What's the good? No money.Hardly any to go on with, let alone pouring thousands into advertising.Never dare propose to his brother Harry to sell the ship.Couldn't think of it.Worry him to death.It would be like the end of the world coming.And certainly not for a business of that kind!...Do you think it would be a swindle? asks Cloete, twitching his mouth...George owns up: No-would be no better than a squeamish ass if he thought that, after all these years in business.
"Cloete looks at him hard - Never thought of SELLING the ship.
Expected the blamed old thing wouldn't fetch half her insured value by this time.Then George flies out at him.What's the meaning, then, of these silly jeers at ship-owning for the last three weeks?
Had enough of them, anyhow.
"Angry at having his mouth made to water, see.Cloete don't get excited...I am no squeamish ass, either, says he, very slowly.
'Tisn't selling your old Sagamore wants.The blamed thing wants tomahawking (seems the name Sagamore means an Indian chief or something.The figure-head was a half-naked savage with a feather over one ear and a hatchet in his belt).Tomahawking, says he.
"What do you mean? asks George...Wrecking - it could be managed with perfect safety, goes on Cloete - your brother would then put in his share of insurance money.Needn't tell him exactly what for.He thinks you're the smartest business man that ever lived.
Make his fortune, too...George grips the desk with both hands in his rage...You think my brother's a man to cast away his ship on purpose.I wouldn't even dare think of such a thing in the same room with him - the finest fellow that ever lived...Don't make such noise; they'll hear you outside, says Cloete; and he tells him that his brother is the salted pattern of all virtues, but all that's necessary is to induce him to stay ashore for a voyage - for a holiday - take a rest - why not?...In fact, I have in view somebody up to that sort of game - Cloete whispers.
"George nearly chokes...So you think I am of that sort - you think ME capable - What do you take me for?...He almost loses his head, while Cloete keeps cool, only gets white about the gills.
..I take you for a man who will be most cursedly hard up before long...He goes to the door and sends away the clerks - there were only two - to take their lunch hour.Comes back...What are you indignant about? Do I want you to rob the widow and orphan? Why, man! Lloyd's a corporation, it hasn't got a body to starve.There's forty or more of them perhaps who underwrote the lines on that silly ship of yours.Not one human being would go hungry or cold for it.They take every risk into consideration.
Everything I tell you...That sort of talk.H'm! George too upset to speak - only gurgles and waves his arms; so sudden, you see.The other, warming his back at the fire, goes on.Wood-pulp business next door to a failure.Tinned-fruit trade nearly played out...You're frightened, he says; but the law is only meant to frighten fools away...And he shows how safe casting away that ship would be.Premiums paid for so many, many years.No shadow of suspicion could arise.And, dash it all! a ship must meet her end some day...
"I am not frightened.I am indignant," says George Dunbar.
"Cloete boiling with rage inside.Chance of a lifetime - his chance! And he says kindly: Your wife'll be much more indignant when you ask her to get out of that pretty house of yours and pile in into a two-pair back - with kids perhaps, too...
"George had no children.Married a couple of years; looked forward to a kid or two very much.Feels more upset than ever.Talks about an honest man for father, and so on.Cloete grins: You be quick before they come, and they'll have a rich man for father, and no one the worse for it.That's the beauty of the thing.
"George nearly cries.I believe he did cry at odd times.This went on for weeks.He couldn't quarrel with Cloete.Couldn't pay off his few hundreds; and besides, he was used to have him about.
Weak fellow, George.Cloete generous, too...Don't think of my little pile, says he.Of course it's gone when we have to shut up.
But I don't care, he says...And then there was George's new wife.When Cloete dines there, the beggar puts on a dress suit;little woman liked it;...Mr.Cloete, my husband's partner; such a clever man, man of the world, so amusing!...When he dines there and they are alone: Oh, Mr.Cloete, I wish George would do something to improve our prospects.Our position is really so mediocre...And Cloete smiles, but isn't surprised, because he had put all these notions himself into her empty head...What your husband wants is enterprise, a little audacity.You can encourage him best, Mrs.Dunbar...She was a silly, extravagant little fool.Had made George take a house in Norwood.Live up to a lot of people better off than themselves.I saw her once; silk dress, pretty boots, all feathers and scent, pink face.More like the Promenade at the Alhambra than a decent home, it looked to me.
But some women do get a devil of a hold on a man.""Yes, some do," I assented."Even when the man is the husband.""My missis," he addressed me unexpectedly, in a solemn, surprisingly hollow tone, "could wind me round her little finger.
I didn't find it out till she was gone.Aye.But she was a woman of sense, while that piece of goods ought to have been walking the streets, and that's all I can say...You must make her up out of your head.You will know the sort.""Leave all that to me," I said.
"H'm!" he grunted, doubtfully, then going back to his scornful tone: "A month or so afterwards the Sagamore arrives home.All very jolly at first...Hallo, George boy! Hallo, Harry, old man!
...But by and by Captain Harry thinks his clever brother is not looking very well.And George begins to look worse.He can't get rid of Cloete's notion.It has stuck in his head...There's nothing wrong - quite well...Captain Harry still anxious.
Business going all right, eh? Quite right.Lots of business.
Good business...Of course Captain Harry believes that easily.
