Kindling (22 page)

“The Hawside Company hasn’t got a worm?”

He smiled and shook his head. “You needn’t worry about that. When that gets going it depends upon itself alone. It may lose money at the start; I think it will. But there’ll be no trickery in it that you need fear, no conjuring with cards, or umbrellas.”

She turned and faced him. “And this is really going to happen? We’re going to have a company established here with four hundred and fifty thousand pounds’ worth of work, and a capital of five hundred thousand?”

He nodded. “You can count on that within two months from now. After that, we’ve got to tackle the rolling-mills and see if we can get them started up again.”

She eyed him steadily. “You’ve done a very splendid thing,” she said. “I knew that somebody would come to help us. It must give you a great feeling of satisfaction to have done all this.”

He smiled. “I suppose it ought to,” he said quietly. “I’ve been too tired to think about it much.”

T
HE
Laevol issue, on the whole, was well received. The
Financial Argus
described it as “an interesting issue, designed to develop the great natural resources of the Balkans, launched under the most favourable auspices.” The
Daily Toiler
referred to it as “financial chicanery; sponsored by the Government in a futile attempt to bolster up an outworn Capitalist régime in Laevatia.” In Warren’s view the quite unfounded reference to the Government in the latter excerpt was as great an asset to the issue as the restrained benediction of the
Argus;
in any event, the issue was over-subscribed three times.

“Get going on this right away,” said Warren to Morgan. “I want an analysis of the applications by Friday; I’ve fixed the allotment committee for Monday morning. See if you can think of some formula to squeeze out the little chaps.”

His secretary glanced at him curiously. “I’ll do my best to get out something, sir. You would like to eliminate the small investor, so far as possible?”

Warren nodded. “Get them right out of it.”

They were got out of it, by more or less questionable devices, and to their own exceeding discontent. A number of letters reached the Company voicing their grievance, amongst them six pages from Canon Ward-Stephenson of The Nook, Shoreham-on-Sea. It appeared that the Canon had applied for six hundred one pound shares, and had been allotted sixty. He threatened legal
action. The threat being accepted, he approached Mr. Castroni, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, for his intervention in the matter. Mr. Castroni rang up Mr. Warren.

“Of course,” said Warren easily. “I felt myself that the allotment committee were perhaps a little hard on the smaller subscribers. If he’s really very anxious, I daresay I could get him five hundred privately—at par.”

“That’s very good of you,” said Mr. Castroni. “He’s a cantankerous old man, and we don’t want any bother.”

Warren rang off, and sat for a minute marvelling at the simple cupidity of the religious orders. Then he turned to the consideration of the Hawside Ship and Engineering Company Ltd.

The increase of the capital was in the hands of his solicitors; within the next few days he had to form his Board. He reached out for the telephone, and asked Lord Cheriton to lunch with him.

Over the cheese he said, “I’ve got a job for you,” and told him of the Hawside Ship and Engineering Company. “I’m going to take the chair; I’d like it if you’d come upon the Board.”

The young man flushed with pleasure. “I’d like nothing better, as you know. But I’d want to work at any business I go into—not just attend a meeting once a month.”

Warren nodded. “That’s what I want you for. I can’t be up in Sharples all the time myself; I’ve got to keep things spinning round down here. I want you to be vice-chairman and work in the business.”

The other frowned. “I don’t want to be a passenger. And there’s one small point you seem to have forgotten;
I don’t know anything about building ships.”

“I know. But I’ve got to have someone there that I can trust, who can make a team out of the staff I’m going to take on. And with your position in the county, the Company will have prestige that it will need, in the difficult years at first.”

The other grinned. “Pull my weight as a figurehead until I’ve learned to talk sense about the business? All right, I’m on. I never thought I’d earn my living as a guinea-pig.” He paused. “But who
is
going to build the ships? We’d better get in somebody, one man at any rate, who knows something about the job. Just for the sake of appearances, what? I mean, the public will expect it.”

Warren laughed, and told him about Grierson. “Then I’ve got a really good man, Jenkins, for a secretary,” he said. “Grierson has his staff pretty well planned. It’s all further advanced than you think.”

He considered for a minute. “I’m going to put Grierson on the Board,” he said, “as managing director—as soon as I’m sure of him. In six months’ time, perhaps. It’s a pity we can’t do it now, but I wouldn’t take the chance until we know him better. That means going to the public without much technical strength on the Board … make the underwriting difficult. We’ll have to meet that point.”

Cheriton said, “I could put it up to old Sir David Hogan.”

Warren mused. “He’s a very good name—the public would like that. But he was a shipowner, wasn’t he? Not a builder?”

“I believe he’d jump at it, all the same.”

“I daresay. How old is he?”

“Seventy-three. But he’s still hale and hearty. He’d like it from the point of view of getting something done for Sharples.”

“It’s a good idea, that,” said Warren. “Let me think about it for a day.”

Two days later, his Board complete, Warren set about his underwriting contracts. Heinroth wagged his head. “I can’t tell what to make of you, Warren,” he said. “It’s second sight, or something. I thought that last Laevatian thing of yours would leave us all stuck in the soup, and it was taken up three times. But still, old boy—a shipyard, in these days! I wouldn’t pick that for a winner, on my own.”

“Do as you like,” said Warren equably. “I’m in it up to the neck, myself—and not for a squashed sausage, either.”

Mr. Heinroth eyed him narrowly. “You think we’re on the turn, I suppose.”

“Stick to the business in hand,” said Warren. “Do you want any of this thing?”

“I’ll take a walk around,” said Mr. Heinroth. “Give you a tinkle later on this afternoon.”

He took his walk around, to Mr. Castroni and to Mr. Todd. “I’ve given up using my own judgment,” said Mr. Todd resignedly. “I’ll take twenty-five thousand, if that’s what you’re doing. I believe that Laevol thing went off on Warren’s name alone, you know.”

“This one’ll do the same,” said Mr. Castroni. “I never mind much what the issue is, so long as it’s handled right. And that man’s never made a bloomer yet.”

Mr. Heinroth gave his tinkle, satisfactorily. Other people did the same, in three days the underwriting was satisfactorily arranged.

Warren rang up Grierson in Sharples. “We’re all set now,” he said. “You’d better come up here to-morrow, and stay while we make the contract with Laevol.”

They laboured for a week upon the various contracts necessary before the Hawside Ship and Engineering Company went to the public for subscription. Then Grierson went back to the Yard, with Jenkins the new secretary.

He called his nucleus of foremen together in his office.

“Well, lads,” he said. “We’ve got three ships to build—oil tankers of ten thousand tons. You know what that means to Sharples, and you can thank Mr. Warren for it, and nobody else. Just you remember that. And another thing. There’s work for eighteen months in these three ships, but if they are not built at a profit there’s an end of it, because the Yard’ll be bust again. Just keep that in your nappers. If we want more work after this lot’s over, we’ve got to get these ships out cheap.”

The foreman riveter said, “That’s a bloody fact.” The others grunted inarticulately.

One said, “Will we be able to tell this in the town now, Mr. Grierson?”

He nodded. “Aye, the cat’s out of the bag now. Materials are all on order, and plates due here next week. There’s a plan of the ships that you can see on Mr. Sanders’ board up in the drawing office. Now get along with you, and start to reckon what you’ll want. Be back here for a meeting at three o’clock.”

“Well dae our best, Mr. Grierson,” said one awkwardly. “Eh, but it’s a grand oppaortoonity for the toon.”

They filed out of the office.

That week appendicitis removed Miss Sale, Warren’s personal stenographer, from his business. In the final drafting of the prospectus of the Hawside Ship and Engineering Company he was compelled to use a new, exotic acquisition of the firm, Miss ffolliot-Johnson. He did not know where Miss ffolliot-Johnson had come from; within a couple of hours he was past caring where she went.

He rang the buzzer for Morgan. “You’d better fire that girl,” he said sharply. “I don’t want to see her here again—she’s no damn good to us. She can’t write English, she can’t spell, she can’t type, and she stinks like a drain. Get her out of the place at once.”

It was, of course, unfortunate that the door was open, and every word he said could be heard in the main office.

With that contretemps, the prospectus was drafted to his satisfaction, and the satisfaction of the underwriters. Knowing the moods of the investing public, he paid special attention to the paragraph about prospective profits. He wrote:

Morgan read this with an impassive face. “A little definite, sir, is it not?”

Warren shrugged his shoulders. “We shan’t get underwriting for it otherwise. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. You’ve got to commit yourself these days, if an industrial issue is to be put over at all.”

The secretary said no more.

Cheriton passed it without comment. Sir David Hogan passed it with the observation, in writing, “As regards the profits, one can only trust to the technical staff. I understand that you have checked their estimates in detail, and as no one can do more I am content to let the prospectus go forward in its present form. Indeed, I think it is a very good one, and I see no reason why we should not make this Company a great success.”

Warren sat for a long time motionless, this letter in his hand. Before him on his desk lay the acceptance notes of underwriting, neat in a file. He now had only to send the prospectus to the printers, and set in hand the distribution to the banks and stockbrokers.

He buzzed for Morgan. “I’m going out,” he said. “I’ll be back after lunch.”

He felt the need of exercise to clear his mind. He took a taxi to the Horse Guards Parade, dismissed it, and began to walk along beside the lake. Half consciously, he was looking for a sign.

It was a raw November day. Upon the bridge that spans the lake a few children with their nursemaids were feeding the ducks with bread, children of means, warmly attired in new, clean overcoats and little scarves, flushed with excitement; such children as he might have had himself. He passed them and went on, across
the Mall and on through the Green Park towards Hyde Park Corner, walking with nervous haste, uneasy and irresolute. He crossed the Corner and went through the gates into Hyde Park, and walked for a time westwards towards the Serpentine.

And presently, a little tired and footsore in his City shoes, he dropped down on to a park seat, facing the lake. At the other end of the seat there was a man, shabby and motionless, without an overcoat.

Warren sat for a time, staring out over the lake. Half consciously he took out his cigarette case and lit a cigarette with his lighter. He exhaled a long blue cloud, soothing his worried nerves.

He became aware that the man at the far end of the seat was watching him hungrily. He offered his case.

“Cigarette?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” said the man awkwardly Warren leaned across and lit it for him; as he did so, for a moment he studied the lean, sensitive face, the capable, sinewy hands, the rotten boots. They smoked in silence for a time.

“Out of a job?” asked Warren.

The other nodded without speaking.

“Long?”

“Eleven months.”

“What’s your job?”

“Cabinet maker. I was in the furniture trade.”

“Bad luck.”

The man said very quietly, “All very well, to say bad luck. But you’ve got a home, and that. It’s seven months now since I saw my wife. I wish that I was dead.”

He got up and walked away.

Warren sat for a time, and watched him till he disappeared. Then he flung his cigarette into the lake, walked down towards the Albert Hall, and took a taxi to the City.

“You can get these printed right away,” he said to Morgan. “The issue is on Tuesday week.”

This time the issue was more doubtfully received. The
Argus
said, “Whether the present can be regarded as a fit time for a shipyard issue must remain a matter for debate, as must the prospects of the company in spite of the prospectus statements. The names upon the Board are good, however, and with the initial orders in hand the company may well be carried to success.”

The
Daily Toiler
struck a different note. “While we cannot but deplore the system of finance which governs industry in the country, we welcome the establishment of more employment on the north-east coast. This issue will bring much relief to Sharples, and for that reason we recommend it to our readers.”

Which, as Mr. Heinroth ruefully observed, was not a great relief to him.

Mr. Grierson received a copy of the prospectus in his office in the Yard the day before the issue, and read it with attention. Before he had finished, Jennings had come into his room.

“You’re reading our prospectus?”