Dust. Julian HawthorneЧитать онлайн книгу.
preferred to have no concern in the matter: it was not for small tradesmen like him to meddle with such large enterprises. And, meanwhile, the stock rose and rose, and rose higher still, until men lost their heads, and other men made colossal fortunes, and everybody expected to secure at least ten thousand a year. One day the stock touched 890, and then people held their breath and turned pale, and the most sanguine said in their hearts that this was supernatural and could not last.
On that day Abraham Bendibow went into his private room, and locked the door; and taking pen and paper he made a calculation. After having made it he sat for a long time gazing at the little array of figures in seeming abstraction. Then he leaned back in his chair, with one hand in the pocket of his small-clothes, while with the other he slowly rubbed his chin at intervals. By degrees he began to breathe more quickly, and his eyes became restless. He arose from his chair and paced up and down the room. “Eight hundred and ninety,” he kept muttering to himself, over and over again. The strong box stood in the corner of the room, and toward this Mr. Bendibow often looked. Once he approached it, and laid his hand upon the lid; then he turned away from it with an abrupt movement, compressing his lips and shaking his head. He resumed his pacing up and down the room, his head bent down in deep and troubled thought. At last an idea seemed to strike him. He unlocked and opened the door of the room, and called in a harsh, peremptory tone:
“Jacob!”
A young man appeared, about twenty years of age. In features he resembled the other, but his face was not so broad, nor was his air so commanding. Mr. Bendibow motioned to him with his head to enter. He then seated himself in his chair, and eyed Jacob for a while in silence. Jacob stood with his head stretched forward, and slowly chafing the back of one hand with the palm of the other, while his countenance wore an expression of deferential inquiry.
“Jacob,” said the elder, “what is doing out-doors to-day—eh?”
“The same as usual, father,” answered Jacob, tentatively, as being in some doubt what the question might portend. “There is plenty of excitement: same as usual.”
“Excitement; on what account?”
“Well, sir, the stocks: terrible speculation: madness—nothing less. There was a fellow, sir, this very morning, got out a prospectus of a company for prosecuting a certain undertaking not at present to be revealed: capital one million, in ten thousand shares of one hundred each: deposit two pounds, entitling to one hundred per annum, per share: particulars next week, and balance of subscription week after next. Frightful, upon my soul, sir!”
“Has anybody bitten?”
“A good many have been bitten,” returned Jacob, with a dry giggle. “Three thousand pounds were subscribed in three hours; and then the fellow decamped. Madness, upon my life!”
“You would not advise having anything to do with such speculations, eh, Jacob?”
“Me? Bless my soul, not I indeed!” exclaimed Jacob with energy.
“Why not?”
“In the first place, because you have expressed disapproval of it, father,” replied the virtuous Jacob. “And I may flatter myself I have inherited something of your sound judgment.”
“So you have never speculated at all—eh, Jacob? Never at all, eh? Never bought a shilling’s worth of stock of any kind in your life—eh? The truth, Jacob!”
The last words were pronounced in so stern a tone that Jacob changed color, turning his eyes first to one side of his father’s point-blank gaze, and then to the other. At last, however, their glances met, and then Jacob said:
“I might not be able to swear to a shilling or so, neither—”
“Nor to a guinea: nor to ten, nor to fifty—eh, Jacob?”
“Not more than fifty; upon my soul, sir,” said Jacob, laying his hands upon his heart in earnest deprecation. “Not a penny, sir, upon my word of honor!”
“What of the fifty then—eh?”
“It was in South Sea: I bought at 400,” said Jacob.
“At 400? And what is it to-day?”
“Eight hundred and ninety it was this morning,” said Jacob.
“Was this morning? Do you mean it has fallen since?”
“It has indeed, sir. They’ve all been selling like demons; and it’s below eight hundred at this moment.”
“What have you done—eh?”
“Sold out the first thing, sir, at four hundred and ninety per cent, clear profit,” replied Jacob, something of complacency mingling with the anxious deference of his tone.
“Therefore, instead of fifty pounds, you now have three hundred or so?”
“Two hundred, ninety and five, sir,” said the youth modestly.
“Jacob, you are a fool!”
“Sir?”
“You have thrown your money away. You are a fool! You are timid! You have neither the genius, the steadiness, nor the daring to manage and to multiply a great fortune. Were you like myself, Jacob, you or your children might have a hand in controlling the destinies of England, and thus of the world. You have behaved like a pettifogger and a coward, Jacob. I do not ask you to be honest. No man is honest when he is sure that dishonesty will enrich him. But, whatever you are, I ask you to be that thing with all your soul. Be great, or be nothing! Only fools and cowards patter about morality! I tell you that success is the only morality.” Here Mr. Bendibow, who had spoken with calmness, though by no means without emphasis, checked himself, and putting his hand in his pocket drew forth a key which he handed to his son. “Open the strong box,” he said, “and take out the papers you will find in it.”
Jacob did as he was bid. But his first glance at the papers made him start and stare in a bewildered manner at the unmoved countenance of his father. He then reverted to the papers; but, after a close inspection of them, he seemed only more bewildered than before.
“This is South Sea stock, sir,” he said at length.
“Well, Jacob?” said Mr. Bendibow, composedly.
“Nigh on fifteen thousand pounds’ worth at par, sir.”
“Yes, Jacob.”
“I see how it is; you have been buying for some one!” broke out Jacob, energetically.
“Evidently, Jacob.”
There was a pause. “On commission, of course?” hazarded Jacob.
“No commission at all, Jacob.”
Jacob’s jaws relaxed. “No commission? Whom did you buy for, sir?”
“For myself, Jacob.”
Jacob dropped the papers on the table, and leaned against it dizzily; his breath forsook him. Finally, Mr. Bendibow said: “Jacob, you are even more a fool than I took you for.”
“But how. … When did you buy, sir?” faltered Jacob.
“Eight or nine years ago,” Mr. Bendibow replied.
“Then … why, then you must have got it at under two hundred?”
“Eighty to a hundred and twenty,” said Mr. Bendibow, curtly.
There was another pause. Jacob moistened his lips and passed his hand over his forehead. Suddenly he screamed out, “But you haven’t sold, sir!”
“Well, Jacob?”
“If you’d sold this morning you’d have been worth a hundred and thirty-five thousand sterling—one hundred and thirty-five thousand!”
“Very nearly, Jacob.”
“And stock