Bordeaux, which were successively the seats of the French Government of National Defence.

But it will be objected that such fortunes as war, revolutions, and other great commotions bring to the few, in compensation for the ruin which they scatter among the many, are not to be met with in lands enjoying profound peace like England. Well, there are local convulsions too in England. An obscure village becomes the scene of a murder or a railway accident; an inquest is held; reporters are sent down from London; idlers by the trainful come to view the spot where the mishap occurred; and the village public-house, which had been doing a poor business, all at once finds itself taking gold and silver like a first-class London _buffet_. Such things happen pretty often; indeed, Fortune now and then knocks at houses whose inmates, from sheer bewilderment or stupidity, do not know how to take advantage of her unexpected visit. We have the recollection of a publican in a village on the Great Western line who positively spurned a chance of handsome gains thrown into his way by a snowstorm. An express train had got snowed up in the night; with infinite difficulty, by reason of the darkness, the passengers crawled out, and made across the fields for a public-house about a mile distant; but on arriving there, they met with anything but a hospitable reception. The landlord had been roused from sleep; he could not serve drink, he said, because it was past hours; he had no spare-room for travellers; there was only one ounce of tea in his house; and so forth. In the end, most of the benighted party found a refuge at the vicarage. Had the landlord been a more astute fellow, he might have secured some valuable patrons that night, for there were wealthy people among the passengers; and two of them had to linger for more than a week in the village, having fallen ill.

Let us now leave publicans, and come to stories of sudden professional advancement. All young doctors know what uphill work it sometimes is to establish a practice. Years will often elapse before a doctor gets any return for the money which his friends invested in obtaining his diploma. On the other hand, a single fortunate case may bring patients by the score. About twenty years ago, a young doctor who had been established three years in London without making an income, lost heart, and determined to emigrate to Australia. He sold his small house and furniture, paid his passage-money, and a week before his ship was to sail, went into the country to say good-bye to his parents. Having to change trains at a junction, he was waiting on the platform, when a groom in a smart livery galloped up to the station, and calling excitedly to a porter, handed him a telegraphic message for transmission. From some remarks exchanged between the two men, the young doctor understood that the Duke of ——, a member of the Cabinet, had fallen dangerously ill, and that an eminent physician in London was being telegraphed for. The groom added that he had ridden to the houses of three local doctors, who had all been absent, and that ‘Her Grace was in a terrible way.’

The young doctor saw his opportunity, and at once seized it. ‘I am a medical man,’ he said to the groom; ‘and I will go to the Hall to offer my assistance till another doctor arrives.’

The groom was evidently attached to his master, for he said: ‘Jump on my horse, sir, and ride straight down the road for about four miles; you can’t miss the Hall; any one will tell you where it is.’

The doctor went, was gratefully received by the Duchess, and happened to be just in time to stop a mistake in treatment of the patient, which might have proved fatal if continued for a few hours longer. The Duke was suffering from typhoid fever; and when the eminent physician arrived from town, he declared that the young doctor’s management of the case had been perfect. The result of this was, that the latter was requested to remain at the Hall to take charge of the patient; and his name figured on the bulletins which were issued during the next fortnight, and were printed in all the daily newspapers of the kingdom. Such an advertisement is always the making of a medical man, especially when his patient recovers, as the Duke did. Our penniless friend received a fee of five hundred guineas; took a house at the West End, and from that time to this has been at the head of one of the largest practices in London.

Curiously enough, his sudden rise was indirectly the means of bringing another needy young doctor to great fortune. Having abandoned his emigration scheme, our friend had made a present of his ticket to a former fellow-student of his, a shiftless sort of young man, who was loafing about town, with no regular work or prospects. This ne’er-do-weel had never thought of leaving the mother-country, and he accepted the ticket rather with the idea of making a pleasant voyage gratis than of settling at the antipodes. But on the way out, an epidemic of smallpox occurred among the passengers; the ship’s surgeon died; and the emigrant doctor, stepping into his place, displayed such skill and devotion that he won golden opinions from all on board. As often happens with men of good grit, the sudden call to noble work and great responsibilities completely altered his character, and he became thenceforth a steady fellow. On landing at Sydney, he was presented with a handsome cheque by the agents of the Steamship Company for his services, and soon afterwards was, on their recommendation, appointed physician to the quarantine depôt. This position put him in the way of forming a first-rate private practice and of winning municipal honours. He is now one of the most prosperous men in the colony, and a member of the colonial legislature.

Talking of sea-voyages reminds us of a barrister who has owed professional success to the mere lucky, or let us say providential, hazard which sent him out on a trip to China. Having lived three or four years in chambers without getting a brief, he was almost destitute, when a friend of his who was in the tea-trade offered him a free passage to Shanghai and back on condition of his transacting some piece of business there. On the passage out, the barrister had many conversations with the captain, who chanced to have lately given evidence at Westminster in a lawsuit which was of great importance to the shipping interest. But he had been disgusted with the ‘stupidity,’ as he called it, of the judge and counsel in the case, when talking of maritime and commercial customs; and he exclaimed: ‘Why don’t some of those lawyers who mean to speak in shipping cases, study our ways a little?’ These words struck the young barrister, who, after thinking the matter over for a few days, resolved to live at sea for a while.

On his return to England, he sought for a situation as purser or secretary on board one of the great ocean steamers, and in this capacity made several trips. Then he successively tried expeditions on board whalers, vessels engaged in the cod and herring fisheries, &c.; in fact, he led a sailor’s life for rather more than three years, picking up a full acquaintance with the manners, customs, grievances, and wants of those who had their business in the great waters. On going back to the bar, he almost at once got briefs in the Admiralty Court; and becoming known to solicitors as an expert on shipping questions, his professional fortune was made.

We might quote several cases similar to this one where special knowledge, sometimes acquired by accident, has put men in the way of getting highly honourable and well-paid positions on the newspaper press. A gentleman who is now a distinguished leader-writer on one of the London dailies, got his situation in consequence of having broken his leg while travelling in Germany. He was laid up for months in lodgings, and there became intimate with a Russian refugee, who taught him the Russian language and instructed him thoroughly in Muscovite politics. This occurred at the beginning of the Eastern imbroglio in 1876; and when the patient was getting better, he sent to a London paper a series of letters which exhibited such a familiarity with Russian affairs, that they attracted general notice. He was soon asked to go to St Petersburg as special correspondent; and from that date all things prospered with him. At the time when he broke his leg, he was about to accept a clerkship in a merchant’s office, where he would have had small chance of making any figure in the world.

But we fancy we can hear people exclaim that talent well directed is pretty sure to make a man’s fortune, so that it is never surprising to hear of clever men growing rich. True; but nevertheless there are chances for those who are _not_ clever. We have heard of a man who had two thousand pounds a year left him because he was civil to an infirm old lady in church, finding the hymns for her, setting her hassock, &c. He did not know her name; but she took care to ascertain his, and when she died, he found that she had bequeathed to him the bulk of her property ‘as a reward for his patient kindness.’ A clergyman of our acquaintance obtained a living of good value from a baronet in Norfolk for no other reason than that he was the only curate within ten miles round who had not applied for it when it fell vacant. And another clergyman whom we know got a still better living for having refused preferment offered to him under circumstances derogatory to his dignity. He was a fair singer; and a vulgar plutocrat who had invited him to dinner promised to give him a living if he would sing a comic song at dessert. The quiet rebuke which the young clergyman administered made the plutocrat ashamed of himself, so that the next day he proffered the living with a letter of apology; but the living was refused, the clergyman stating that it would be impossible for him to forget the circumstances under which it was first tendered. This was the more honourable, as the clergyman was very badly off. Another patron, hearing of what he had done, appointed him to a benefice, as a testimony of his admiration.

We may conclude with a story of a man who was suddenly made rich because of his great stupidity. He was the only dull man in a bright-witted family, and going to dine with a wealthy relative who had a horror of fools, he made so many silly remarks, that the old man cried in exasperation: ‘I must do something for you, for you’ll never do anything for yourself. If I don’t make a rich man of you, you’ll become a laughing-stock to the world and a disgrace to your family.’

BY MEAD AND STREAM.

CHAPTER XXIV.—THE WORK.

Philip spoke lightly to Madge about the ‘chambers in town;’ but he was not quite satisfied with the arrangement, when she told him frankly that she did not like it. He confessed that the idea pleased him chiefly because it would give him a sense of independence, which he could never experience so long as he remained at Ringsford and the family continued to be in the same mood as at present. Very little had been said to him there, beyond a few expressions of curiosity on the part of the girls, and a cunning question from Coutts as to what guarantee Uncle Shield could give for the wealth he professed to possess.

‘The amount he promised to place at my disposal is in the bank,’ Philip answered; ‘and that, I fancy, would be sufficient, Coutts, to satisfy even you.’

Coutts nodded, was silent, and began privately to speculate on the possibility of ingratiating himself with this mysterious relative, who seemed to have discovered the mines of Golconda.

Nothing more was said. Mr Hadleigh enjoined silence on the subject until he should please to speak; and he had done so with a sternness which effectually checked the tongue even of Miss Hadleigh, who, being ‘engaged,’ felt herself in some measure released from parental authority.

The consequence was that there had grown up a feeling of constraint, which was exceedingly irksome to the frank, loving nature of Philip; and yet he could not divine how he was to overcome it. He could not tell whether this feeling was due to his own anxiety to reconcile two opposing elements, or to the unspoken irritation of the family with him for having leagued himself with their enemy. It never occurred to him that any one of them could be jealous of his good fortune.

However, this new arrangement seemed to offer an opportunity for making the position clear. Standing apart from the influence of his family, he would be able to consider all the circumstances of his position with more calmness and impartiality than would be otherwise possible.

At the same time, he was a good deal perplexed by the conduct of Mr Shield, and was gradually beginning to feel something like vexation at it. There was the difficulty of seeing him, and then the impossibility of getting him to discuss anything when he did see him. Mr Shield was still at the _Langham_; and if Philip called without having made an appointment, he was either sent away with some excuse, which he knew to be nothing more than an excuse, or there was a great fuss of attendants entering and leaving the room before he was admitted. On these occasions Philip was conscious of an atmosphere of brandy-and-soda; and several times his uncle had been served with a glass of this potent mixture during their interviews, brief as they were. It was to this weakness Philip had been about to refer, when speaking to Dame Crawshay, and to it he was disposed to attribute much of his uncle’s eccentricity of conduct.

But he was always the same roughly good-natured man, although short of speech and decided in manner.

‘Once for all,’ he said gruffly, when Philip made a more strenuous effort than usual to induce him to discuss the scheme he was elaborating; ‘I am not a good talker—see things clearer when they are put down on paper for me. You do that; and if there is anything that does not please me, I’ll tell you fast enough in writing. Then there can be no mistakes between us. Had enough of mistakes in my time already.’

And notwithstanding his peculiarly jerky mode of expressing himself in talking, his letters were invariably clear and to the point. They formed, indeed, a bewildering contrast to the man as he appeared personally, for they were the letters of one who had clear vision and cool judgment. But as yet Philip had not found any opportunity to approach the subject of a reconciliation with his father. He kept that object steadily in view, however, and waited patiently for the right moment in which to speak.

Wrentham was well pleased that Mr Shield should keep entirely in the background; it left him the more freedom in action; and he was delighted with his appointment as general manager for Philip. His first transaction in that capacity was to sublet his offices in Golden Alley to his principal. This saved so much expense, and there were the clerks and all the machinery ready for conducting any business which might be entered upon. Wrentham had agreeable visions of big prizes to be won on the Stock Exchange. He was confident that the whole theory of exchange business was as simple as A B C to him; and only the want of a little capital had prevented him from making a large fortune long ago. His chance had come at last.

Here was this young man, who knew almost nothing of business, but possessed capital which he desired to employ. He, Martin Wrentham, knew how to employ it to the best advantage. What more simple, then? He should employ the capital; instead of dabbling in hundreds, he would be able to deal in thousands, and in no time he would double the capital and make his own fortune too!

But when the time came for Philip to unfold the project which he had been quietly maturing, the sanguine and volatile Wrentham was for an instant dumb with amazement, then peered inquiringly into the face of the young capitalist, as if seeking some symptoms of insanity, and next laughed outright.

‘That’s the best joke I have heard for a long time,’ he exclaimed.

‘Where is the joke?’ asked Philip, a little surprised.

‘You don’t mean to say that you are serious in thinking of investing your capital in this way?’ Wrentham’s hilarity disappeared as he spoke.

‘Perfectly serious; and Mr Shield approves of the idea.’

‘But you will never make money out of it.’

‘I do not know what you may mean by making money; but unless the calculations which have been supplied to me by practical men are utterly wrong, I shall obtain a fair percentage on the capital invested. I do not mean to do anything foolish, for I consider the money as held in trust, and will do what is in my power to make a good use of it.’

‘You want to drive Philanthropy and Business in one team; but I never heard of them going well in harness together.’

‘I think they have done so, and may do so again,’ said Philip cheerfully.

‘You will be an exception to all the rules I know anything about, if you manage to make them go together. If you had five times the capital you are starting with, you could make nothing out of it.’

‘I hope to make a great deal out of it, although not exactly in the sense you mean.’

Wrentham passed his hand through his hair, as if he despaired of bringing his principal to reason.

‘What do you expect to make out of it?’

‘First of all, beginning on our small scale, we shall provide work for so many men. By the system of paying for the work done, rather than by wages whether the work is done or not, each man will be able to earn the value of what he can produce or cares to produce.’

‘You will not find half-a-dozen men willing to accept that arrangement.’

‘We must make the most of those we do find. When the advantages are made plain in practice, others will come in fast enough.’

‘The Unions will prevent them.’

‘It is a kind of Union I am proposing to form—a Union of capital and labour. Then, I propose to divide amongst the men all profits above, say, six or eight per cent. on the capital, in proportion to the work each has done. I believe we shall find plenty of workmen, who will understand and appreciate the scheme.’

Wrentham was resting his elbows on the table and twisting a piece of paper between his fingers. He had got over his first surprise. The one thing he understood was, that Philip would hold obstinately to this ridiculous ideal of a social revolution until experience showed him how impracticable it was. The one thing he did not understand was, how Mr Shield had agreed to let him try it.

‘I admire the generous spirit which prompts you to try this experiment; it is excellent, benevolent, and all that sort of thing,’ he said coolly; ‘but it is not business, and it will be a failure. Every scheme of the same sort that has been tried has failed. However, I shall do my best to help you. How do you propose to begin?’