Man of Means-C. H. Bovill, P. G. Wodehouse

0:00Chapter 1 of a Man of Means This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information not a volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org A man of means by P.G. Woodhouse and C.H. Bovell. The episode of the Land Ladies' daughter. When a seed merchant of cautious disposition and an eye to the main chance receives from an imminent firm of jam manufacturers and extremely large order for clover seed, his emotions are mixed. Joy may be said to predominate, but with the joy comes also uncertainty. Are these people he asks himself proposing to set up as farmers of a large scale, or do they merely want the seed to give very similitudes to their otherwise bold and unconvincing raspberry jam? On the solution of this problem depends the important matter of price. For,

1:02obviously, you can charge a fraudulent jam disseminator in a manner which an honest farmer would resent. This was the problem which was furrowing the brow of Mr. Julian Feinberg of Beresand Edmonds, on sunny morning when Roland Bleak knocked at his door, and such was its difficulty that only at the 19th knock did Mr. Feinberg raise his head. Come in, that dashed woodpecker out there, he shouted, for it was his habit to express himself for the generous strength towards the junior members of his staff. Young man who entered looked exactly like a second clerk in a provincial seed merchant's office, which, strangely enough, he chance to be. His chief characteristic was an intense ordinaryness. He was a young man, and when you had said that of him, you had said everything. There was nothing which you would have noticed about him, except the fact that there was nothing to notice. His age was 22, and his name was Roland Bleak. A police-er, it's about my salary. Mr. Feinberg, at the word, drew himself together much

2:07as a British square at Waterloo must have drawn itself together at the sight of a squadron of couriers' s. "'Salary,' he cried, what about it? What's the matter with it? You get it, don't you?' "'Yes, sir, but—'Well, don't stand there like an idiot, what is it? It's too much,' Mr. Feinberg's brain reeled. It was improper, that the millennium could have arrived with a jerk. On the other hand, he had distinctly heard one of his clerks complain that his salary was too large,' he pinched himself. "'Say that again,' he said. "'If you could see a way to reduce it, sir,' it occurred to Mr. Feinberg for one instant that his subordinate was endeavouring to be humorous, but a glance at Roland's face dispelled that idea. "'Why do you want it reduced? Police-er, I'm going to be married. What a juice do you mean? Then my salary reaches £150, sir. And it's £140 now, so if you could see your way to

3:08knocking off £10, Mr. Feinberg saw light. He was a married man himself.' "'My boy,' he said, genially, I can quite understand. But I can do you better than that. It's no use doing this sort of thing in a small way. From now on, your salary is £110. No, no, don't thank me. You're an excellent clerk, and it's a pleasure to me to reward and marry it when I find it. Close the door after you.' And Mr. Feinberg returned with a lighter heart to this great clover-seed problem. The circumstances which had led Roland to approach his employer may be briefly recounted. Since joining the staff of Mr. Feinberg, he had lodged at the house of a Mr. Coppin. In honourable employment as porter at the local railway station, the Coppin family, excluding domestic pets, consisted of Mr. Coppin, a kindly and garless gentleman of 60, Mrs. Coppin as somewhat negative personality, most of whose life was devoted to cooking and washing

4:10up in her underground lair. Brothers Frank and Percy, gentleman of leisure, popularly supposed to be engaged in the mysterious occupation known as Looking for something, and lastly Muriel. For some month after his arrival, Muriel had been to Roland Bleak, a mere automaton, something outside himself that was made only for neatly laid breakfast tables and silent removal of plates of dinner. Gradually, however, when his natural shyness was soothed by use sufficiently to enable him to look at her when she came into the room, he discovered that she was a strikingly pretty girl. Bounded to the north by a mass of urban hair and to the south by small and shapely feet, she also possessed what we are informed, we are children in these matters ourselves, is known as the RSVPI. This eye had met Roland's one evening as he chumped his chop, and before he knew what he was doing, he had remarked that it had been a fine

5:13day. From that wonderful moment matters had developed at an incredible speed, Roland had a nice sense of the social proprieties, and he could not bring himself to ignore a girl with whom he had once, exchanged easy conversation about the weather. Whenever she came to lay his table, he felt bound to say something. Not being an experienced gaga, he found it more and more difficult each evening to hit on something bright. Till finally, from sheer lack of inspiration, he kissed her. If matters have progressed rapidly before, they went like lightning then. It was as if he had touched a spring or pressed a button, setting vast machinery and motion. Even as he reeled back, stunned at his audacity, the room became suddenly full of coppins of every variety known to science. Through a mist, he was aware of Mrs. Coppin crying in a corner, of Mr. Coppin, drinking his health in the remains of sparkling limado, of brothers Frank and Percy, one on each side, trying to borrow simultaneously

6:20half-crowns, and Muriel, flashed by demure, making bread pellets and throwing them in an abstracted way, one by one at the coppin cat, which had wandered in on the chance of fish. Out of the chaos, as he stood looking at them with his mouth open, came the word Bands, and smote him like a blast of east wind. It is not necessary to trace in detail Roland's mental processes, from that moment till the day when he applied to Mr. Feinberg for a reduction of salary. It is enough to say that, for quite a month, he was extraordinarily happy. To a man who has had nothing to do with women, to be engaged is an intoxicating experience, and at first life was one long golden glow to Roland. Secretly, like all my old men, he had always nourished a desire to be esteemed and nut by his fellow men, and his engagement satisfied that desire. It was pleasant to hear brothers Frank and Percy cough knowingly when he came in. He was pleasant to walk abroad with a girl like Muriel in the capacity

7:24of the accepted wooer. Above all, it was pleasant to sit holding Muriel's hand and watching the ill-concealed efforts of Mr. Albert Potter to hide his mortification. Albert was a mechanic in the motorwork round the corner, and he, the two, Roland had always felt something of a worm in his presence. Albert was so infernally strong and silent and efficient. He could dissect a car and put it together again. He could drive through the thickest traffic. He could sit silent in company, without having his silence attributed to shyness or imbicility. But he could not get engaged to Muriel Coppin. That was reserved for Roland bleak the nut, the dacha, the young man of affairs. It was all very well being able to tell a spark plug from a commutator at sight, but when he came to a contest in an affair of the heart with a man like Roland, Albert was in his proper place, third at the pole. Probably, if he could have gone on merely being engaged, Roland would never have weared

8:27of the experience. But the word marriage began to creep more and more into the family conversation, and suddenly, panic descended upon Roland bleak, all his life he had had horror of definite appointments. An invitation to tea a week ahead had been enough to poison life for him. He was one of those young men, whose souls revolted to the thought of planning out any definite step. He could do things on the spur of the moment, but plans made him lose his nerve. But the end of the month, his whole being was crying out to him in agonized tones. Get me out of this, do anything you like, but get me out of this frightful marriage business. If anything had been needed to emphasize his desire for freedom, the attitude of Frank and Percy would have supplied it. Every day they made it clearer that the man who married Muriel would be no stranger to them. It would be his pleasing task to support them too, in a style to which they had become accustomed. They conveyed the idea that they went with

9:32Muriel as a sort of bonus. The Cop in Family were at high tea when Roland reached home. There was a general stir of interest as he ended the room, for it was known that he had left that morning with the intention of approaching Mr. Feinberg on the important matter of a rise in salary. Mr. Cop in removed his source of tea from his lips. Frank brushed the tail of a sardine from the corner of his mouth. Percy ate his headache in an undertone. Albert Potter, who was present, glowered silently. Roland shook his head with the nearest approach to gloom, which his rejoicing heart would permit. I'm afraid I've bad news. Mrs. Cop in burst into tears, her invariable practice in any crisis. Albert Potter's face relaxed into something resembling a smile. He won't give you your raise, Roland's son. He's reduced me. Reduced you? Yes, times of bad just a presence, so he has had to lower me to 110.

10:35The collected jaws of the family fell as one jaw. Muriel herself seemed to be bearing the blow with fortitude, but the rest were stunned. Frank and Percy might have been posing for a picture, of men who had lost their fountain pens. Beneath the table, the hand of Albert Potter found the hand of Muriel Cop in and held it. And Muriel, we regret to have. Turned and bestowed upon Albert a half-smile of tender understanding. I suppose, said Roland, we couldn't get married on 110. No, said Percy. No, said Frank. No, said Albert Potter. They all spoke decidedly, but Albert the most decidedly of the three. Then, said Roland regretfully, I'm afraid we must wait. It seemed to be the general verdict that they must wait. Muriel said she thought they must wait. Albert Potter, whose opinion no one had asked, was quite certain that they must wait. Mrs. Cop in between sobs, moaned that it would be best to wait. Frank and Percy, the roastly devouring bread and jam, said they suppose they would have

11:35to wait. And, to end the painful scene, Roland drifted silently from the room and went upstairs to his own quarters. There was a telegram on the mantle. Some fellows, he's a little-quiet happily, as he opened it, wouldn't have been able to manage a little thing like that, that he would have given themselves away. They would, he, the contents of the telegram demanded his attention. For some time they conveyed nothing to him. The thing might have been written in Hindustani. It would have been quite appropriate if it had been. For it was from the promoters of the Klikata sweep. And it informed him that, as the holder of ticket number 108,694, he had drawn gelatin, and in recognition of this fact a check for £500 will be forwarded to him in due course. Roland's first feeling was one of pure bewilderment, as far as he could recollect, he had never had any dealings whatsoever, with these open-handed gentlemen.

12:37Then memory opened her floodgates, and swept him back to a morning ages ago, so it seemed to him, when Mr. Feinberg's eldest son Ralph, passing through the office on his way to borrow money from his father, had offered him for tensionings down, a piece of cardboard, at the same time saying something about a sweep. Partly, from a vague desire to keep in with the Feinberg clan, but principally because it struck him as a rather doggie-shting to do, Roland had passed over the ten chillings, and there, as far as he had known, the matter had ended. But now, after all this time, that simple action had borne fruit in the shape of gelatin, and a check for £500. Roland's next emotion was triumph. The sudden entry of checks for £500 into a man's life is apt to produce this result. For the space of some minutes he gloated. Then, the reaction set in. £500 meant marriage with Muriel. His brain worked quickly. He must

13:38conceal this thing. The trembling fingers he felt for his matchbox, struck a match, and burnt the telegram to ashes. Then, feeling a little better, he sat down to think the whole matter over. His meditations brought a sudden amount of balm. After all, he felt the thing could quite easily be kept a secret. He would receive the check into course, as stated, and he would bicycle over to the neighbouring town of Lexington. And start a bank account with it. Nobody would know, and his life would go on as before. He went to bed and slept peacefully. It was about a week after this that he was roused out of a deep sleep, potato clock in the morning, to find his room full of coppins. Mr. Coppin was there in a night-shirt and his official trousers. Mrs. Coppin was there, weeping softly in a brown dressing-gown. The body-stie had apparently kept Muriel from the gathering, but brothers, Frank and Percy, stood at his bedside, shaking him by the shoulders and shouting. Mr. Coppin thrust

14:40a newspaper at him, as he set up blinking. These epic moments are best-related swiftly. Roland took the paper and the first thing that met his sleepy eye and effectively drove the sleep from it was this headline. Romance of the cul-cutter sweepstakes, and beneath it another, in type almost as large, as the first. Poor Clark wins £40,000. His own name leaped out at him from the printed page, and with it that of the faithful gelatin. Flight! That was the master-wurbage rang in Roland's brain as day-followed day, the wild desire of the trapped animal to be anywhere, except just where he was, had come upon him. He was past the stage when conscience could have kept him to his obligations. He had ceased to think of anything or anyone, but himself. All he asked of fate was to remove him from Beresand Edmunds on any terms. It may be that some inkling of his state of mind was often telepathically different from Percy, for it cannot be denied that their behaviour at this juncture was more than a little reminiscent

15:45of the police force. Perhaps it was simply their natural anxiety to keep an eye on what they already considered their own private gold mine, that made them so adhesive. Certainly, there was no hour of the day when one or the other was not in Roland's immediate neighborhood. Their vigilance even extended to the night hours, and once when Roland, having tossed sleeplessly on his bed, got up at two in the morning, with the wild idea of stealing out of the house and walking to London. The door opened as he reached the top of the stairs, and a voice asked him what he thought he was doing. The statement that he was walking in his sleep was accepted but coldly. It was shortly after this that having by dint of extraordinary strategy eluded the brothers and reached the railway station, Roland with his ticket to London in his pocket, and the express already entering the station, was engaged in conversation by old Mr. Coppin, who appeared from nowhere to denounce the high-costal

16:50living in a speech that lasted until the tail lights of the train had vanished, and the brothers, Frank and Percy, arrived panting. A man has only a certain capacity for battling with fate, after this last episode Roland gave in, not even the exquisite agony of hearing himself described in church as a bachelor of this parish. With the grim addition that this was for the second time of asking, could stir him to a fresh dash for liberty. Although the shadow of the future occupied Roland's mind almost to the exclusion of everything else, he was still capable of suffering a certain amount of additional torment from the present. And one of the things which made the present a source of misery to him was the fact that he was expected to behave more like a mad millionaire than a sober young man, with a knowledge of the value of money. His mind trained from infancy to a decent respect for the pence, had not yet adjusted itself to the possession of large means, and the open-handed role

17:55forced upon him by the family appalled him. When the coppins wanted anything, they asked for it, and it seemed to Roland that they wanted pretty nearly everything. If Mr. Coppin had reached his present age without the assistance of a gold watch, he might surely have struggled along to the end on gunmetal. In any case, the man of his years should have been thinking of higher things than mere gourds and trinkets. A like criticism applied to Mrs. Coppin's demand for a silk peticote, which struck Roland, a simply indecent. Frank and Percy took theirs mostly in species. It was Muriel who struck the worst blow by insisting on a hired motor car. Roland hated motor cars, especially when they were driven by Albert Potter, as this one was. Albert, that strong, silent man, had, but one way of expressing his emotions, namely to open the throttle and shave the paint of trolley cars. Disappointed love was giving Albert a good deal of discomfort at this time, and he found it made him feel better

18:59to go round corners on two wheels. As Muriel sat next to him on these expeditions, Roland squashing into the tunnel with Frank and Percy, his torments were subtle. It was not given a chance to forget, and the only way in which he could obtain a momentary diminution of the agony was to increase the speed to 60 miles an hour. It was in this fashion that they journeyed to the neighbouring town of Lexington to see Monsieur Etienne Fercule perform his feet of looping the loop in his aeroplane. It was rather Frank's idea that they should make up a party to go and see Miss Monsieur Fercule. Frank's was one of those generous, unspoiled natures, which never grow blasé at the sight of a fellow-human, taking a sporting chance at Harry Curie. He was well-known figure at every wild animal exhibition within a radius of fifty miles, and Monsieur Fercule drew him like a magnet. The plighter goes up, he explained, as he conducted the party into the arena, and then he stands

19:59on his head and goes round in circles, I've seen pictures of it. It appeared that Monsieur Fercule did even more than this. Posted round the ground advertised the fact that on receipt of five pounds, he would take up a passenger with him. To date, however, there appeared to have been no rush on the part of the canny inhabitants of Lexington to avail themselves of this chance of a breath of fresh air. Monsieur Fercule, a small man with a chubby and amiable face, wondered about signing picture cards and smoking a lighted cigarette. Looking a little disappointed. Albert Potter was scornful. A lot of rabbits, he said, where's their pluck? And I suppose they call themselves Englishmen. I'd go up, precious quick if I had a five-pound note. Disgrace, I call it. Let an affrenchman have the laugh of us. It was a long speech for Mr. Potter, and he drew a look of respectful tenderness from Muriel. You're so brave, Mr. Potter, she said. Whether it was the slight emphasis which he put on

21:01the first word, or whether it was sheer generosity that impelled him. One cannot say. But Roland produced the required sum, even while she spoke. He offered it to his rival. Mr. Potter started, turned a little pale, then drew himself up, and waved the note aside. I take no favors, he said, with dignity. There was a pause. Why don't you do it, said Albert, nastily. Five pounds is nothing to you. Why should I? Aha, why should you? It will be useless to assert that Mr. Potter's tone was friendly. It's stung Roland. It seemed to him that Muriel was looking at him, in an unpleasant, lay contemptuous manner. In some curious fashion. Without doing anything to merit it, he had apparently become an object of scorn and abrition to the party. "'All right, then I will,' he said suddenly. "'He's here enough to talk,' said Albert. Roland, strode with a pale but determined face to the spot where Mr. Ferville, beaming politely, was signing a picture postcard.

22:04Some feeling of compunction appeared to come to Muriel at the eleventh hour. "'Don't let him,' she cried, but Brother Frank was made of sterner stuff. This was precisely the sort of thing which, in his opinion, made for a jolly afternoon. For years you've been waiting for something of this kind. He was experiencing that pleasant thrill which comes to a certain type of person, when the victim of a murder in the morning paper is an acquaintance of theirs. "'What are you talking about?' he said. "'There's no danger, at least not much. He might easily come down all right.' Besides, he wants to. "'What do you want to go interfering for?' Roland returned. The negotiations with the birdman had lasted a little longer than one would have expected, but then of course Mr. Ferville was a foreigner. And Roland's French was not fluent. He took Muriel's hand. "'Goodbye,' he said. He shook hands with the rest of the party, even with Albert Potter.

23:06It struck Frank that he was making too much fuss over a trifle and worse, delaying the start of the proceedings. "'What's it all about,' he demanded. "'You go on as if we were never going to see you again.' "'You never know. It's as safe as being in bed,' but still, in case we never meet again.' "'Oh well,' said Brother Frank, and took the outstretched hand. The little party stood and watched as the aeroplane moved swiftly along the ground, rose and soared into the air. Higher and higher it rose. Till the features of the two occupants were almost invisible. "'Now,' said Brother Frank, now watch. Now he's going to loop the loop. But the wheels of the aeroplane still pointed to the ground. It grew smaller and smaller. It was a mere spec. While the Dickens, far away to the west, something showed up against the blue of the sky, something that might have been a bird, a toy kite,

24:07or an aeroplane, traveling rapidly into the sunset. Four pairs of eyes followed it in wrapped silence. End of chapter 1 Recording by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org Chapter 2 of a Man of Means This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Recording by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org, a man of means by Pigey Woodhouse and CH Boval. The episode of the Financial Napoleon. Seated with his wife at breakfast on the veranda, which overlooked the rolling lawns and leafy woods of his charming Sussex home, Geoffrey Windlebird, the great financier,

25:09was enjoying the morning sun into the fall. His chubby features were relaxed in a smile of lazy contentment, and his wife, who liked to act sometimes as his secretary, found it difficult to get him to pay any attention to his morning's male. There's a column in today's financial august, she said, of which you really must take notice. It's most abusive. It's about the wildcat reef. They're certain that there never was any gold in the mine, and that you knew it when you floated the company. They will have their little joke. But you had the usual mining experts report? Of course we had. And a capital report it was. I remember thinking at the time, what a neat turn of phrase the fellow had. I admit he depended rather on his fine optimism than on any examination of the mine. There's a matter of fact he never went near it, and why should he? It's down in South America somewhere. Awful climate, snakes, mosquitoes,

26:12revolutions, fever. Mr. Windlebird spoke drowsily, his eyes closed. Well the august people say that they've sent a man of their own out there to make inquiries, a well-known expert. And the report will be in within the next fortnight. They say they will publish it in their next number but one. What are you going to do about it? Mr. Windlebird, yawned. Not to put too fine a point on a dearest the game is up. The Napoleon of Finance is about to meet his waterloo. And all for £20,000. That is the really bitter part of it. Tomorrow itself for the Argentine I've got the tickets. You're joking, Geoffrey. You must be able to raise £20,000 that's a free bite. Born paper, in the form of shares, script, bombs, promissory notes, it is a free bite. But it has to be produced in the roar, in flat, hard lumps of gold, or in crackling banknotes. It's more like a bite from a hippopotamus. I can't raise it, and that's all about it.

27:13So, since a layner for Napoleon. Although Geoffrey Windlebird described himself as an Napoleon of Finance, a Sankavali or Chongli sou of Finance would have been more accurate title. As a jugular with other people's money, he was the head of his class. And yet, when one came to examine it, his method was delightfully simple. So for instance, that the homegrown tobacco trust, founded by Geoffrey in a moment of on-wee, failed to yield those profits which the glowing prospectus had led the public to expect. Geoffrey would appease the excited shareholders by giving them preference shares. Interest guaranteed. In the Sea Gold Extraction Company, hastily floated to meet the emergency. When the interest became due, it would as likely as not be paid out of the capital just subscribed for the King Solomon's Minds' exploitation association. The little deficiency in the latter being replaced in its turn, when absolutely necessary, not a moment before,

28:15by the transfer of some portion of the capital just raised for yet another company. And so on, at Infanitum. There were moments when it seemed to Mr. Windlebird that he had solved the problem of perpetual promotion. The only thing that can stop a triumphal progress like Mr. Windlebirds is when some coarse person refuses to play to the rules, and demands ready money instead of shares in the next venture. This had happened now, and it had flattened Mr. Windlebird, like an avalanche. He was a philosopher, but he could not help feeling a little gold, that the demand which had destroyed him had been so trivial. He had handled millions on paper. It was true, but still millions. And here he was, knocked out of time by a poultry £20,000. Are you absolutely sure that nothing could be done? Persisted, Mrs. Windlebird. Have you tried everyone? Everyone, dear, moon of my delight, the probable, the possible, the highly unlikely,

29:18and the impossible. Never an echo to the minstrel's wooing song. No, my dear, we have got to take to the boats this time, and as, of course, someone possessed at one of the same time of £20,000, and a very confiding nature, happens to drop from the clouds. I see spoke. An aeroplane came sailing over the tops of the trees beyond the tennis lawn. Gracefully as a bird, it settled on the smooth turf, not twenty yards from where he was seated. Roll and bleak, stepped stiffly out onto the tennis lawn. His progress rather resembled that of a landsman getting out of an open boat, in which he has spent a long and perilous night at sea. He was feeling more wretched than he had ever felt in his life. He had a severe cold, he had a spitting headache, his hands and feet were frozen, his eyes smarted, he was hungry, he was thirsty, he hated cheerful Mr. Ferrio, who had hopped out and was now busy tinkering the engine. A gay povansal air about on his lips, as he had rarely hated anyone,

30:22even murial coppins by the Frank. So absorbed was he, that he was not aware of Mr. Windelberg's approach, until that pleasant portly man shadow fell on the turf before him. Not had an accident I hoped, Mr. Bleak. Roll and was too far gone in misery to speculate as to how this genial stranger came to know his name. As a matter of fact, Mrs. Windelberg, keen student of the illustrated press, had recognised Rowland by his photograph in the Daily Mirror. In the course of the twenty yards walk from the house to the tennis lawn, she had put her husband into possession of the more salient points of Rowland's history. It was when Mr. Windelberg had heard that Rowland had £40,000 in the bank that he set up and took notice. Leave me to him, he said simply. Rowland sneezed. Though accident that you, you replied miserably, something's God-drogue with the poor warks, but its death-experious were slug.

31:25Mr. Fereo, having by this time adjusted the defect in his engine, rose to his feet and bowed. Excused we come down on your lawn, but not long do we trespass? Seem on him he, he said, radiantly to Rowland. Oh now, okay, we go. No, said Rowland decidedly. No, what do you mean no? A shade of alarm fell on Mr. Fereo's weather-beaten features. The eminent bird-mander not wished apart from Rowland. Toward Rowland, he felt like a brother. For Rowland had notions about payment for little aeroplane rides which bordered on the ponder prinsley. But you say, take me to France with you. I know, but it's all off. I'm not feeling well. But it's all wrong, Mr. Fereo, to stick you to drive home his point. You give me 100 pounds to take you away from Lexingham. Good, it is here. He slapped his best pocket. But other 200 pounds which you also promised to pay me when I placed you safe in France,

32:26where is that my friend? I will give you 250, said Rowland, earnestly, to leave me here and go right away and never let me see your beastly machine again. A smile of bubbly forgiveness lit up Mr. Fereo's face. The generous, gallic nature asserted itself. He held on his arms affectionately to Rowland. Ah, now you talk. Now you say something. He cried in his impetuous way. Embrace me. You are all right. Rowland, he desired relief. When five minutes later the airplane disappeared over the brow of the hill. Then he began to sneeze again. You're not well, you know, said Mr. Windelberg. I've caught cold. We bid flag about all night. That French ass lost his bearings. And my suit is thin. Can you direct me to a hotel? Hotel nonsense. Mr. Windelberg spoke in the bluff, breezy voice, which at many a stricken board meeting had calmed frantic shareholders as if by magic.

33:27You're coming right into my house and up to bed this instant. It was not until he was between the sheets, with a hot water bottle of his toes and a huge breakfast inside him. That Rowland learned the name of his good Samaritan. When he did, his first impulse was to struggle out of bed and make his escape. Jeffrey Windelberg's was a name which he had learned in the course of his mercantile career to hold in something approaching reverence, as that of one of the mightiest business brains of the age. To have to meet so eminent a man in the capacity of Invalid, a nuisance about the house, was almost too much for Rowland's shrinking nature. The kindness of the Windelberg's, and there seemed to be nothing that they were not ready to do for him, distressed him beyond measure. To have a really great man like Jeffrey Windelberg sprawling genially over his bed, chatting away as if he were an ordinary friend, was almost horrible. Such condescension was too much.

34:29Gradually, as he became convalescent, Rowland found that this feeling replaced by something more comfortable. They were such a genuine, simple, kindly couple these Windelberg's that he lost or, and retained only gratitude, he loved them both. He opened his heart to them. It was not long before he had told them the history of his career, skipping the earlier years and beginning with the entry of wealth into his life. It makes you feel funny. He confided to Mr. Windelberg's sympathetic year, suddenly coming into a pot of money like that. He don't seem hard to be able to realize it. I don't know what to do with it. Mr. Windelberg smiled paternally. The advice of an older man, who has had, if I may say so, some little experience of finance, might be useful to you there. Perhaps if you allow me to recommend some sound investment, Rowland glowed with gratitude. There's just one thing I'd like to do before I start putting my money into anything. It's like this. He briefly related the story of his

35:31unfortunate affair with Muriel Coppin. Within an hour of his departure in the airplane, his conscience had begun to trouble him on this point. He felt that he had not acted well towards Muriel. True, he was practically certain that she didn't care a bit about him and was in love with Elbert, the silent mechanic. But it was just the chance that she was mourning over his loss. And, anyhow, his conscience was sore. I'd like to give her something, he said. How much do you think? Mr. Windelberg propended. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll send my own lawyer to her with, say, a thousand pounds. Not a check, you understand, but one thousand golden sovereigns that he can show her. Roll about on the table in front of her eyes. That'll console her. It's wonderful the effect money in the roar has on people. I'd rather make it two thousand, said Rowland. He had never really loved Muriel, and the idea of marrying her had been a nightmare to him. But he wanted to retreat with honour. Very well, make it two thousand if you like. Though I don't quite know how

36:37Old Harrison is going to carry all that money. As a matter of fact, Old Harrison never had to try. On thinking it over, after he had cashed Rowland's check, Mr. Windelberg came to the conclusion that seven hundred pounds would be quite as much money as it would be good for Miss Coppin to have all at once. Mr. Windelberg's knowledge of human nature was not at fault. Muriel jumped at the money and a letter in her handwriting in Formed Rowland next morning that his slate was clean. His gratitude to Mr. Windelberg redoubled. And now, said Mr. Windelberg, Genie, we can talk about that money of yours and the best way of investing it. What you want is something which, without being in any way, what is called speculative, nevertheless returns a fair and reasonable amount of interest. What you want is something sound, something solid, yet something with a bit of a kick to it, something which can't go down and may go soaring like a rocket.

37:39Rowland quietly announced that was just what he did want and they took another cigar. Now look here, Bleak my boy. As a general rule, I don't give tips, but I've taken a great fancy to you, Bleak, and I'm going to break my rule. Put your money, he sank his voice to a compelling whisper. Put every penny you can afford in a wildcat wreaths. He leaned back with the benign air of the alchemist who has just imparted to a favorite disciple that recently discovered secrets of the philosophers' stone. Thank you very much, Mr. Windelberg, said Rowland gratefully. I will. The Napoleonic features were lightened by that rare indulgent smile. Not a fast young man, laugh Mr. Windelberg. Getting into wildcat wreaths isn't quite so easy, as you seem to think. Shall we say that you proposed to invest £30,000?

38:46Yes, very well then, £30,000. Why have you got about that you were going to buy wildcat wreaths on that scale? The market would be convulsed. Which was perfectly true. If it had got about that anyone was going to invest £30,000 or pence in wildcat wreaths, the market would certainly have been convulsed. The house would have rocked with laughter. Wildcat wreaths were a standing joke, except the unfortunate few who still held any of the shears. The thing will have to be done very cautiously. No one must know. But I think, I say, I think I can manage it for you. Your awfully kind, Mr. Windelberg. Not at all my dear boy, not at all. The matter of fact, I shall be doing a very good turn to another pal of mine at the same time. He filled his glass. This, he paused to sip. This

39:53pal of mine has a large holding of wildcats. He wants to realise in order to put the money into something else, in which he is more personally interested. Mr. Windelberg paused. His mind dwelt for a moment on his overdrawn current account, the bank, in which he is more personally interested, he repeated dreamily. But of course, you couldn't unload £30,000 worth of wildcats in the public market. I quite see that, a scented Roland. It might, however, be done by private negotiation, he said. I must act very cautiously, give me your check for the 30,000 tonight, and I'll run up to town tomorrow morning and see what I can do. He did it. What hidden strings he pulled, what leave us he used, Roland did not know. All Roland knew was that somehow. By some subtle means, Mr. Windelberg brought it off. Two days later, his host handed him £20,000, £1 shares in the wildcat reef gold mine.

40:58Hey, my boy, he said, it's awfully kind of you, Mr. Windelberg. My dear boy, don't mention it. If your satisfied, I'm sure I am. Mr. Windelberg always spoke the truth when he could. He spoke it now. It seemed to Roland as the days went by that nothing could mar the pleasant, easy course of life at the Windelbirds. The fine weather, the beautiful garden, the pleasant company, all these things combined to make this sojourn an epoch in his life. He discovered his mistake one lovely afternoon as he sat smoking idly on the terrace. Mrs. Windelberg came to him, and a glance was enough to show Roland that something was seriously wrong. A face was drawn and tired. A moment before, Roland had been thinking

41:59life perfect. The only crumpled rose leaf had been the absence of an evening paper. Mr. Windelberg would bring one back with him when he returned from the city, but Roland wanted one now. He was a great follower of Country Cricket, and he wanted to know how sorry was ferrying against Yorkshire. But even this crumpled rose leaf had been smoothed out for Johnson the groom who happened to be riding into the nearest town on on Errand had promised to bring one back with him. He might appear at any moment now, the sight of his hostess drove all thoughts of sport out of his mind. She was looking terribly troubled. It flashed across Roland. That, both his host and hostess, had been unusually silent at dinner the night before. Later, passing Mr. Windelberg's room on his way to bed, he had heard their voices, low and agitated. Could they have had some bad news?

43:06Mr. Beak, I want to speak to you. Roland moved like a sympathetic cow and waited to hear more. You were not up on my husband left for the city this morning, or you would have told you, himself, Mr. Beak, I hardly know how to break it to you. Break it to me. My husband advised you to put very large sum of money in a mine called Wildcat Reefs. Yes, £30,000. As much as that, oh Mr. Beak, she began to cry softly. She pressed his hand. Roland gave tatter. Mr. Beak, there has been a terrible slump in Wildcat Reefs. Today, they may be absolutely worthless. Roland felt as if a cold hand had been laid on his spine. Were worthless, he stammered. Mrs. Windelberg looked at him with moist eyes. You can imagine how my husband feels about this. It was on his advice that you invested your money.

44:11He holds himself directly responsible. He is in a terrible state of mind. He is frantic. He has grown so fond of you, Mr. Beak, that he can hardly face the thought, that he has been the innocent instrument of your trouble. Roland felt that it was an admirable comparison. His sensations were precisely those of a leading actor in an earthquake. The solid earth seemed to melt under him. We talked it over last night after you gone to bed, and we came to the conclusion that there was only one honorable step to take. We must make good your losses. We must buy back those shares. A ray of hope began to steal over Roland's horizon. But he began. There are no buts, really, Mr. Beak. We shouldn't either of us know a minute's peace if we didn't do it. Now, you paid £30,000 for the shares, you said? Well, she held out a pink slip of paper to him.

45:19This will make everything alright. Roland looked at the check. But, but this is signed by you, he said. Yes, you see, if Geoffrey had to sign a check for that amount, it would mean selling out some of his stock. And in his position, with every movement watched by enemies, he cannot afford to do it. It might ruin the plans of years. But I have some money of my own. My selling out stock doesn't matter. You see, I have post-dated the check a week. To give me time to realise on the securities in which my money is invested. Roland's whole nature rose and revolted this sacrifice. If it had been his host who had made this offer, he would have accepted it. But, shivalry for bad is taking money from a woman. A glow of self-sacrifice warmed him. After all,

46:20what was this money of his? He had never had any fun out of it. He had had so little acquaintance with it that for all practical purposes it might never have been his. With a gesture, which had once impressed him very favourably, when exhibited on the stage by the hero of the number two company of the price of honour, which had paid a six days visit to Berries and Deadman's a few months before, he tore the check into little pieces. I couldn't accept it, Mrs. Windlebird, he said. I can't tell you how deeply I appreciate your wonderful kindness. But I really couldn't. I bought the shares of my eyes open. The whole thing is nobody's fault, and I can't that you suffer for it. After the way you've treated me here, it will be impossible. I can't take your money. It's noble and generous of you in the extreme, but I can't accept it.

47:25I've still got a little money left, and I've always been used to working for my living anyway. So it's all right. Mr. Bleak, I implore you. Roland was hideously embarrassed. He looked right and left for a way of escape. He could hardly take to his heels, and yet there seemed no other way of ending the interview. Then, with a start of relief, he perceived Johnson the groom, coming towards him, with the evening paper. Johnson said he was going into the town, said Roland, apologetically. So I asked him to get me an evening paper. I wanted to see the lunch scores. If he had been looking at his hostess, then, an action which he was strenuously avoiding. He might have seen a curious spasm pass over her face. This is Windlebird, turned very pale and sat down suddenly in the chair which Roland had vacated at the beginning of their conversation. She lay back in it with her eyes closed. She looked tired and defeated.

48:30Roland took the paper mechanically. He wanted it as a diversion to the conversation merely, for his interest in the doings of Surrey and Yorkshire, had waned to the point of complete indifference. In competition with Mrs. Windlebird's news, equally mechanically he unfolded it and glanced at front page. And as he did so, a flaring explosion of headlines smote his eye. Out of the explosion emerged the word, wild cats. Why, he exclaimed. There's columns about wild cats on the front page here. Yes? This is Windlebird's voice sounded strangely dull and toneless. Her eyes were still closed. Roland took in the headlines with starting eyes. The wild cat reef gold mine, another clon-dike, fended scenes on the stock exchange. Rokers fight for shares. Record boom unprecedented.

49:32Rise in prices. Short of all the perfluous adjectives and general journalistic exuberance. What the paper had to announce to its readers was this. The special commissioner sent out by the financial august to make an exhaustive examination of the wild cat reef mine, with the amiable view no doubts of exploding Mr. Jeffery Windlebird once and for all with the confiding British public, has found to his unbounded astonishment that there are vast quantities of gold in the mine. The discovery of the new reef, the largest and richest it has stated since the famous Mount Morgan occurred with dramatic appropriateness on the very day of his arrival. We need scarcity remind our readers that until that moment, wild cat reef shares had reached a very low figure, and only a few optimists retain their faith in the mine. As the largest holder Mr. Windlebird

50:39is to be heartily congratulated on this new addition to his fortune. The publication of the experts report in the financial august has resulted in a boom in wild cats. The like of which can seldom have been seen on the stock exchange. From something like one chilling on six spence per bundle, the one-pound shares have gone up to nearly ten pounds of share, and even at this latter figure people were literally fighting to secure them. The world swam about Roland. He was stupified and even terrified. The very atmosphere seemed foxy. So far as his reeling brain was capable of thought, he figured that he was now worth about £200,000. Oh Mrs. Windlebird, he cried. It's alright after all. Mrs. Windlebird sat back in her chair without answering. It's alright for everyone, scream Roland joyfully. Why, if I have made a couple

51:40of hundred thousand, what must Mr. Windlebird have netted? It says here that he is the largest holder. He must have pulled off the biggest thing of his life, he thought for a moment. The chap, I'm sorry for, he said meditatively. Is Mr. Windlebird's power? You know, the fellow whom Mr. Windlebird persuaded to sell all his shares to me. A faint moan escaped from his hostess his pale lips. Roland did not hear it. He was reading the cricket news. End of the episode of The Financial Napoleon, Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Chapter 3 of A Man of Means This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information not a volunteer, please visit Librivox.org.

52:43Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org. A man of means by Pigey Woodhouse and CH-Bovill, the episode of The theatrical venture. It was one of those hard, nubbly roles. Best restaurants charge you six months for having a good sense not to eat them. It hit Roland Bleak with considerable vehemence on the bridge of the nose. For a moment, Roland fancied that the roof of the region Grilrum must have fallen in. And as this would automatically put an end to the party, he was not altogether sorry. He had never been to a theatrical supper party before, and within five minutes of his arrival at the present one, he had become afflicted, with an intense desire never to go to a theatrical supper party again.

53:44To be a success at these gay gatherings, one must possess dash. And Roland, whatever his other sterling qualities, was a little short of dash. The young man on the other side of the table was quite nice about it. While not actually apologizing, he went so far as to explain that it was Old Jerry, whom he had had in his mind when he'd started the role on its course. After a glance at Old Jerry, a chineless child of about nineteen, Roland felt that it would be cherished to be angry with the young man, whose intentions had been so wholly admirable. Old Jerry had one of those faces in which any alteration. Even the comparatively limited one which a role would be capable of producing was bound to be for the better. He smiled, a sickly smile, and said that it didn't matter. The charming creature who sat on his assailants left, however, took a more serious view of the situation.

54:48Said me you make me tired, she said severely. If I had thought you didn't know how to act like a gentleman, I wouldn't have come here with you, go away somewhere, and throw bread at yourself, and ask Mr. Bleak to come and sit by me. I want to talk to him. That was Roland's first introduction to Miss Billy, the point. I've been wanting to have a chat with you all evening, Mr. Bleak, she said, as Roland blushingly sank into the empty chair. I've heard such a lot about you. What Miss Vier point had heard about Roland was that he had two hundred thousand pounds, and apparently did not know what to do with it. In fact, if I hadn't been told that you would be here, I shouldn't have come to this party. I can't stand these gatherings of nuts in May as a general rule. They bore me stiff.

55:49Roland hastily revised his first estimate of the theatrical profession. Shallow empty-headed creatures some of them might be no doubt, but there were exceptions. Here was a girl of real discernment, a thoughtful student of character, a girl who understood that a man might sit at a supper party, without uttering a word, and might still be a man of parts. I'm afraid you'll think me very outspoken, but that's me all over. All my friends say, believe me, the point's a funny girl. If she likes anyone, she just tells them so straight out. And if she doesn't like anyone, she tells them straight out, too, and a very admirable trait, said Roland enthusiastically. Miss Vierpoint sighed. Perhaps it is, she said, pensively, but I'm afraid its waters kept me back in my profession. Managers don't like it. They think girls should be seen and not heard. Roland's blood boiled. Managers were plainly a dastardly crew. But what's the good of worrying

56:54when Tom Miss Vierpoint with a brave but hollow laugh? Of course it's wearing, having to wait when one has got as much ambition as I have. But they all tell me that my chance is bound to come. Someday, the intense mournfulness of Miss Vierpoint's expression seemed to indicate that she anticipated the arrival of the desired day, not less than sixty years hence. Roland was profoundly moved. His chivalrous nature was up in arms. He fell to wondering if he could do anything to help this victim of managerial unfairness. You don't mind my going on about my troubles, do you? Miss Vierpoint solicitously. One so seldom meets anybody really sympathetic. Roland babbled, fervent assurances, and she pressed his hand gratefully. I wonder if you would care to come to tea one afternoon, she said. Her rather, said Roland. He would have liked to put it in a more polished way, but he was almost

58:01beyond speech. Of course I know what a busy man you are. No, no. Well I should be in tomorrow afternoon if you care to look in. Roland bleated gratefully. I'll write down the address for you. Said Miss Vierpoint suddenly business like. Exactly when he committed himself to the purchase of the Windsor Theatre, Roland could never say. The idea seemed to come into existence fully grown, without preliminary discussion. One moment it was not. The next it was. His recollections of the afternoon, which he spent drinking, lukewarm tea, and punctuating Miss Vierpoint's flow of speech with yeses and noes. Were always so thoroughly confused that he never knew even whose suggestion it was. The purchase of a West End Theatre, from one has the necessary cash, is not nearly such a

59:01complicated business as the layman might imagine. Roland was staggered by the rapidity, with which the transaction was carried through. The theatre was his, before he had time to realize that he had never meant to buy the thing at all. He had gone into the offices of Mr. Montague, with the intention of making an offer for the lease for, say, six months, and that wizard in a space of less than an hour had not only induced him to sign mysterious documents, which made him sole proprietor of the house. But had left him, with the feeling that he had done an extremely acute stroke of business. Mr. Montague had dabbled in many professions in his time, from street peddling upward. But what he was really best at was hypnotism. Although he felt, after the spell of Mr. Montague's magnetism was withdrawn, rather like a nervous man who has been given a large baby to

1:00:03hold by a strange woman, who has promptly vanished around the corner. Roland was to some extent consoled by the praise bestowed upon him by Miss Fearpoint. She said it was much better to buy a theatre than to rent it, because then you escaped the heavy rent. It was spacious, but Roland had a dim feeling that there was a floor somewhere in the reasoning. And it was from this point that a shadow may be said to have fallen upon the brightness of the venture. He would have been even less self-congratulatory, if he had known the Windsor Theatre's reputation. Being a comparative stranger in the Metropolis, he was unaware that its nickname in theatrical circles was the Muggs Graveyard, a title which had been bestowed upon it, not without reason. Built originally by a slightly insane

1:01:08old gentleman, whose principal delusion was that the public was pining for a constant supply of the higher drama, and more especially those specimens of the higher drama, which flowed practically without cessation, from the restless pen of the insane old gentleman himself. The Windsor Theatre had passed from hand to hand, with the agility of a gold watch in a gathering of race-course thieves. The one anxiety of the unhappy man who found himself by some accident in possession of the Windsor Theatre was to pass it on to somebody else. The only really permanent tenant it ever had was the representative of the official receiver. Various causes were assigned for the phenomenal ill- luck of the theatre, but undoubtedly the vital objection to it as a temple of drama lay in the fact that nobody could ever find the place where it was hidden.

1:02:14Cab men shook their heads on the rare occasions when they were asked to take a fair there. Explorers, to whom as stroll through the Australian bush was child's play, have been known to spend an hour on its trail and finish up at the point where they started. It was precisely this quality of elusiveness which had first attracted Mr Montague. He was a far-seeing man, and to him the topographical advantages of the theatre were enormous. It was further from a fire station and any other building of the same insurance value in London, even without having regard to the mystery, which enveloped its whereabouts. Often after a good dinner he would lean comfortably back in his chair and see in the smoke of his cigar a vision of the Windsor theatre blazing merrily. While distracted firemen galloped madly all over London, vainly endeavouring to get someone to direct

1:03:17them to the scene of the conflagration. So Mr Montague bought the theatre for a mere song and prepared to get busy. Unluckily for him the representatives of the various fire offices with which he had affected his policies got busy first. The generous fellows insisted upon taking off his shoulders the burden of maintaining the firemen whose permanent presence in a theatre is required by law. Nothing would satisfy them but to install firemen of their own and pay their salaries. This, to a man in whom the instincts of the Phoenix were so strongly developed, as they were in Mr Montague, was distinctly disconcerting. He saw himself making no profit on the deal, a thing which had never happened to him before, and then Roland Blyca Curde and Mr Montague's belief that his race was really chosen, was restored. He sold the Windsor theatre to Roland for £25,000.

1:04:21It was £15,000 more than he himself had given for it. And this very satisfactory profit mitigated the slight regret which he felt when it came to transferring to Roland the insurance policies. To have effected policies amounting to rather more than £70,000 on a building so notoriously valueless, as the Windsor theatre had been an achievement of which Mr Montague was justly proud. And it seemed sad to him that so much earnest endeavour should be thrown away. Over the little lunch with which she kindly allowed Roland to entertain her to celebrate the purchase of the theatre, Miss Fearpoint outlined her policy. What we must put up at the theatre she announced is a review, a review repeated Miss Fearpoint, making as she spoke little calculations on the back of the menu. We could run for about £1500 a week, or say £2000. Saying £2000

1:05:22thought Roland to himself is not quite the same as paying £2000. So why should she stint herself? I know two boys who could write as a topping review, said Miss Fearpoint. They'd spread themselves too if it was for me. They're in love with me, both of them. We'd better get in touch with them at once. To Roland there seemed to be something just the least bit sinister about the sound of that word touch, but he said nothing. Why there they are, lunching over there, cried Miss Fearpoint, pointing to a neighbouring table. Now isn't that lucky? To Roland the luck was not quite so apparent, but he made no demure to Miss Fearpoint's suggestion that they should be brought over to their table. The two boys, as to whose capabilities to write a topping review, Miss Fearpoint had formed so optimistic an estimate. Prove to be well-grown lads of about £45 and £40 respectively. Of the two, Roland thought that perhaps R. P. de Paris was a shade

1:06:26the more obnoxious. But a closer inspection left him with the feeling that these fine distinctions were a little unfair with men of such equal talents. Bromham Rhodes ran his friend so close that it was practically a dead heat. They were both fat and somewhat bulgy-eyed. This was due to the fact that what review-rising exacts from its exponents is a constant assimilation of food and drink. Bromham Rhodes had the largest appetite in London. But on the other hand, R. P. de Paris was a better drinker. Well dear old thing, said Bromham Rhodes. Well old child, said R. P. de Paris. Both these remarks were addressed to Miss Fearpoint. The talented pair appeared to be unaware of Roland's existence. Miss Fearpoint struck the business note. Now you start boys, she said. Ty waits to yourselves and sink down into those chairs. I want you two lads to write a review for me.

1:07:27Delighted, said Bromham Rhodes. But there is the trifling point to be raised first, said R. P. de Paris. Where is the money coming from, said Bromham Rhodes. My friend Mr. Bleek is putting up the money, said Miss Fearpoint with dignity. He has taken the Windsor Theatre. The interest of the two authors in their host, till then, languid, increased with the jerk. Has he by jove, they cried. We must get together and talk this over. It was Roland's first experience of a theatrical talking over, and he never forgot it. Too such talkers over, as Bromham Rhodes and R. P. de Paris, were scarcely to be found in the length and breadth of theatrical London. Nothing it seemed could the gifted pair even begin to think of doing, without first discussing the proposition in all its aspects. The amount of food which

1:08:32Roland found himself compelled to absorb during the course of these debates was appalling. Discussions which began at lunch would be continued until it was time to order dinner. And then, as likely as not, they would have to sit there till supper time in order to thrash the question thoroughly out. The collection of a cast was a matter even more complicated than the actual composition of the review. There was the almost insuperable difficulty that Miss Vier Point firmly vetoed every name suggested. It seemed practically impossible to find any man, or woman, in all England or America, whose peculiar gifts, or lack of them, would not interfere with Miss Vier Point's, giving a satisfactory performance of the principal role. It was all very perplexing to Roland, but as Miss Vier Point was an expert in theatrical matters, his guest he felt entitled to question her views. It was about this time that Roland proposed to

1:09:38Miss Vier Point, the passage of time and the strain of taking over the review, had to a certain extent moderated his original further. He had shaded off from a passionate devotion, through various diminishing tints of regard for her, into a sort of pale sunset glow of affection. His principal reason for proposing was that it seemed to him to be in the natural order of events. Her air towards him had become distinctly propiatorial. She now called him Rolly Poly in public, a proceeding which left him with mixed feelings. Also, she had taken to ordering him about. Which, as everybody knows, is an unmistakable sign of affection among ladies of the theatrical profession. Finally, in his chivalrous way, Roland had begun to feel a little apprehensive, lest he might be compromising Miss Vier Point. Everybody knew that he was putting up

1:10:39the money for the review in which she was to appear. They were constantly seen together at restaurants. People looked arch when they spoke to him about her. He had to ask himself, was he behaving like a perfect gentleman? The answer was in the negative. He took a cab to her flat and proposed before he could repent of his decision. She accepted him. He was not certain for a moment whether he was glad or sorry. But I don't want to get married, she went on, until I have justified my choice of a profession. You will have to wait until I have made a success in this review. Roland was shocked to find himself hugely relieved at this concession. The review took shape. They did apparently exist a handful of artiste, to whom Miss Vier Point had no objection. These, a scrubby but confident lot, were promptly engaged. Salo Americans sprang from nowhere with songs, dances and ideas

1:11:43for effects. Houseld hair and scenic artists wandered in with model scenes under their arms. A great cloud of chorus ladies settled upon the theatre-like flies. Even Bromham Rhodes and RP de Paris, those human pythons, showed signs of activity. They cornered Roland one day near Swanland Edgar's, steered him into the Piccadilly Grill Room, and over a hearty lunch, read him extracts from a brown paper-covered manuscript, which they informed him was the first act. It looked a battered sort of manuscript, and indeed it had every right to be. Under various titles and at various times, Bromham Rhodes and RP de Paris' first act had been refused by practically every responsible manager in London. As a water life, it had failed to satisfy the directors of the Empire. Recristened, wow, wow, it had been rejected by the El Hambra.

1:12:51The hipadrome had refused to consider it even under the name of Hello Sella Flap. It was now called Pasalon Please, and according to its authors, was a real review. Roland was to learn as the days went on, that in the world in which he was moving, everything was real review that was not stunt or a cooking effect. He floundered in a sea of real review, stunts, and cooking effects. As far as he could gather, the main difference between these things was that real review was something which had been stolen from some previous English production, whereas a stunt or a cooking effect was something which had been looted from New York. A judicious blend of these, he was given to understand, constituted the sort of thing the public wanted. Rehersals began, before in Roland's opinion, his little army was properly supplied with

1:13:54ammunition. Truth, they had the first act. But even the authors agreed that he wanted bringing up to date in parts. They explained that it was, in a manner of speaking, their life work. That they had actually started it about ten years ago, when they were careless lads. Inevitably it was spotted here and there, with smart topical hits of the early years of the century. But that they said would be alright, they could freshen it up in a couple of evenings. It was simply a matter of deleting allusions to pro-bores and substituting lines about Marconi shares and mangle-wersels. It'll be alright there, short, Roland. This is real review. In times of trouble, there is always a point of which one may say, here is the beginning of the end. This point came with Roland at the commencement of the rehearsals. Till then he had not fully realized

1:14:56the terrible nature of the production for which he had made himself responsible. Moreover, it was rehearsals which gave him his first clear insight into the character of Miss Vierpoint. Miss Vierpoint was not at her best at rehearsals. For the first time as he watched her, Roland found himself feeling that there was a case to be made out, for the managers who had so consistently kept her in the background. Miss Vierpoint, to use the technical term, threw her weight about. There were not many good lines in the script of Act I of Pasalong Please, but such as there were, she reached out for and grabbed away from their owners. Who retired into corners, scowling and muttering like dogs robbed of bones. She snubbed everybody. Roland included. Roland sat in the cold darkness of the stalls and watched her panic stricken,

1:15:56like an icy wave that had swept over him. What marriage with this girl would mean. He suddenly realized how essentially domestic his instincts really were. Life with Miss Vierpoint would mean perpetual dinners at restaurants, red throwing suppers, motor rides, everything that he hated most. Yet as a man of honour he was tied to her. If the review was a success she would marry him, and reviews he knew were always successes. At that very moment there were six best reviews in London running at various theatres. He shuddered the thought that in a few weeks there would be seven. He felt a longing for rural solitude. He wanted to be alone by himself for a day or two in a place where there were no papers with advertisements of reviews, no grill rooms, and above all, no Miss Vierpoint. That night he stole away to a Norfolk village, where in happier days he had once spent a summer holiday, a peaceful primitive place, where the inhabitants could not have told

1:16:59real review from a caulking effect. Here for the space for a week Roland lay in hiding, whilst his quivering nerves gradually recovered tone. He returned to London. Happier, but a little apprehensive. Beyond a brief telegram of farewell he had not communicated with Miss Vierpoint for seven days, and experienced had made him aware that she was a lady who demanded an adequate amount of attention. That his nervous system was not wholly restored to health, was born in upon him, as he walked along picketily on his way to his flat. For when somebody suddenly slapped him hard between the shoulder blades he uttered a stifled yell and leaped in the air. Turning to faces a silent, he found himself meeting the genial gaze of Mr Montague. His predecessor in the ownership of the Windsor Theatre. Mr Montague was effusively friendly, and for some mysterious reason congratulatory.

1:18:00You've done it, have you? You pulled it off, did you? And in the first month by George, and I took you for a plain ordinary mug of commerce, my boy or as deep as they make him. Who'd have thought it to look at you? It was the greatest idea anyone ever had, and staring in the face all the time and I never saw it. But I don't grudge it to you, you deserve it, my boy, you're a nut! I really don't know what you mean. Quite right, my boy! Clark, Mr Montague, you're quite right to keep it up, even among friends. It don't do to risk anything, and Lee said soon it's mended. He went on his way, leaving Roland completely mystified. Voices from his sitting room among which he recognised the high note of Miss Fear Point, reminded him of the ordeal before him. He entered, with what he hoped was a careless ease of manner, but his heart was beating fast. Since the opening of rehearsals he had acquired a wholesome respect for Miss Fear Point's tongue. She was sitting in his favourite chair.

1:19:06There were also present Bromham Rhodes and RP de Paris, who had made themselves completely at home with a couple of his cigars and whiskey from the oldest bin. So here are at last, said Miss Fear Point, queryllously. The valet told us you were expected back this morning, so he waited. Where on earth have you been to running away like this without a word? I only went, well it doesn't matter where you went, the main point is, what are you going to do about it? We thought we'd better come along and talk it over, said RP de Paris. A talk what over, said Roland, the review? Oh don't try and be funny for goodness sake, snap Miss Fear Point, it doesn't suit you. You have the right shape of head. What do you suppose you want to talk over the theatre, of course? What about the theatre? Miss Fear Point looks searchingly at him. Don't you ever read the papers? I haven't seen a paper since I went away. Well, better have it quick and not waste time breaking it gently, said Miss Fear Point.

1:20:09The theatre has been burned down, that's what's happened. Burn down? Burn down? repeated Roland. That's what I said didn't I? The suffragettes did it. They left copies of votes for women about the place, the silly asses set fire to two other theatres as well, and they happened to be in main thoroughfares and the fire brigade got them under control at once. I suppose they couldn't find the Windsor. Anyhow, it's burnt to the ground, and what we want to know is what you're going to do about it. Roland was much too busy blessing the good angels of Kingsway to reply at once. RP de Paris, sympathetic soul, placed a wrong construction on his silence. Poor old Roli, he said, it's quite broken him up. The best thing we can do is all go off and tuck it over at the Savoy, a ribbit of lunch. Well, said Miss Fear Point. What are you going to do? Rebuild the Windsor or try to get another theatre?

1:21:11The authors were all for rebuilding the Windsor, true it would take time. But it would be more satisfactory in every way. Besides, at this time of the year, it would be no easy matter to secure another theatre at a moment's notice. To RP de Paris and Bromham Rhodes, the destruction of the Windsor theatre had appeared less in the light of a disaster than as a direct intervention on the part of Providence. The completion of that Tysum Second Act, which had brooded over their lives like an ugly cloud, could now be postponed indefinitely. Of course, said RP de Paris, thoughtfully. Our contract with you makes it obligatory on you to produce our review by a certain date. But I'd say, Bromham, we could meet Roli there, couldn't we? Jaws, it roads. Something nominal. Say, I further, 500 on account of fees would satisfy us. I certainly think it would be better to rebuild the Windsor, though, do RP? I do agree, Roli de Paris, courtially. You see, Roli, our review has been written to fit the Windsor.

1:22:15It would be very difficult to alter it for production in another theatre. Yes, I feel that rebuilding the Windsor would be our best course, there was a pause. What do you think, Roli Poly? Ask Miss Fear Point as Roland made no sign. Nothing would delight me more than to rebuild the Windsor or to take another theatre, or to do anything else to oblige. He said, cheerfully. Unfortunately, I have no more money to burn. It was as if a bomb had suddenly exploded in the room. A dreadful silence fell upon his heroes. For the moment no one spoke. RP de Paris woke with a start out of a beautiful dream of Prawn Curry and Bromham Rhodes forgot that he had not tasted food for nearly two hours. Miss Fear Point was the first to break the silence. Do you mean to say, she gasped, that you didn't ensure the place? Roland shook his head. The particular form in which his Fear Point had put the question in

1:23:18title to me felt to make this answer. Why didn't you? Miss Fear Point's tone was almost menacing. Because it did not appear to me to be necessary. No, was it necessary, said Roland, to his conscience. Mr Montague had done all the ensuring that was necessary, and a bit over. Miss Fear Point fought with her growing indignation and lost. What about the salaries of the people who have been rehearsing all this time, she demanded? I'm sorry that they should be out of an engagement, but it's gistly my fault. However, I propose to give each of them a month's salary. I can manage that, I think. Miss Fear Point rose. And what about me? What about me? That's what I want to know. Where do I get off? If you think I'm going to marry you without you're getting a theatre and putting up this review, your drully well mistaken. Roland made a gesture which was intended to convey, regret and resignation. He even contrived to sigh.

1:24:18Very well then, said Miss Fear Point, rightly interpreting this behaviour as his final pronouncement on the situation. Then everything's jolly well off. She swept out of the room. The two authors, following in her wake, like poppices behind a liner. Roland went to his bureau, unlocked it, and took out a bundle of documents. He let his fingers stray lovingly among the fire insurance policies which the energetic Mr Montague had been at such pains to secure from so many companies. And so he said softly to himself, am I? End of chapter 3 The episode of The theatrical venture, read by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org Chapter 4

1:25:21Chapter 4, O'Man of Means This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information not a volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The episode of The live weekly. It was with a start that Roland Bleeke realised that the girl at the other end of the bench was crying. For the last few minutes, as far as his body was concerned, the story was about a man who was in the hospital. The episode of The live weekly It was with a start that Roland Bleeke realised that the girl at the other end of the bench was crying. For the last few minutes, as far as his preoccupation allowed him to notice them at all, he had been attributing the subdued sniffs to a summer cold, having just recovered from one himself. He was embarrassed. He blamed the fate that had led him to this particular bench. But he wished to give himself up to quiet deliberation on the question of what on earth he was to do

1:26:28with £250,000 to which figure is fortune had now risen. The sniffs continued. Roland's discomfort increased. Chivalry had always been his weakness. In the old days, on £140 a year, he had had few opportunities of indulging himself in this direction. But now it seemed to him sometimes that the whole world was crying out for assistance. Should he speak to her? He wanted to. But only a few days ago his eyes had been caught by the placard of a weekly paper, bearing the title of Squigs. On which in large letters was the legend, men who speak to girls. And he had gathered that the accompanying article was an enunciation rather than a eulogy of these individuals. On the other hand, she was obviously in distress.

1:27:35Another sniff decided him. I say you know, he said. The girl looked at him. She was small, and at the present moment had that air of the flower-ed, surprised whilst shrinking, which adds a good 33% to a girl's attractions. And now it was delicately tilted. A sudden palla added to her beauty. Roland's heart executed the opening steps of a buck and wing dance. Part in me, he went on. But you appear to be in trouble. Is there anything I can do for you? She looked at him again, a keen look, which seemed to get into her own soul and walk about it with a searchlight. Then, as if satisfied by the inspection, she spoke. No, I don't think there is, she said. Unless you happen to be the proprietor of a weekly paper with a woman's page and need an editorous for it, I don't understand. Well, that's all anyone

1:28:38could do for me. Give me back my work or give me something else of the same sort. Oh, have you lost your job? I have. So would you mind going away? Because I want to go on crying, and I do it better alone. You want my mate turning you out? I hope. But I was here first, and that heaps of other benches? No, but wait a minute. I want to hear about this. I might be able, but what I mean is, think of something. Tell me all about it. There is no doubt that the possession of £250,000 tones down a different man's dividends. Roll and began to feel almost masterful. Why should I? Why shouldn't you? There's something in there that said the girl reflectively. After all, you might know somebody. Well, as you want to know, I've just been discharged from a paper called Squibs. I used to edit the woman's page. Why, Jov, did you write that article on

1:29:42Men Who Speak? The hard manor in which she had wrapped herself as an agarment, vanished instantly. Her eyes softened, jeep blushed. Just a becoming pink, you know. You don't mean to say, you read it. I didn't think that anyone ever really read Squibs. Read it? cried Roll and recklessly abandoning truth. I should jolly well think so. I know it by heart. Do you mean to say that after an article like that, they actually sacked you? Through you out of the failure. Oh, that didn't send me away for incompetence. It was simply because they couldn't afford to keep me on. Mr. Petherham was very nice about it. Who's Mr. Petherham? Mr. Petherham's everything. He calls himself the editor. But he's really everything, except office boy, but I expect to be that next week. When I started with the paper,

1:30:46there was quite a large staff, but it got little down by degrees. Till there was only Mr. Petherham and myself. It was like the crew of the Nancy Bell. They got eaten one by one till I was the only one left. And now I've gone. Mr. Petherham is doing the whole paper now. How is it that he can't get anything better to do, Roll and said? He has done lots of better things. He used to be at the Carmelite House, but they thought he was too old. Roll and fault relieved. He conjured up a picture of a white haired elder with a fatherly manner. Oh, he's old, is he? 24. There was a brief silence. Something in the girl's expression, Stung Roll and she wore a wrapped look, as if she were dreaming of the absent Petherham and found him. He would show her that Petherham

1:31:47was not the only man worth looking wrapped about. He rose. Would you mind giving me your address, he said? Why, in order, said Roll and carefully, that I may offer you your former employment on squibs. I'm going to buy it. After all, your man of dash and enterprise, your Napoleon, does have his moments. Without looking at her, he perceived that he had bold her over, completely. Something told him that she was staring at him, open-mouthed. Meanwhile, a voice within him was murmuring anxiously. I wonder how my pthis is going to cost. You're going to buy squibs. Her voice had fallen away to an awestruck whisper. I am, she called. Well, I think you're wonderful. So did Roland. Where will let her find you,

1:32:52he asked? My name is March. Bessie March. I'm living at 27 Gilford Street. 27, thank you. Good morning. I will communicate with you in due course. He raised his hat and walked away. He had only gone a few steps when there was a pther of feet behind him. He turned. I just wanted to thank you, she said. Not at all, said Roland. Not at all. He went on his way, tingling with just triumph. Patherham, who was Patherham? Who in the name of goodness was Patherham? He had put Patherham in his proper place, he rather fancy. Patherham forsooth laughable, a copy of the current number of squibs purchased at a bookstore. Informed him after a minute search to find the editorial page, that the offices of the paper were in Fetter Lane. It was evidence of his exalted state of mind

1:33:55that he proceeded there in a cab. Pather Lane is one of those streets in which rooms that have only just escaped being cupboards by a few feet achieve the dignity of offices. There might have been space to swing a cat in the editorial sanctum of squibs, but it would have been a near thing. As for the outer office in which a vacant face lad of fifteen received Roland and instructed him to wait while he took his card in to Mr. Patherham. It was a mere box, Roland was afraid to expand his chest for fear of bruising it. The boy returned to say that Mr. Patherham would see him. Mr. Patherham was a young man with a mop of hair and that air of almost painful restraint. He was in his shirt sleeves and the towel before him was heaped high with papers. Opposite him evidently in the act of taking his leave

1:34:57was a comfortable looking man of middle age with a red face and a short beard. He left as Roland entered and Roland was surprised to see Mr. Patherham spring to his feet, shake his fist at the closing door and kick the wall with a vehement which brought down several inches of discolored plaster. Take a seat, he said, when he had finished this performance. What can I do for you? Roland had always imagined that editors in their private offices were less easily approached and when approached more brusque. The fact was that Mr. Patherham, whose optimism nothing could quench have mistaken him for a prospective advertiser. I want to buy the paper, said Roland. He was aware that this was an abrupt way of approaching the subject but after all he did want to buy the paper, so why not say so?

1:35:59Mr. Patherham fizzed in his chair. He glowed with excitement. Do you mean to tell me there's a single bookstall in London which is sold out? Great Scott! Perhaps they've all sold out. How many did you try? I mean by the whole paper, it become proprietor, you know, Roland felt that he was blushing and hated himself for it. He ought to be carrying this thing through with an air Mr. Patherham looked at him blankly. Why, he asked. No, I don't know, said Roland. He felt the interview was going all wrong. It lacked a state cleanness which this kind of interview should have had. Honestly, said Mr. Patherham. You aren't pulling my leg, Roland nodded. Mr. Patherham appeared to struggle with his conscience and finally worsted right. For his next remarks were limply honest. Don't you be an ass, he said. You don't know what you're letting yourself in for. Did you see that

1:37:03lighter who went out just now? Do you know who he is? That's the fellow. We've got to pay five pounds a week too for life. Why? You can't get rid of him. When the paper started, the proprietors, not the present ones, thought it would give the thing a boom if they had a football competition with a first prize of a five-hour a week for life. Well, that's the man who won it. He's been handed down as a legacy from proprietor to proprietor till now we've got him. Ages ago, they tried to get him to compromise for a lump sum down, but he wouldn't. Said he only spammed it and preferred to get it by the week. Well, at the time we've paid that vampire, there isn't much left out of our profits. That's why we are at the present moment a little

1:38:04understaffed. A frown clouded Mr. Petherham's brow. Rund wondered if he was thinking of Bessie March. I know all about that, he said. Had you still wanted to buy the thing? Yes. But what on earth for? Why do I ought not to be grabbing my own paper like this, but you seem a good chap, and I don't want to see you landed? Why are you doing it? No, it's for fun. Ah, now you're talking. If you can afford expensive amusement, go ahead. He put his feet on the table and lit a short pipe. His gloomy views on the subject of squibs gave way to a wave of optimism. You know, he said, there's really a lot of life in the old rag yet. If it were properly run, what has amputers has been lack of capital. We haven't been able to

1:39:06advertise. I'm bursting with ideas for booming the paper. Only naturally you can't do it for nothing. As for editing, what I don't know about editing, but perhaps you've got somebody else in your mind. Oh no, no, Zerolland, who would not have known an editor from an office boy. The thoughts of interviewing prospective editors appalled him. Very well then, resume Mr. Petherham. Reassured, kicking over a heap of papers to give more room for his feet. Take it that I continue as editor. We can discuss terms later. Under the present regime, I have been doing all the work in exchange for a happy home. I suppose you won't want to spoil the ship for a heap of thuv'tar. In other words, you would sooner have a happy, well-fade editor running about the place that have broken down

1:40:08wreck, who might spoon from starvation. At about one moment, Zerolland, are you sure that the present proprietors will want to sell? Want to sell, quite Mr. Petherham enthusiastically. Why, if they know you want to buy, you have as much chance of getting away from them without the paper, as as well, I can't think of anything that has such a poor chance of anything. If you aren't quick on your feet, they'll cry on your shoulder. Come along, we'll round them up now. He struggled into his coat and gave his hair an impatient brush with a notebook. There's just one other thing, Zerolland. I've been a regular reader of scripts for some time, and I particularly admire the way in which the woman's page you mean you want to re-engage the editor's. Rather, you couldn't do better. I was going to suggest it myself. Now, come along quick before you change your mind or wake up.

1:41:15Within a very few days of becoming sole proprietor of squibs, Zerolland have begun to feel much as a man might. Who, an obvious at the art of steering cars, should find himself at the wheel of a runaway motor? Young Mr. Petherham had spoken nothing less than the truth, when he had said that he was full of ideas for booming the paper. The infusion of capital into the business acted on him like a powerful stimulant. He exuded ideas at every poor, Zerolland's first notion had been to engage a staff of contributors. He was under the impression that contributors were the lifeblood of a weekly journal. Mr. Petherham corrected this view. He consented to the purchase of a lurid serial story, but that was the last concession he made. Nobody could accuse Mr. Petherham of lack of energy. He was willing even anxious to write the whole paper himself, with the exception of the woman's page now rightly conducted once more by Miss March. What he wanted Roman to concentrate himself upon

1:42:22was the supplying of capital for ingenious advertising schemes. How would it be, he asked one morning? He always began his remarks with how would it be? If we paid a man to walk down Picadilly in white skin types, with the word squibs painting red letters across his chest, Roland thought it would certainly not be. Good sound advertising stunt, Mr. Petherham. You don't like it. All right, you're the boss. Well, how would it be to have a squad of men, dressed as Zulos, with white shields bearing the legend squibs? See what I mean? Have them sprinting along the strand shouting, wow, wow, wow, buy it, buy it. If we make people talk, Roland emerged from these interviews with his skin crawling with modest apprehension. His was a retiring nature and the thought of Zulos sprinting down the strand shouting, wow, wow, buy it, buy it, with reference to his personal

1:43:26property, appalled him. He was beginning now heartily to regret having bought the paper. As he generally regretted every definite step which he took. The glow of romance which had sustained him during the preliminary negotiations had faded entirely. A girl has to be possessed of unusual charm to continue to captivate B when she makes it plain daily that her heart is the exclusive property of A. And Roland had long since ceased to cherish any delusion that Bessie March was ever likely to feel anything but a mild liking for him. Young Mr. Pedram had obviously staked out an indisputable claim. Her attitude towards him was that of an affectionate devotee towards a high priest. One morning entering the office unexpectedly, Roland found her kissing the top of Mr. Pedram's head. And from that moment his interest in the fortunes of squibs sank to zero.

1:44:30It amazed him that he could ever have been idiot enough to have allowed himself to be entangled in this insane venture, for the sake of an insignificant looking bit of a girl, with a snout nose and a poor complexion. What particularly gold him was the fact that he was throwing away good cash for nothing. It was true that his capital was more than equal to the, on the whole, modest demands of the paper. But that did not alter the fact that he was wasting money. Mr. Pedram always talked buoyantly about turning the corner, but the corner always seemed just as far off. The old idea of flight to which he invariably had recourse in any crisis came upon Roland with irresistible force. The pact of aggr went to Paris. There in the discomforts of life in a foreign country he contrived for a month to forget his white elephant. He returned by the

1:45:31evening train which deposits the traveler in London in time for dinner. Strangely enough, nothing was further from Roland's mind than his bright weekly paper, as he sat down to dine in a crowded grill room neepig of the circus. Four weeks of acute torment in the city when nobody seemed to understand the simplest English sentence had driven squibs completely from his mind for the time being. The fact that such a paper existed was brought home to him with the coffee, a note was placed upon his table by the attentive waiter. What's this? He asked. The ladies are. Said the waiter vaguely. Roland looked around the room excitedly. The spirit of Roland's gripped him. There were many ladies present. For this particular restaurant was a favourite with artists who were permitted to look in their theatres as late as 830. None of them looked particularly self-conscious. Yet one of them had sent him this quite unsolicited

1:46:34tribute. He tore open the envelope. The message written in a flowing feminine hand was brief. And this is grundy herself. Could have taken no exception to it. Squibs. One penny weekly, quiet, it ran. All the mellowing effects of a good dinner passed away from Roland. He was feverishly irritated. He paid his bill and left the place. A visit to a neighbouring music hall occurred to him as a suitable servant. Hardly had his nerves ceased to quiver sufficiently to allow him to begin to enjoy the performance. When in the interval between two of the turns. A man rose in one of the side boxes. Is there a doctor in the house? There was a hush in the audience. All eyes were directed towards the box. A man in the stalls rose, blushing and cleared his throat. My wife has fainted,

1:47:35continued the speaker. She has just discovered that she has lost her copy of squibs. The audience received the statement with the bovine's validity of an English audience in the presence of the unusual. Not so Roland. Even as the purposeful-looking chuckers out, winded their leopard-like steps towards the box, he was rushing out into the street as he stored cooling his indignation in the pleasant breeze which had sprung up. He was aware of a dense crowd proceeding towards him. It was headed by an individual who shone out against the drab background like a good deed in a naughty world. Nature had framed strange fellows in her time, but this one was one of the strangest that Roland's bulging eyes had ever rested upon. He was a large stout man, comfortably clad in a suit of white linen, relieved by a scarlet squibs across the bosom. His top hat, at least four sizes larger than any top hat worn out of a pantomime, flaunted the same word in letters of flame.

1:48:40His umbrella, which though the weather was fine, he carried open above his head, bore the device one penny weekly. The arrest of this person by a vigilant policeman and Roland's dive into a taxi cab occurred simultaneously. Roland was blushing all over, his head was in a whirl. He took the evening paper handed in through the window of the cab quite mechanically, and it was only the strong exaltations of the vendor, which eventually induced him to pay for it, with his he did with a sovereign and the cab drove off. He was just thinking of going to bed several hours later when it occurred to him that he had not read his paper. He glanced at the first page. The middle column was devoted to a really capital written account of the proceedings of Bow Street, consequent upon the arrest of six men, who it was alleged, had caused a crowd to collect to the disturbance of the peace, by parading the strand in the undress of Zulu warriors,

1:49:40shouting in unison the words, wah wah wah, by squibs, young Mr. Petherham greeted Roland, with a joyous enthusiasm which the hound argus on the return of Ulysses might have equaled, but could scarcely have surpassed. It seemed to be Mr. Petherham's considered opinion that God was in his heaven and all was right with the world. Roland's attempts to correct this belief fell on deaf ears. Have I seen the advertisements? He cried echoing his editors first question, I've seen nothing else. There, Mr. Petherham proudly, it can't go on. Yes, it can, don't worry. I know there are rest it as fast as we send them out, but bless you, the supplies endless, ever since the review boom started, and actors were expected to do six different parts in seven minutes. There are platoons of music called pros. Hanging about the strand, ready to take any sort of job you offer them. I have a special staff flushing the bedegas. These fellows love it,

1:50:42it's meat and drink to them to be right in the public eye like that, makes them feel ten years younger. It's wonderful the talent-bucking about. Those zoolos used to have a steady job as the six brothers, biffs, society contortionists. The review of craes killed them professionally, they cried like children when we took them on. By the way, could you put through an expensive check before you go? The fines might have a bit, but don't you worry about that either. We're coining money. I'll show you the returns in a minute. I told you we should turn the corner. Turned it. Lay me. We whizzed around it on two wheels. I've had time to see the papers since you got back. No, then you haven't seen our new scandal page. We just want to know, you know, it's a corkut, and it sent the circulation up like a rocket. Everybody reads squibs now. I was hoping you'd come back soon. I wanted to ask you about taking new offices. We're a bit above this sort of thing now. Roland, meanwhile, was reading with horrified eyes. The alleged

1:51:43corkings scandal page. It's into him, without exception, the most frightful production he had ever seen. It appalled him. This is awful, he moaned. We slept a hundred libel actions. Oh, no, that's all right. It's all fake stuff. But the public doesn't know it. If he's got to real scandals, you wouldn't get a par a week. A more moral set of blameless waitsters and the blighters to constitute modern society, you never struck. But he reads all right, doesn't it? Of course. Every now and then one does hear something genuine. And then it goes in. For instance, have you ever heard of Percy Pooke the Bookie? I have got a real ripe thing in about Percy this week. The absolute limpid truth. It will make him sit above it. They're suddenly your thumb. Roland removed his thumb and having read the paragraph in question, started as if he had removed it from a snake. But this is bound to mean a libel action he cried. Not a bit of it, said Mr. Petherham comfortably. You don't know Percy. I won't bore you with his

1:52:48life history, but take it from me. He doesn't rush into a court of law from sheer love of it. You're safe enough, but it appeared that Mr. Pooke, though coy in the matter of cleansing his scutching before a judge in jury, was not holy without weapons of defence and offence. Arriving at the office next day, Roland found a scene of desolation, in the middle of which, like Marius among the ruins of Carthage, said Jimmy, the vacant faced office boy. Jimmy was reading an illustrated comic paper. He had appeared undisturbed by his surroundings. He's gone, he observed, looking up as Roland entered. What do you mean, Roland snapped at him? Who's gone and where did he go? And besides that, when you speak to your superiors, you will rise and stop chewing that infernal gun. It gets on my nerves. Jimmy neither rose nor really increased his gun. He took his time and answered. Mr. Patherham, a couple of fellas,

1:53:51come in and went through. There was an uproar in someone there, and presently out they come running. And I went in, and there was Mr. Patherham on the floor, knocked silly, and the furniture all broke, and now he's gone to hospital. Those fellas have been put in him for it popper. Concluded Jimmy with moody relish. Roland sat down weekly. Jimmy, his tail told, resumed the study of his illustrated paper. Silence reigned in the offices of squibs. It was broken by the arrival of Miss Marge. Her exclamation of astonishment at the sight of the wrecked room led to a repetition of Jimmy's story. She vanished on hearing the name of the hospital, to which the stricken editor had been removed. And returned an hour later with flashing eyes and a set jaw. Aubrey, she said, it was news to Roland that Mr. Patherham's name was Aubrey, is very much knocked about, but he is conscious in sitting up and taking nourishment.

1:54:53That's good. In a spoon only, ah, said Roland. The doctor says he will not be out for a week. Aubrey is certain that it was that horrible bookmakers man who did it. But of course he can prove nothing. But his last words to me were, slip it into Percy again this week. He's given me one or two things to mention. I don't understand them, but Aubrey says they will make him wild. Roland's flesh crept. The idea of making Mr. Pooke any wilder than he appeared to be a present horrified him. Panic gave him strength. And he addressed Miss Marge, who was looking, more like a modern Joan of Arc than anything else on earth, firmly. Miss Marge, he said, I realize that this is a crisis, and that we must do all we can for the paper. And I am ready to do anything in reason. But I will not slip it into Percy. You have seen the effects of slipping it into Percy. What he or his minions will do if you repeat the process, I do not care to think.

1:55:56You are afraid, yes, said Roland simply. Miss Marge turned on a heel. It was plain that she regarded him as a worm. Roland did not like being thought a worm, but it was infinitely better than being regarded as an interesting case by the House Surgeon of a Hospital. He belonged to the School of Thought, which holds that it is better that people should say of you, and there he goes, then that they should say, how peaceful he looks. Stress of work prevented further conversation. It was a revelation to Roland, the figure and energy with which Miss Marge threw herself into the breach. As a matter of fact, so tremendous have been the labors of the departed Mr. Petherham. Let's her work was more apparent than real. Thanks to Mr. Petherham, there was a sufficient supplier material in hand to enable squibs to run a fortnight on its own momentum. Roland, however, did not know this. And with a view to doing what notally could to help, he informed Miss Marge that he would write the scandal page. It must be added that the offer was

1:56:59due quite as much to prudence as to shivalry. Roland simply did not dare to trust her with the scandal page. In her present mood, it was not safe. Disleaf it into Percy, what he felt, be with her the work of a moment. Literary composition had never been Roland's forte. He sat and stared at the white paper and chewed the pencil which should have been marring its whiteness with stinging paragraphs. No sort of idea came to him. His brow-good group, his brow-grooved damp. What sort of people except bookmakers did think you could write scandal about? As far as he could ascertain nobody. He picked up the morning paper. The name Windlebird caught his eye. He is a character in the second episode of Forgellant and a kind of pleasant melancholy came over him as he read the paragraph. How long ago it seemed. Since he had met that genial financier, the paragraph was not particularly interesting. It gave a

1:58:01brief account of some large deal which Mr. Windlebird was negotiating. Roland did not understand a word of it, but it gave him an idea. Mr. Windlebird's financial standing he knew was above suspicion. Mr. Windlebird had made that clear to him during his visit. There could be no possibility of offending Mr. Windlebird by a paragraph or two about the manners and customs of financiers. Preces which is kindly hosted use during his visit came back to him and with them inspiration. Within five minutes he'd compiled the following. We just want to know you know, who is the eminent financier at present engaged upon one of his biggest deals. Whether the public would not be well advised to look a little close-saint at before investing their money. If it is not a fact that this gentleman has bought a first class ticket to the Argentine in case of accidents. Whether he may not have to use it at any moment. After that it was easy.

1:59:06Ideas came with a rush by the end of an hour he had completed a scandal page of which Mr. Petherham himself might have been proud. Without a suggestion of slipping it into Percy, if Elty could go to Mr. Pooke and say, Percy, your honours of British bookmaker, have I slipped it into you in any way whatsoever? Mr. Pooke would be compelled to reply, you have not. Miss March read the proofs of the page and sniffed. But Miss March's blood was up and she would have sniffed at anything not directly hostile to Mr. Pooke. A week later Roland sat in the office of squids reading a letter. It had been sent from number 14 A Reims buildings, EC. But from Roland's point of view it might have come direct from heaven. For its contents, signed by Harrison, Harrison, Harrison and Harrison, servicitors, were to the effect that a client of theirs had instructed them. To approach him with a view to

2:00:07purchasing the paper, he would not find their client disposed to haggle over terms, so hoped Mrs. Harrison, Harrison, Harrison and Harrison in the event of Roland being willing to sell they could speedily bring matters to a satisfactory conclusion. Any conclusion which had left him free of squids without actual pecunary loss would have been satisfactory to Roland. He had conceived a loathing for his property, which not even its steadily increasing sales could mitigate. He was around at Mrs. Paris's office as soon as a swift taxi could take him there. The lawyers were for spinning the thing out with guarded remarks and cautious pre-hambles. But Roland's methods of doing business were always rapid. In his chat he said, this fellow who wants to buy squids, what will he give? That, began one of the Harrison's ponderously, would, of course, largely depend. I'll take 5,000 lock stock and barrel, including the present staff, and even 5,000. How's that? 5,000 is a large.

2:01:09Take it or leave it. My dear sir, you hold a pistol to our heads. However, I think that our client might consider the some you mention? Good. Well, the regular I can check the things he is. By the way, who is your client? Mr. Harrison, coughed. His name, he said, will be familiar to you. He is the eminent financier, Mr. Jeffrey Wintelberg. End of chapter 4 of A Man of Means. Read by Timberl Cle of BigBible.org Chapter 5 of A Man of Means. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, not a volunteer, these visit Librivox.org.

2:02:10Recording by Timberl Cle of BigBible.org. A man of means by PG would house and CH-Boffel, the diverting episode of the Exiled Monarch. The couch-ooc was drawing all London. Slightly more indecent than the Salomi dance, a shade less reticent than rack-time. It had driven the tango out of existence, nor indeed did anybody actually couch-ooc. For the National Dance of Paranoia, contained 315 recognized steps, about everybody tried to. A new review, hello couch-ooc, had been produced with success, and the pioneer of the dance, the Piles Maraquita, a native Paranoian, still performed it nightly at the music hall where she had first broken loose. The couch-ooc fascinated Roland Bleeg. Maraquita fascinated him more, of all the women to whom he had lost his heart at first sight, Maraquita had made the firmest impression upon him. She was what is sometimes called a fine woman. She had large, flashing eyes,

2:03:13the physique of a rugby international forward, and the agility of a cat on hot bricks. There is a period of about 50 steps somewhere in the middle of the 315, where the patient abandoning the comparative decorum of the earlier movements whizzes about till she looks like a salmon-colored whirlwind. That was the bit that hit Roland. Night after night he sat in his stage-box. Goggling at Maraquita, and applauding wildly. One night an attendant came to his box. Excuse me, sir, but are you Mr. Roland Bleeg? The senior-return Maraquita, wishes to speak to you. He held open the door of the box. The possibility of refusal did not appear to occur to him. Behind the scenes at that theatre it was generally recognised that when the peerless one wanted a thing, she got it. Quick! They were alone. With no protective footlights between himself and her, Roland came to the conclusion that he had made a mistake. It was not that she was any less beautiful at very close quarters, imposed by the limits of the dressing room.

2:04:15But he felt that in falling in love with her, he had undertaken a contract a little too large for one of his quiet, different nature. Across his mind, with a sort of woman he really liked, was the rather small drooping type. Dynamite would not have made Maraquita droop. For perhaps a minute and a half Maraquita fixed her compelling eyes on his without uttering a word. Then she broke a painful silence with this leading question. You love me, Hein? Roland nodded feebly. When men make love to me, I send them away, so. She waved her hand toward the door and Roland began to feel almost chiffle again. He was to be dismissed with a caution, after all. The woman had a fine forgiving nature. But not you. Not me. No, not you. You are the man I have been waiting for. I read about you in the paper, senior bleak. I see your picture in the Daily Mirror. I say to myself, what a man!

2:05:16Those picture paper photographs always make one look rather weird, mumble, Roland. I see you nice after night in your box. Poof, I love you. Oh, thanks awfully, Vita Drolland. You would do anything for my sake, Hein? I knew you were that kind of man directly. I see you, no? As she added, as Roland rived un-easily in his chair. Do not embrace me. You later, yes, but now, no, not until the great day. What the great day might be, Roland could not even faintly conjecture. He could only hope that he would also be a remote one. And now, said the senior reader, throwing a cloak about her shoulders. You come away with me to my house. My friends are there awaiting us. They will be glad and proud to meet you. After his first inspection of the house and the friends, Roland came to the conclusion that he

2:06:18preferred Maraquita's room to her company. The former was large and airy, the latter with one exception, small and hairy. The exception, Maraquita addressed as Bombito. He was a conspicuous figure. He was one of those, outsize, hasty-looking men, one suspected him of carrying lethal weapons. Maraquita presented Roland to the company. The native speech of paranoia sounded like shorthand with a blend of Spanish. An expert could evidently squeeze a good deal of it into a minute. Its effect on the company was good. They were manifestly soothed, even Bombito. Introductions in detail then took place. This time, for Roland's benefit, Maraquita spoke in English, and he learned that most of those present were marquisses. Before him, so he gathered from Maraquita, stored the very flower of paranoia's aristocracy,

2:07:20driven from their native land by the infamy of 1905. Roland was too polite to inquire what an earth the infamy of 1905 might be, but its mention had a marked effect on the company, some scowled, others uttered deep-throated ores. Bombito did both. Before supper, to which they presently sat down was over, however, Roland knew a good deal about paranoia and its history. The conversation conducted by Maraquita, a to a ceaseless bush-plane, a accompaniment from her friends, bore exclusively upon the subject. Paranoia had it appeared, existed fairly peacefully for centuries, under the rule of the Alejandro dynasty. Then in the reign of Alejandro the 13th, disaffection had begun to spread, culminating in the infamy of 1905, which Roland had at last discovered, was nothing less than the abolition of the monarchy and the installation of a republic.

2:08:22Since 1905, the one thing for which they had lived, besides the Couchuk, was to see the monarchy restored, and their beloved Alejandro the 13th, back on his throne. Their efforts toward this end had been untiring, and were at last showing signs of bearing fruit. Paranoia, Maraquita assured, Roland, was honey-cowned with intrigue. The army was disaffected. The people anxious for a return of the old order of things. A more propitious moment for striking the decisive blow was never likely to arrive. The question was purely one of funds. At the mention of the word funds, Roland, who had become thoroughly bored with the lecture on Paranoian history, sat up and took notice. He had an instinctive feeling that he was about to be called upon, for a subscription to the cause of the distrustful country's freedom, especially by Bonbito.

2:09:27He was right. A moment later Maraquita began to make a speech. She spoke in Paranoian, and Roland could not follow her, but he gathered that it somehow had referenced to himself. As at the end of it, the entire company rose to their feet and extended their glasses toward him with a mighty shout. He assumed that Maraquita had been proposing his health, as they say, to the liberator of Paranoia, kindly translated the peerless one. You must excuse, said Maraquita tolerantly, as a bevy of patriots surrounded Roland and kissed him on the cheek. They are so grateful to the savior of our country. I myself would kiss you when it not that I have sworn that no man's lips shall touch mine till the royal standard floats once more above the palace of Paranoia. But that will be soon,

2:10:33very soon, she went on. With you on our side we cannot fail. What did the woman mean? Roland asked himself wildly. Did she labor under the distressing delusion that he proposed to shed his blood on behalf of a deposed monarch, to whom he had never been introduced? Maraquita's next remarks made them at a clear. I have told them, she said, that you love me, that you are willing to risk everything for my sake. I have promised them that you, the rich Senor Blic, will supply the funds for the revolution. Once more comrades, to the savior of Paranoia, Roland tried his hardest to catch the infection of this patriotic enthusiasm. But somehow he could not do it.

2:11:34Base, sorted, mercenary speculations would intrude themselves. About how much was a good well furnished revolution likely to cost. As delicately as he could, he put the question to Maraquita. She said, puff the cost, lala, which was all very well, but hardly set his factory as a business chat. However, that was all Roland could get out of her. The next few days passed for Roland in the sort of dream. It was the kind of dream which it is not easy to distinguish from a nightmare. Maraquita's reticence at the supper party on the subject of details connected with the financial side of revolutions entirely disappeared. She now talked nothing but figures. And from the confused mass which she presented to him, Roland was able to gather, that, in financing the restoration of royalty in Paranoia, he would indeed be risking everything

2:12:36for her sake. In the matter of revolutions, Maraquita was no niggard. She knew how the thing should be done, well or not at all. There would be so much for rifles, machine guns and whatnot. There would be so much for the expense of smuggling them into the country. Then there would be so much to be laid out in corrupting the Republic of Army. Roland brightened a little when they came to this item, as the standing army of Paranoia amounted to 20,000 men, and as it seemed possible to corrupt it thoroughly at a cost of about 30 shillings ahead. The obvious cause to Roland's way of thinking was to concentrate on this side of the question and avoid unnecessary bloodshed. It appeared, however, that Maraquita did not want to avoid bloodshed. That she rather liked to bloodshed. That the leaders of the revolution would be disappointed if there were no bloodshed, especially in Bombito. Unless, she pointed out, there was a certain amount of carnage, looting and so on. The revolution would not achieve a popular success. True, the beloved and a

2:13:41chandelier might be restored, but he would sit upon a throne that was insecure, and as the coronation festivities took a bloodthirsty turn. By all means, said Maraquita, corrupt the army, but not at the risk of making the affair tame and unpopular. Paranoia was an emotional country, and liked its revolutions with a bit of zip to them. It was about ten days after he had definitely cast in his lot with the revolutionary party, that Roland was made aware that these things were a little more complex. Then he had imagined. He had reconciled himself to the financial outlay. It had been difficult, but he had done it. That his person as well as his purse would be placed in peril, he had not foreseen. The fact was born in upon him at the end of the second week by the arrival of the deputation. It blew in from the street, just as he was enjoying his after-dinner cigar.

2:14:41It consisted of three men, one long and suave, the other two short, stout and silent. They all had the cello complexion and undue herriness, which he had come by this time to associate with the native of Paranoia, but for a moment he must took them for a drove of exiled nobleman, whom he had not had the pleasure of meeting at the supper-party, and he waited residedly for them to make nitidious with the royal anthem. He poised himself on his toes, the more readily to spring a sigh if they should try to kiss him on the cheek. Mr. Bleek said the long man, his companions drifted towards the cigar box which stood open on the table, and looked at it wistfully. Long here with the monarchy, said Roland wearily. He had gathered in the course of his dealings with the exiled ones that this remark generally went well. On the present occasion it elicited no outburst of cheering. On the contrary, the long man frowned and his two companions helped themselves to a handful of cigars apiece, with a marked moodiness. Death to the monarchy

2:15:46corrected the long man coldly. And he added with a wealth of meaning in his voice, to all who meddled in the affairs of our beloved country, and seek to do it arm. I-I don't know what you mean, said Roland. Yes, Senor Bleek, you do know what I mean. I mean that you will be well advised, to abandon the schemes which you are hatching with the malcontents, who would do my beloved land. An injury. The conversation was growing awkward. Roland had got so into the habit of taking it for granted that every paranoian he met must of necessity be a devotee of the beloved Alejandro, that he came as a shock to him to realize that there were those who objected to his restoration to the throne. Till now he had looked on the enemy as something in the abstract. It had not struck him that the people

2:16:47for whose correction he was buying all these rifles and machine guns were individuals with a lively distaste for having their blood shed. Senor Bleek resumed the speaker, frowning at one of his companions, whose hand was hovering above the bottle of the cure brandy. You are a man of sense. You know what is safe and what is not safe. Believe me, this scheme of yours is not safe. You have been led away. But there is still time to withdraw. Do so and all is well. Do not so, and your blood be upon your own head. My blood, gasp, Roland, the speaker bowed. That is all, he said. We merely came to give the warning. Ah, Senor Bleek, do not be rash. You think that here in this great London of yours you are safe. You look at the policeman upon the corner of the road and you say to yourself, I am safe. Believe me. Not at all so it is, but much the opposite. We have ways by which it is of no

2:17:52account the policeman on the corner of the road. That is all, Senor Bleek. We wish you a good night. The deputation withdrew. Maraquita informed of the incident snapped her fingers and said, poof! It sometimes struck Roland that she would be more real help in a difficult situation. If she could get out of the habit of saying, poof! It is nothing, she said. No, is it, Roland? We easily outtric them, isn't it? You make a will leaving your money to the cause, then, where are they, hung? It was one way of looking at it, but it brought Club Barm to Roland. He said so. Maraquita scanned his face keenly. You are not weakening, Roland, she said. You would not betray us now. Well, of course, I don't know about betraying. You know, but still, what I mean is, Maraquita's eyes seem to shoot forth two flames.

2:18:54Take care, she cried. With me it is nothing, for I know that your heart is with paranoia. But if the others once had caused to suspect that your resolve was failing, ah, if Bombito! Roland took her point. He had forgotten Bombito for the moment. I forgot his take, he said hastily. Don't go saying anything to Bombito to give him the idea that I'm trying to back out. Of course you can rely on me and all that. That's all right. Maraquita's gaze softened. She raised her glass, they were launching at the time, and put it to her lips. To the savior of paranoia, she said. Beware, whispered a voice in Rollins-Ea. He turned by the start. A waiter was standing behind him, a small dark hairy man. He was looking into the middle distance, with the abstracted air, which waiters cultivate. Roland stared at him, but he did not move. That evening, returning to his flat,

2:19:58Roland was paralyzed by the sight of the word Beware, scrolled across the mirror in his bedroom. It had apparently been done with a diamond. He rang the bell. Sir, said the competent ballet. Comptant Ballets are in attendance at each of these flats, advert. Has anyone been here since I left? Yes, sir, a foreign-looking gentleman called. He said he knew you, sir, and I showed him into your room. The same night, well on in the small hours, the telephone rang. Roland dragged himself out of bed. Hello? Is that senior bleak? Yes, what is it? Beware. Things were becoming intolerable. Roland had a certain amount of nerve, but not enough to enable him to bear up against this sinister persecution. Yet what could he do? Suppose he did beware to the extent of withdrawing his support.

2:20:59From the royalist movement, what then? Bombito. If ever there was a toad under the harrow, he was that toad, and all because a perfectly respectful admiration. For the couchouc, it led him to occupy a stage box, several nights in succession, at the theatre, where the peerless Maraquita tied herself into knots. There was an air of unusual excitement in Maraquita's manner at their next meeting. We have been in communication with him, she whispered. He will receive you. He will give an audience to the savior of paranoia. A. Who will? Our beloved Alexander. He wishes to see his faithful servant. We are to go to him at once. Where? At his own house. He will receive you in person. Such was the quality of the emotions, through which he had been passing a blade,

2:22:01that Roland felt but a faint interest at the prospect of meeting face to face. A genuine, if exiled monarch. The thought did flit through his mind that they would sit up a bit at the old Feinberg's office if they could hear of it, but it brought him little consolation. The cab drew up to gloomy looking-house in a fashionable square. Roland rang the doorbell. There seemed a certain element of the prosaic in the action. He wondered what he should say to the Butler. There was, however, no need for words, the door opened and they were ushered in, without parly. A Butler and two footmen showed them into a luxurious furnished antirump. Roland entered with two thoughts running in his mind. The first was that the beloved Alexander had gotten commonly snuged crib. The second, that this was exactly like going to see the dentist.

2:23:05Presently the squad of retainers returned. The Butler leading, his majesty were received, Mr. Bleak. Roland followed him with tottering knees. His majesty King Alethundro, the 13th, on the retired list, was a genial-looking man of middle age. Comfortably stout about the middle and a little bald as to the forehead. He might have been a prosperous dog-broker. Roland felt more at his ease at the very sight of him. The sit down, Mr. Bleak, said his majesty, as the door closed. I have been wanting to see you for some time. Roland had nothing to say. He was regaining his composure, but he had a long way to go yet before he could feel thoroughly at home. King Alethundro produced a cigarette case, had offered it to Roland, who shook his head speechlessly. The king lit a cigarette and smoked thoughtfully for a while. You know, Mr. Bleak, he said at last. This must stop. It really

2:24:08must. I mean, your devoted efforts on my behalf. Roland, gaped at him. You are a very young man. I had expected to see someone much older. Your youth gives me the impression that you have gone into this affair from a spirit of adventure. I can assure you that you have nothing to gain, commercially, by interfering with my late kingdom. I hope, before we part, that I can persuade you to abandon your idea of financing this movement to restore me to the throne. I don't understand, your majesty. I will explain. Please treat what I say as strictly confidential. You must know, Mr. Bleak, that these attempts to reestablish me as a reigning monarch in paranoia are, frankly, the curse of an otherwise very pleasant existence. You look surprised. My dear sir, do you know paranoia? Have you ever been there? Have you the remotest idea what sort of life a king of paranoia leads?

2:25:12I have tried it, and I can assure you that a coal heaver is happy by comparison. In the first place, the climate of the country is abominable. I always had a coal in the head. Secondly, there is a small but energetic section of the populace, whose sole recreation it seems to be to use them on a cosotarget for bombs. They are not very good bombs, it is true. But one in, say, ten explodes, and even an occasional bomb is unpleasant if you were the target. Finally, I am much too fond of your delightful country to wish to leave it. I was educated in England. I am a model in college, man. And I have the greatest horror of ever being compelled to leave it. My present life suits me exactly. That is all I wish to say, Mr. Bleak, for both our sakes, for the sake of my comfort and your purse abandoned this scheme of yours. Relland walked home thoughtfully. Marikita had left the royal residence long before he had finished

2:26:13the whiskey and soda, which the genial monarch had pressed upon him. As he walked, the futility of his situation came home to him more and more. Whatever he did, he was bound to displease somebody. And these paranoians were so confoundedly impulsive when they were vexed. For two days he avoided Marikita. On the third, with something of the instinct which draws the murderer to the spot where he has buried the body, he called at her house. She was not present, but otherwise there was a full gathering. There were the machuises, there were the counts, there was Bombito. He looked unhappy around the crowd. Somebody gave him a glass of champagne. He raised it. To the revolution, he said mechanically. There was a silence. It seemed to Roland an awkward silence. As if he had said something improper, the machuises and counts began to drift from the room till only Bombito was left. Roland regarded him with some apprehension.

2:27:16He was looking larger and more unusual than ever. But tonight apparently Bombito was in genial mood. He came forward and slapped Roland on the shoulder. And then the remarkable fact came to light the Bombito spoke English, or a sort of English. My old chap, he said, I would have a speech with you. He slapped Roland again on the shoulder. The others, they say, break it with Senor Bliq gentli. Marikita say, break it with Senor Bliq gentli. So I break it with you gentli. He dealt Roland the third stupendous punch. Whenever was to be broken gently, it was pain to Roland that it was not himself. And suddenly, they came to him a sort of intuition that told him that Bombito was nervous. After all you have done for us, Senor Bliq, we shall seem to you ungrateful bounders. But what is it? Yes? No? I shouldn't wonder. Perhaps. The whole fact is that there has been

2:28:20political crisis in paranoia. Upset, Applecart, yes? You follow? No? The Ministry have been what you say put through it, expelled, broken up, no more ministry, new ministry wanted. To conciliate royalist party, that is the cry. So deputation of leading persons, mighty good chaps, prominent merchants and that sort of bounder, call upon us. They offer me to be president, see no? Yes? That's right, I am ambitious blighter. Senor Bliq, what about it? No? I accept. I am new president of paranoia. So no need for your kind assistance. Royalist revolution up the spout, no more royalist revolution. The wave of relief which swept over Roland, ebbed sufficiently after an interval, to enable him to think of someone but himself. He was not fond of a Maraquita, but he had a tender heart, and there he felt would kill the poor girl.

2:29:23But Maraquita, that's all right, splendid old chap, no need to worry about Maraquita's stout old boy. Where the husband goes, so does the wife go, as you say. With a thou goest, I will follow, no? But I'd understand Maraquita is not your wife. Why certainly good old heart, what else? Have you even married to her all the time? Why certainly good dear boy? Rum swam before Roland's eyes. There was no rum in his mind for meditations on the perfidier woman. He groped forward and found Pompito's hand. By Jo, he said thickly as he rung it again and again. I knew you were a good sword the first time I saw you. Have a drink or something. Have a cigar or something? Have something, anyway, and sit down and tell me all about it. End of chapter 5 Recoording by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org

2:30:36Chapter 6 of a Man of Means This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information not a volunteer, please visit Librivox.org, recording by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org. A Man of Means by Pigey Woodhouse and CH-Bovill, the episode of The Hired Past. What do you mean you can't marry him after all? After all, what? Why can't you marry him? You are perfectly childish. But even with gentle voice, which had its time low, the house appears to slumber more often than any voice ever heard in the gilded chamber. Had in it a note of unwanted, but quite justifiable irritation. If there was one thing, more than another that Lord even would dislike, it was any interference with arrangements already made. The Man, he continued, is not unsightly. The Man is not conspicuously vulgar. The Man does not eat peas with his knife. The Man pronounces his h-chis with meticulous care and accuracy.

2:31:42The Man, moreover, is worth rather more than a quarter of a million pounds. I repeat, you are childish. Yes, I know he's a very decent little chap, father, said Lady Eva. It's not that at all. I should be gratified then to hear what, in your opinion, it is. Well, do you think I could be happy with him? Lady Kimbuk gave tongue. She was Lord even with sister. She spent a very happy widowhood interfering in the affairs of the various branches of her family. We're not asking you to be happy. You have such odd ideas of happiness. Your idea of happiness is to be married to your cousin Jerry, whose only visible means of support, so far as I can gather, is the 400-year, which she draws as a member for a constituency which has every intention of throwing him out the next election. Lady Eva blushed. Lady Kimbuk's faculty, for nosing out the secrets of her family, had made her justly dislike from the hebrides to southern Cornwall. Young Orion is not to be thought of, said Lord Evenwood firmly. Not for an instant. Apart from

2:32:47anything else, his politics are all wrong. Moreover, you are engaged to this Mr. Bleak. It is a sacred responsibility not likely to be evaded. You cannot pledge your word one day to enter upon the most solemn contract known to, ah, the civilized world, and break it the next. It is not fair to the man, it's not fair to me. You know that all I live for is to see you comfortably settled. If I could myself do anything for you, the matter would be different. But these abominable land taxes and blowick, especially blowick, know no, it's out of the question. You will be very sorry if you do anything foolish. I can assure you that Roland Bleaks are not to be found, ah, on every bush. Men are extremely shy of marrying nowadays. Especially, said Lady Kimbuk, into a family like ours. What with blowick scandal and that shocking business of your grandfather and the circus woman, to say nothing of your poor father's trouble in 85? Thank you, Sophia. Interrupted Lord even would hurriedly. It is unnecessary to go into all that now. Suffice it

2:33:53that there are adequate reasons apart from all moral obligations, why Eva should not break her word to Mr Bleak. Lady Kimbuk's encyclopedic grip of the family annals was a source of the utmost discomfort to her relatives. It was known that more than one firm of publishers had made her tempting offers for her reminiscences, and the family looked on like nervous spectators at a battle, while cupidity fought its ceaseless fight with laziness. For the evenward family had at various times in various ways stimulated the circulation of the evening papers. Most of them were living down something. And it was Lady Kimbuk's habit when thwarted in her slightest whim to retire to her Budwa and announce that she was not to be disturbed as she was at last making a start on her book. Object surrender followed on the instant. At this point in the discussion she folded up her crochet work and rose. It is absolutely necessary for you my dear to make a good match, or you will

2:34:56be all be ruined. I of course can always support my declining ears with literary work, but they deeva ground. Against this last argument there was no appeal. Lady Kimbuk patit her affectionately on the shoulder. There, run along now, she said. I dare say you've got a headache or something that made you say a lot of foolish things you didn't mean. Good-hound to the drawing-room. I expect Mr. Bleak is waiting there to say good-night to you. I'm sure he must be getting quite impatient. Down in the drawing-room, Roland Bleak was hoping against hope that Lady Eva's prolonged absence might be due to the fact that she had gone to bed with a headache, and that he might escape the nightly interview, which he so dreaded. Reviewing his careers he sat there, Roland came to the conclusion that women had the knack of affecting him with a form of temporary insanity. They temporarily changed his whole nature. They made him feel for a brief while that he was a

2:35:57dashing young man capable of the highest flights of love. It was only later that reaction came, and he realized that he was nothing of the sort. At heart, he was afraid of women, and in the entire list of the women of whom he had been afraid, he could not find one who had terrified him so much as Lady Eva Blighten. Other women, notably Maraquita, now happily helping to direct the destinies of paranoia, had frightened him by the individuality. Lady Eva frightened him both by her individuality and the atmosphere of aristocratic exclusiveness which she conveyed. He had no idea whatever what was the proper procedure for a man engaged to the daughter of an Earl. Daughters of Earls had been to him till now mere names in the society columns of the morning paper. The very rules of the game were beyond him. He felt, like a confirmed association footballer suddenly called upon to play in an international rugby match. All along from the very

2:37:02moment when, to his unbounded astonishment, she had accepted him. He had known that he was making a mistake. But he never realized it with such painful cleanness as he did this evening. He was filled with a sort of blind terror. He cursed the fate which had taken him to the charity bizarre at which he had first come under the notice of Lady Kimbuk. The fatuous snobbishness, which had made him leap at her invitation to spend a few days at even woodtowers, he'd regretted. But for that he blamed himself less. Further acquaintance with Lady Kimbuk had convinced him that if she had wanted him, she would have got him somehow, whether he had accepted or refused. What he really blamed himself for was his mad proposal. There had been no need for it. True, Lady Eva had created a riot of burning emotions in his breast from the moment they met. But he should have had the sense to realize that she was not the right mate for him.

2:38:05Even though he might have a quarter of a million tucked away in guilt-edge securities, their lives could not possibly mix. He was a commonplace young man with a fondness for the pleasures of the people. He liked cheap papers, picture-palaces, and association football. Mealy, to think of association football and connection with her, was enough to make the folly of his conduct clear. He ought to have been content to worship her from afar, as some inaccessible goddess. A light step outside the door made his heart stop beating. I've just looked in to say goodnight, Mr. Er, Roland, she said, holding out her hand. Do, excuse me, I've got such a headache. Oh yes, rather, I'm awfully sorry. If there was one person in the world, Roland despised and hated at that moment, it was himself. Are you going out for the guns tomorrow? Ask Lady Eva, languidly. Oh yes, rather, I mean no, I'm afraid I don't shoot. The back of his neck began to glow. He had no illusions about

2:39:07himself. He was the biggest ass in Christendom. Perhaps you'd like to play a round of golf, then? Oh yes, rather, I mean no. There it was again, that awful phrase. He was certain he had not intended to utter it. She must be thinking him a perfect lunatic. I don't play golf. They stood looking at each other for a moment. It seemed to Roland that her gaze was partly contemptuous, partly pitying. He longed to tell her that, though she had happened to pick on his weak points in the realm of sport, there were things he could do. An insane desire came upon him to babble about his school football team. Should he ask her to feel his quite respectable biceps? No. Never mind, she said kindly. I'd say we should think of something to amuse you. She held out her hand again. He took it in his, for the briefest possible instant, painfully conscious, the while that his own hand was clammy from the emotion through which he had been

2:40:08passing. Good night, good night. Think heaven she was gone. That let him out for another 12 hours at least. A quarter of an hour later found Roland still sitting, where she had left him, his head and his hands. The groan of an overwrought soul escaped him. I can't do it. He sprang to his feet. I won't do it. Let's move the voice from behind him spoke. I think you are quite right, sir. If I may make the remark. Roland had hardly ever been so startled in his life. In the first place he was not aware of having uttered his thoughts allowed. In the second he had imagined that he was alone in the room. And so, a moment before he had been. But the owner of the voice possessed, among other qualities, the cat-like faculty of entering a room perfectly noiselessly. A fact, which had won for him in the course of a long career in the service of the best families, the flattering position of star-witness in a number of England's raciest divorce cases. Mr. Teal the Butler, for it was no lesser celebrity who had broken in on

2:41:14Roland's reverie, was a long, thin man, of somewhat priestly cast of countenance. He lacked that air of reproving her to her, which many bachelors possess. And it was for this reason that Roland had felt drawn to him during the black days of his stay at evenwood towers. Teal had been uncommonly nice to him on the whole. He had seemed to Roland, stricken by interviews with his host and Lady Kimbuk, the only human thing in the place. He liked Teal. On the other hand, Teal was certainly taking a liberty. He could, if he said, please, tell Teal to go to the juice. Technically, he had the right to freeze Teal with a look. He did neither of these things. He was feeling very lonely and very forlorn in a strange and depressing world, and Teal's voice and manner were soothing. Hearing you speak and seeing nobody else in the room went on the Butler, I thought for a moment that you were addressing me. This was not true, and Roland knew that it was not true. Instinct told him that

2:42:16Teal knew that he knew that it was not true, but he did not press the point. What do you mean, you think I'm quite right, he said? You don't know what I was thinking about. Teal smiled indulgently. On the contrary, sir, a child could have guessed it. You have just come to the decision, in my opinion, a thoroughly sensible one, that your engagement to her leadership cannot be allowed to go on. You are quite right, sir. It won't do. Personal magnetism covers a multitude of sins. Roland was perfectly well aware that he ought not to be standing here, chatting over his and Lady Eva's intimate affairs with a Butler, but such was Teal's magnetism that he was quite unable to do the right thing and tell him to mind his own business. Teal, you forget yourself, would have covered the situation. Roland, however, was physically incapable of saying, Teal, you forget yourself. The bird knows all the time that he ought not to stand talking to the snake,

2:43:17but he is incapable of ending the conversation. Roland was conscious of a momentary wish that he was the sort of man who could tell Butler's that they forgot themselves. But then that sort of man would never have been in this sort of trouble. The Teal, you forget yourself, type of a man, would be a first class shot, a plus golfer, and would certainly consider himself extremely lucky to be engaged to Lady Eva. The question is, when, on Mr. Teal, how are we to break it off? Roland felt that as he had sinned against all the distances and allowing the Butler to discuss his affairs with him, he might just as well go the whole hog and allow the discussion to run its course. And it was an undeniable relief to talk about the infernal thing to someone. He nodded glumally and committed himself. Teal resumed his remarks with the gusto or fellow-conspirator. It's not an easy thing to do gracefully, sir, believe me it isn't, and it's got to be done gracefully

2:44:18or not at all. You can't go to her lady-ship and say, it's all off and so am I, and catch the next train for London. The rupture must be of her lady-ship's making. If in fact some disgraceful information concerning you, what had come to her lady-ship's ears, that would be a simple way out of the difficulty. He eyed Roland meditatively. There, for instance, you had ever been in jail, sir, but I haven't. No infants intended, sir, I'm sure. I merely remembered that you had made a great deal of money very quickly. My experience of gentlemen who have made a great deal of money very quickly is that they have generally done their bit of time. But of course, see if you let me think. You drink, sir. No, Mr. Teal sighed. Roland could not help feeling that he was disappointing the old man a good deal. You do not, I suppose, chance to have a past? Ask Mr. Teal not very hopefully. I use the word in its technical sense. A deserted wife,

2:45:21a some poor creature you have treated shamefully. At the risk of sinking so further in the butler's esteem, Roland was compelled to answer in the negative. I was afraid not, Mr. Teal shaking his head. Thinking it all over yesterday, I said to myself, I'm afraid he wouldn't have one. You don't look like the sort of gentleman who had done much with his time. Thinking it over? A nod on your accounts, sir, explaining Mr. Teal. On the families, I disapproved of this match from the first. A man who has served a family for as long as I have had the honour of serving his lordships, comes to entertain a high regard for the family prestige. And with no offense to yourself, sir. This would not have done. Well, it looks as if it would have to do, said Roland gloomily. I can't see any way out of it. I can, sir. My niece had older shot. Mr. Teal, who act his head at him with a kind of priestly archness. You cannot have forgotten my niece at older shot. Roland, stay at him dumbly.

2:46:25It was like a line out of a melodrama. He feared first for his own, and then for the butler's sanity. The latter was smiling gently, as one who sees light in a difficult situation. I've never been at older shot in my life. For our purposes, you have, sir. But I'm afraid I'm puzzling you. Let me explain. I've got a niece over at older shot, who isn't much good. She's not very particular. I'm sure she would do it for a consideration. Do what? Be your past, sir. I don't mind telling you that as a past, she's had some experience. She looks the part too. She's a barmaid. And you would guess it the first time you saw her. Died yellow hair, sir. He went home with enthusiasm, done all frizzy. Just the sort of young person that a young gentleman like yourself would have had a past with. You couldn't find a better if you tried for a twelve-month. But I say, I suppose a hundred wouldn't hurt you. Well, no, I suppose not, but then put the whole thing in my hands, sir. I'll ask leave off tomorrow and

2:47:31pop over and see her. I'll arrange for her to come here on the day after to see you. Leave it all to me. Tonight you must write the letters. Letters? Naturally, there will be letters, sir. It is an inseparable feature of these cases. Do you mean that I've got to write to her? I shouldn't know what to say. I've never seen her. That will be quite alright, sir. If you place yourself in my hands, I will come to your room after everybody's gone to bed and help you write those letters. You have some note paper with your own address on it? Then it will all be perfectly simple. When, some hours later, he read over the ten or twelve exceedingly passionate epistles, which, with a butler's assistance, he had succeeded in writing to miss moreed chillvers, Roland came to the conclusion that there must have been a time when Mr. Teal was a good deal less respectable than he appeared to be at present. Byronic was the only adjective

2:48:31applicable to his collaborator's style of ametric composition. In every letter there were passages against which Roland had felt compelled to make a modest protest. A thousand kisses on your lovely rosebud of a mouth. Don't you think that's a little too warmly coloured? And I am languishing for the pressure of your ivory arms about my neck and the sweep of your sulken hair against my cheek. What I mean is, well, what about it, you know? The phrase is, as said Mr. Teal, not without a touch of displeasure, to which you take exception are taken bodily. From correspondence, which, I happened to have the advantage of perusing, addressed by the late Lord Inwood, to an immacular queen of the high wire at Astley's Circus. His lordship, I may add, was considered an authority in these matters. Roland criticised now more. He handed over the letters, which had Mr. Teal's direction. He had headed, with various dates, covering roughly a period

2:49:36of about two months, and his seat and tears of rival at the towers. That, Mr. Teal explained, will make your conduct definitely unpartenable. With this woman's kisses hot upon your lips, Mr. Teal was still slightly a glow with the fire of inspiration. You have the affrontery to come here and offer yourself to her ladyship. With Roland's timid suggestion that he was perhaps a mistake to overdo the atmosphere, the battle of found himself unable to agree. You can't make us about too bad. If you don't pitch it hot and strong, her ladyship might quite likely forgive you. Then where would you be? Miss more children of all the shots burst into Roland's life, like one of the shells of her native Heath, two days later at about five in the afternoon. It was an entrance of which any stage manager might have been proud of having arranged. The lighting, the grouping, the lead-up were all perfect. The family had just finished tea in the long-drawing room. Lady Kimbuk was crocheting. Lord Evenwood dozing, Lady Eva reading,

2:50:41and Roland thinking. A peaceful scene. A soft, rippling murmur scarcely to be reckoned a snore had just proceeded from Lord Evenwood's parted lips. When the door opened and teal announced, Miss Chilvers. Roland stiffened in his chair. Now that the ghastly moment had come, he felt too petrified with fear even to act the little part in which he had been diligently rehearsed by the obliging Mr. Teal. He simply sat and did nothing. It was speedily made clear to him that Miss Chilvers would do all the actual doing that was necessary. The butler had drawn no false picture of her personal appearance. Died yellow hair, down all frizzy, was but one fact of her many-sided impossibilities. In the serene surroundings of the long-drawing room, she looked warrantspeakably not much good, then Roland had ever imagined her. With such a leading lady, his drama could not fail of success. He should have been pleased. He was merely appalled.

2:51:47The thing might have a happy ending, but while it lasted it was going to be terrible. She had a flatteringly attentive reception. Nobody failed to notice her. Lord Evenwood worked with a start and stared at her as if she had been some ghost from his trouble of 85. Lady Evers faced six best sheer amazement. Lady Kimbuk, laying down her crochetwork, took one look at the apparition, and instantly decided that one of her numerous earring relatives had been at it again. Of all the persons in the room, she was possibly the only one completely cheerful. She was used to these situations and enjoyed them. Her mind, roaming into the past, recalled a night when her cousin, Warminster, had been pinked by a stiletto in his own drawing-room by a lady from South America. Happy days, happy days! Lord Evenwood, had by this time come to the conclusion that the festive blow-ick must be responsible for this visitation. He rose with dignity.

2:52:48To what are we, he began, his chilvers, Resolute Youngwoman, had no intention of standing there while other people talked. She shook her gleaming head and burst into speech. Oh yes, I know I've no right to be coming walking in here among a lot of perfect strangers at their teas, but what I say is, right, right, and wrong, wrong, all the world over, and I may be poor, but I have my feelings. No, thank you, I won't sit down. I've not come for the weekend. I've come to say a few words, and when I've said them, I'll go, and not before. A lady friend of mine happened to be reading her daily sketch the other day, and she said, hello, hello, and she passed it on to me with her thumb on a picture, which had under it that it was Lady Eva Blighten who was engaged to be married to Mr. Rowland Bleak. And when I read that, I said, hello, hello, too. I'd give you my word. And not being able to travel at once, owing to being prostrated with the shock, I came along today just to have a look at Mr. Rowland Blum in Bleak.

2:53:52And ask him if he's forgotten that he happens to be engaged to me. That's all. I know it's a sort of thing that might slip any gentleman's mind, but I thought it might be worth mentioning. So now, Rowland, perspiring in the shadows at the far end of the room, felt that Mr. Chilvers was overdoing it. There was no earthly need for all this sort of thing, just a simple announcement of the engagement would have been quite sufficient. It was too obvious to him that his ally was thoroughly enjoying herself. She had the centre of the stage and did not intend likely to relinquish it. My good girl said Lady Kimbuk. Talk less and prove more. When did Mr. Bleak promise to marry you? Oh, that's alright. I'm not expecting you to believe my word. I've got all the proofs you'll want. Here's his letters. Lady Kimbuk's eyes gleamed. She took the package eagerly. She never lost an opportunity of reading,

2:54:53compromising letters. She enjoyed them as literature. And there was never any knowing when they might come in useful. Rowland said Lady Eva quietly. Haven't you anything to contribute to this conversation? This Chilvers clutched at her bodies. Cinema palaces were a passion with her, and she was up in the correct business. Is he here in this room? Rowland slunk from the shadows. Mr. Bleak said Lord Evenwood sternly. Who is this woman? Rowland uttered a kind of strangled cough. Are these letters in your handwriting? Our Lady Kimbuk. Almost cordially. She had seldom read better compromising letters in her life. And she was agreeably surprised that one whom she had always imagined a colour of the stick should have been capable of them. Rowland nodded. Well, it's lucky your rich, said Lady Kimbuk philosophically. What are you asking for these? She inquired of Mr. Chilvers.

2:55:53Exactly, said Lord Evenwood, relieved. Precisely. Your sterling common sense is admirable, Sophia. You place the whole matter at once on a business-like footing. Do you imagine for a moment, again, Mr. Chilvers slowly? Yes, said Lady Kimbuk. How much? Miss Chilvers sobbed. If I have lost him forever, Lady Eva Rose, but you haven't, she said pleasantly. I wouldn't dream of standing in your way. She drew a ring from her finger and placed it on the table. And walked to the door. I am not engaged to Mr. Bleak, she said as she reached it. Rowland never knew quite how he had got away from the towers. He had confused memories in which the principles of the drawing-room scene figured in various ways, all unpleasant. It was a portion of his life on which he did not care to dwell. Safely back in his flat, however, he gradually recovered his normal spirits. Indeed, now that the tumult and the shouting had so to speak died, he was free to take a broad view of his position.

2:56:55He felt distinctly happier than usual. That Lady Kimbuk had passed forever from his life, was enough to make for gayity. He was humming blithely one morning as he opened his letters, outside the sky was blue, and the sun was shining. It was good to be alive. He opened the first letter. The sky was still blue, the sun still shining. The Asur, it ran. We have been instructed by our client, Miss Mord Chilvers, of the Gauten Compassion's Aldershot, to institute proceedings against you for breach of promise of marriage. In the event of your being desirous to avoid the expense and publicity of litigation, we are instructed to say that Miss Chilvers would be prepared to accept the sum of ten thousand pounds, in settlement of her claim against you. We would further add, that in support of her case our client has, in her possession, a number of letters written by yourself to her, all of which bear strong prima-facy evidence of the alleged promise to marry. And she will be able, in addition to callers' witnesses in support of her case,

2:57:57the Earl of Evenwood, Lady Kimbuk, and Lady Eva Blighten, in whose presence at a recent date, you acknowledge that you had promised to marry our client. Trusting that we hear from you in the course of post, we are, dear sir, yours faithfully, Harrison, Harrison, Harrison, and Harrison. End of chapter 6, recording by Tim Bulcley of BigBible.org