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CHRONICLE viii
INTRODUCTION ix
INDEX 599
CHRONICLE
INTRODUCTION
A few instances may be given. In criticising a professor of history famous in every way rather than as a student, Acton says, "his Lectures are indeed not entirely unhistorical, for he has borrowed quite discriminatingly from Tocqueville." Of another writer he says that "ideas, if they occur to him, he rejects like temptations to sin." Of Ranke, thinking perhaps also of himself, he declares that "his intimate knowledge of all the contemporary history of Europe is a merit not suited to his insular readers." Of a partisan French writer under Louis Napoleon he says that "he will have a fair grievance if he fails to obtain from a discriminating government some acknowledgment of the services which mere historical science will find it hard to appreciate." Of Laurent he says, that "sometimes it even happens that his information is not second-hand, and there are some original authorities with which he is evidently familiar. The ardour of his opinions, so different from those which have usually distorted history, gives an interest even to his grossest errors. Mr. Buckle, if he had been able to distinguish a good book from a bad one, would have been a tolerable imitation of M. Laurent." Perhaps, however, the most characteristic of these forgotten judgments is the description of Lord Liverpool and the class which supported him. Not even Disraeli painting the leader of that party which he was destined so strangely to "educate" could equal the austere and accurate irony with which Acton, writing as a student, not as a novelist, sums up the characteristics of the class of his birth.
Lord Liverpool governed England in the greatest crisis of the war, and for twelve troubled years of peace, chosen not by the nation, but by the owners of the land. The English gentry were well content with an order of things by which for a century and a quarter they had enjoyed so much prosperity and power. Desiring no change they wished for no ideas. They sympathised with the complacent respectability of Lord Liverpool's character, and knew how to value the safe sterility of his mind. He distanced statesmen like Grenville, Wellesley, and Canning, not in spite of his inferiority, but by reason of it. His mediocrity was his merit. The secret of his policy was that he had none. For six years his administration outdid the Holy Alliance. For five years it led the liberal movement throughout the world. The Prime Minister hardly knew the difference. He it was who forced Canning on the King. In the same spirit he wished his government to include men who were in favour of the Catholic claims and men who were opposed to them. His career exemplifies, not the accidental combination but the natural affinity, between the love of conservatism and the fear of ideas.
Lord Harrowby seemed to be in the throes of mental arithmetic.
"I am afraid," he said finally, "I could not afford one hundred thousand at that rate. But I could afford--seventy-five thousand. Would that be satisfactory, Mr. Jephson?"
"Jephson," cried Mr. Thacker wildly. "Are you mad? Do you realize--"
"I realize everything, Thacker," said Jephson calmly. "I have your lordship's word that the young lady is at present determined on this alliance? And that you will do all in your power to keep her to her intention?"
"You have my word," said Lord Harrowby. "If you should care to telegraph--"
"Your word is sufficient," said Jephson. "Mr. Minot, will you be kind enough to bring me a policy blank?"
"See here, Jephson," foamed Thacker. "What if this thing should get into the newspapers? We'd be the laughing-stock of the business world."
"It mustn't," said Jephson coolly.
"It might," roared Thacker.
Mr. Minot arrived with a blank policy, and Mr. Jephson sat down at the young man's desk.
"One minute," said Thacker. "The faith of you two gentlemen in each other is touching, but I take it the millennium is still a few years off." He drew toward him a blank sheet of paper, and wrote. "I want this thing done in a businesslike way, if it's to be done in my office." He handed the sheet of paper to Lord Harrowby. "Will you read that, please?" he said.
"Certainly." His lordship read: "I hereby agree that in the interval until my wedding with Miss Cynthia Meyrick next Tuesday week I will do all in my power to put through the match, and that should the wedding be called off through any subsequent direct act of mine, I will forfeit all claims on Lloyds."
"Will you sign that, please?" requested Mr. Thacker.
"With pleasure." His lordship reached for a pen.
"You and I, Richard," said Mr. Thacker, "will sign as witnesses. Now, Jephson, go ahead with your fool policy."
Mr. Jephson looked up thoughtfully.
"Shall I say, your lordship," he asked, "that if, two weeks from to-day the wedding has not taken place, and has absolutely no prospect of taking place, I owe you seventy-five thousand pounds?"
"Yes." His lordship nodded. "Provided, of course, I have not forfeited by reason of this agreement. I shall write you a check, Mr. Jephson."
For a time there was no sound in the room save the scratching of two pens, while Mr. Thacker gazed open-mouthed at Mr. Minot, and Mr. Minot light-heartedly smiled back. Then Mr. Jephson reached for a blotter.
"I shall attend to the London end of this when I reach there five days hence," he said. "Perhaps I can find another underwriter to share the risk with me."
The transaction was completed, and his lordship rose to go.
"I am at the Plaza," he said, "if any difficulty should arise. But I sail to-night for San Marco--on the yacht of a friend." He crossed over and took Mr. Jephson's hand. "I can only hope, with all my heart," he finished feelingly, "that you never have to pay this policy."
"We're with your lordship there," said Mr. Thacker sharply.
"Ah--you have been very kind," replied Lord Harrowby. "I wish you all--good day."
And shivering no longer, he went away in his fine fur coat.
As the door closed upon the nobleman, Mr. Thacker turned explosively on his friend from oversea.
"Jephson," he thundered, "you're an idiot! A rank unmitigated idiot!"
The Peter Pan light was bright in Jephson's eyes.
"So new," he half-whispered. "So original! Bless the boy's heart. I've been waiting forty years for a proposition like that."
"Do you realize," Thacker cried, "that seventy-five thousand pounds of your good money depends on the honor of Lord Harrowby?"
"I do," returned Jephson. "And I would not be concerned if it were ten times that sum. I know the breed. Why, once--and you, Thacker, would have called me an idiot on that occasion, too--I insured his father against the loss of a polo game by a team on which the earl was playing. And he played like the devil--the earl did--won the game himself. Ah, I know the breed."
"Oh, well," sighed Thacker, "I won't argue. But one thing is certain, Jephson. You can't go back to England now. Your place is in San Marco with one hand on the rope that rings the wedding bells."
Jephson shook his great bald head.
"No," he said. "I must return to-day. It is absolutely necessary. My interests in San Marco are in the hands of Providence."
Mr. Thacker walked the floor wildly.
"Providence needs help in handling a woman," he protested. "Miss Meyrick must not change her mind. Some one must see that she doesn't. If you can't go yourself--" He paused, reflecting. "Some young man, active, capable--"
Mr. Richard Minot had risen from his chair, and was moving softly toward his overcoat. Looking over his shoulder, he beheld Mr. Thacker's keen eyes upon him.
"Just going out to lunch," he said guiltily.
"Sit down, Richard," remarked Mr. Thacker with decision.
Mr. Minot sat, the dread of something impending in his heart.
"Jephson," said Mr. Thacker, "this boy here is the son of a man of whom I was very fond. His father left him the means to squander his life on clubs and cocktails if he had chosen--but he picked out a business career instead. Five years ago I took him into this office, and he has repaid me by faithful, even brilliant service. I would trust him with--well, I'd trust him as far as you'd trust a member of your own peerage."
"Yes?" said Mr. Jephson.
Mr. Thacker wheeled dramatically and faced his young assistant.
"Richard," he ordered, "go to San Marco. Go to San Marco and see to it that Miss Cynthia Meyrick does not change her mind."
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