Part 31 (1/2)
And he knew that if he carried out orders faithfully and intelligently, his future with his employer was a.s.sured. Larssen had a strong reputation for loyalty to his employees. He exacted much, but he gave much in return. As his own fortunes grew, so did those of his right-hand men. If a man after faithful service was stricken down by illness, Larssen allowed him a liberal pension.
That was ”business” as the s.h.i.+powner viewed it in his broad, far-sighted way. He saw business not as the mere handling of goods, but as the handling of _men_. In the attainment of his ambitions he was dependent on faithful service from his employees, and accordingly he made it worth their while to be faithful. He was liberal to them because liberality paid him. His position in the world was somewhat like that of a robber baron in the Middle Ages, carving out a kingdom with the help of loyal followers. The people he plundered were the outsiders, and a certain share of the spoils went to his men.
So Dean knew that if he carried out thoroughly the work entrusted to him, Larssen would stand by his spoken promise. He resolved to obey orders as faithfully and as intelligently as he possibly could. He did not write home what form his new work was taking. In his letters to Daisy he explained simply that he was being sent to Canada on a confidential mission, at a big increase of salary, and that he was having a regal time of it. At Quebec and Montreal and Ottawa and Winnipeg he scoured the shops to find presents which would carry to her a realisation of his new position.
Dean began to feel his importance growing rapidly as he journeyed across the Atlantic and around the princ.i.p.al cities of Canada. He thought he realised the meaning of ”business” as it was viewed by the men up above, the men at the roll-top desks. He saw now that it was not hard, plugging work that earned them their big salaries. In a short fortnight he had begun to look a little contemptuously on the grinders and plodders. Why couldn't they realise how little their patient, plodding service could ever bring them? But some men, he reflected, were born to be merely clerks all their days. He was different--out of the common ruck. He could see largely, like Lars Larssen did. He was a man of importance.
Canada pressed a broad thumb on his plastic mind without his conscious knowledge. Canada with her young, red-blooded vigour swept into him like a tidal wave of open sea into a sluggish, marshy creek. Canada thrust her vastness and her limitless potentialities at him with a careless hand, as though to say: ”Here's opportunity for the taking.” Canada taught him in ten days what at home he would never have learnt in a lifetime: that London is not the British Empire.
The clerk who lives out his life in the rabbit-warren of the city of London by day, and in a cheap, pretentious, red-brick suburb by night, believes firmly that outside London not much matters. He lumps together the Canadian, the South African, the Australian, and the New Zealander under the slighting category of ”colonials.” He imagines them bowing themselves humbly before the majesty of the Londoner, taking their cues from London and reverencing it as the fount of all wisdom and might and wealth.
There is no one more ”provincial” than the c.o.c.kney born and bred.
After ten days of Canada, Dean with his chameleon mind felt himself almost a Canadian. He was beginning to pity the limitations of the Londoner. He considered himself raised above that level.
Winnipeg, the new ”wheat pit” of North America, impressed him most strongly. He could feel the bursting strength of the young city--a David amongst cities. He could feel it growing under his feet to its kingdom of the granary of Britain. The epic of the wheat pulsed its stately poetry into him--thrilled him with the majestic chords of its mighty song.
He had a half-idea that Lars Larssen's big scheme was in some way connected with the epic of the wheat, and it gave him fresh importance to think that he was serving such a man in so confidential a position.
He tried a little gamble in ”May wheat” with a Winnipeg bucket-shop, plunging what was to him the important sum of twenty dollars. Luck was with him full-tide. From the moment he bought, May wheat shot upwards, and in a few days he had closed the deal with fifty dollars to his credit.
That evening he wandered around the city with money jingling in his trouser-pockets. He bought himself a good seat at a music-hall, and at the bar boldly ordered c.o.c.ktails with weird names of which the contents were wonderful mysteries to him.
On his way home to his hotel about midnight, a flaming placard outside a tin-roofed chapel caught his eye and stopped him for a moment. The wording was crudely sensational:
THE WICKED FLOURIs.h.!.+
BUT FOR HOW LONG?
A LIFETIME OF EASE FOR AN ETERNITY OF h.e.l.l-FIRE!
DO YOU CHOOSE h.e.l.l?
MAKE YOUR CHOICE TO-NIGHT!
The meeting inside the chapel was in full swing. A roar of voices raised in a marching hymn swept out to the deserted street. Dean's lips curved contemptuously for a moment. Then the whim came to him to finish his night's amus.e.m.e.nt by a sarcastic enjoyment of the revivalist service. He would go inside and watch other people making fools of themselves.
He entered the swinging doors of the chapel into a room hot with the odour of packed humanity, and found a place for himself at the rear.
Presently the hymn ended on a shout of triumph and a deep, solemn ”Amen.” There was a shuffling and sc.r.a.ping of feet as the congregation sat down and prepared itself to listen to the preacher.
He was a tall, lean man of fifty-five, with a thin grey beard and a hawk nose, and eyes that burnt with the intensity of inner fire. He was the ascetic, the fanatic, the man with a burning message to deliver. His eyes sought round his congregation before he gave out his text, seeking for the souls that might be ready for the saving.
”And it came to pa.s.s, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham's bosom; the rich man also died, and was buried. And in h.e.l.l he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom. And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame. But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented.”
The preacher read out the words with a slow, even intensity, making them carry the weight of the inevitable. He paused for them to sink in before he began the delivery of his own message.
”My friends,” he said, ”listen to this story from life. Many years ago there was a young man in this very city who had a great temptation placed before him. He was a clerk in an office, as many of you are. He was ambitious, as many of you are. He was hoping for riches and power, as many of you are.
”One day the devil tempted him. He could become rich if he chose to sacrifice his conscience. The devil promised him riches and power and all that his heart could desire. And he fell.
”My friends, the devil kept his literal promise. He always does. When he comes to you in the watches of the night, and offers you all that you desire on earth in return for your soul, you can know that he will keep his promise.