CHAPTER CXXIII.

A MAN OF BUSINESS.

Mr. Bubbleton Styles was a gentleman of about fifty years of age.

Short, thin, dapper, and active,--with a high, bald forehead, and small

restless, twinging eyes,--he seemed a perfect man of business--an

impression that was enhanced by a certain sly knowingness which he

had assumed years before, and which was now habitual to him. He was

uneducated and ignorant: but he had studied the manner in which

well-instructed persons spoke--he compared their language with his

own--and he had actually weeded his style of speech of the solecisms

and grammatical errors that originally characterised it. He had not,

however, been able to improve himself in spelling, with equal facility;

and therefore he took care never to write a letter. He always had some

plausible excuse for throwing this duty in business matters upon some

other person more competent than himself.

Astute and cunning, he forebore from touching on topics which he did

not understand: but if the conversation did turn, in spite of his

endeavours to the contrary, on subjects whereof he was ignorant, he

so artfully managed his observations that even those who knew him

well were far from suspecting that he was otherwise than profoundly

acquainted with the matter under discussion. Every body thought him

a very shrewd fellow;--and he had a habit of looking so knowing and

critical when any one was speaking, that his opinion, when subsequently

delivered, was received with respect and deemed an authority.

The reader may therefore perceive that Mr. Bubbleton Styles was a

thorough man of the world. He took care never to commit himself.

In small money transactions he was always regular and correct: he

therefore escaped the imputation of meanness, and actually acquired

at a cheap rate the denomination of “an honourable character.” The

consequence was, that when he failed--which was very often indeed--in

large transactions, he was considered merely as “a spirited but

unsuccessful speculator,”--never as a dishonest person.

He had an office in the City: but were any of his friends to ask, “What

_is_ Styles?” the answer would be a vague generality--such as, “Oh! he

is a City man, you know--engaged in business and all that!”--a reply

leaving the enquirer just as wise as he was before. And yet, at his

office, there were all the symptoms and evidence of “business,”--a

letter-box at the door--a clerk engaged in writing at the desk--a pile

of letters here, and a heap of account-books there--samples of many

kinds of goods on the mantel and shelves--mysterious-looking bales and

hampers on the floor--files covered with dingy papers, looking like

invoices and bills of lading--and the words _Bills for Acceptance_

labelled over a slit in the board-work that enclosed the desk. Thus the

place had a very business-like aspect: and yet no one could define what

was the precise nature of the business carried on there.

But we have travelled to Mr. Bubbleton Styles’s office in Crosby

Hall Chambers; whereas Mr. Bubbleton Styles himself is just now in a

tavern-parlour in Fleet Street.

The clock had just _begun_ to strike three as Captain O’Blunderbuss and

Mr. Frank Curtis entered the public-house: and by the time they reached

the aforesaid parlour it was six seconds _past_ three.

There sate Mr. Bubbleton Styles--with his silver watch in his hand,

and gazing at the Dutch clock over the mantel-piece, as if he were

anxiously comparing the two dials, and found himself much put out

because there happened to be a slight difference between them.

“If I thought it was my watch that was wrong,” he said aloud,

apparently in a musing manner, but really because he caught a glimpse

of the entrance of Curtis and Blunderbuss at the moment, and he never

lost an opportunity of impressing even his best friends with an idea of

his punctuality,--“if I thought it was my watch that was wrong, I would

trample it to pieces beneath my heel.”

“No--don’t do that, old fellow!” exclaimed Frank, advancing towards

him. “Much better give it to me!”

“I would not do any thing so prejudicial to a friend as present him

with a watch that went irregularly,” returned Mr. Styles, in a solemn

tone. “But the fault is _not_ with my watch, I am convinced: it lies

with that rascally old clock. However, you are only six seconds after

your time: I should have allowed you the full minute--and then I should

have waited no longer. Come, sit down, Curtis--Captain O’Blunderbuss,

sit down; I have just one hour to devote to you. As the clock strikes

four, I must be off. What will you take?”

“Potheen for me, if ye plaze,” said the gallant officer.

“Brandy for me,” observed Frank.

“And wine-and-water for me,” added Mr. Bubbleton Styles. “I never take

spirits until after supper.”

The various beverages required, were immediately ordered and supplied;

and the three gentlemen proceeded to business, the parlour at the

tavern--or rather public-house--being occupied only by themselves at

the moment.

“Well, old fellow,” said Mr. Frank Curtis, addressing himself to Mr.

Styles, “what good thing can you put us up to?”

“A speculation that will enrich us all three,” replied the gentleman

thus appealed to. “I do not mind telling you that I have been rather

unfortunate lately in one or two enterprises--and I want something

to set me square again. I have a few bills coming due in a couple or

three months, and would not have them dishonoured on any account. Thank

God! however, I have no paltry debts--no mean milk-scores--no peddling

affairs. I always avoid them. Still I must make a bold stroke for the

sake of my larger transactions;--and I presume that neither of you are

averse to earning a little money easily and speedily.”

“Arrah! and be Jasus! that’s the most wilcome thing ye could be

afther saying to me, my frind!” exclaimed the captain, surveying the

speculator with deep admiration.

“Now,” continued Mr. Styles, “I have been thinking that we three can

work the oracle well together--and I propose----”

“What?” demanded Mr. Curtis, anxiously.

“Hould your tongue--and have patience, Frank!” ejaculated the gallant

officer. “It shall be your turn to spake prisintly. Well, sir--and what

is it, thin, that ye’re afther proposing!”

“A Railway!” returned Mr. Bubbleton Styles.

“Divil a betther idea could ye have formed!” cried the captain,

enthusiastically.

“Glorious!” exclaimed Curtis, in an equally impassioned tone of

approval.

“Don’t be excited--take things calmly--in a business-like way,” said

Mr. Bubbleton Styles. “It is now twenty minutes past three: we have

forty minutes more to converse upon the subject. Much may be done in

that time. Here,” continued the speculator, drawing a skeleton-map of

England from his pocket, and spreading it on the table; “you see this

line drawn almost longitudinally from one end of Great Britain to the

other? Well--that is my projected Railway. You perceive, we start from

Beachy Head in Sussex--right on, as straight as we can go, to Cape

Wrath on the northern coast of Scotland. Of course we avoid as much as

possible placing any portion of our line in competition with railways

already existing; but we shall have Branches to all the principal

cities and manufacturing towns, and Single Lines wherever they may be

asked for.”

“Capital, be Jasus!” exclaimed the Hibernian officer, unable to

restrain the exuberance of his delight at this magnificent scheme. “And

be what title d’ye mane to call this purty little bantling of yours,

Misther Styles?”

“The Grand British Longitudinal Railway,” answered the speculator, in a

measured and emphatic manner.

The captain was so elated by the grandeur and vast comprehensiveness of

this denomination, that he rang the bell with furious excitement, and

ordered the waiter to replenish the glasses.

“Now,” continued Mr. Bubbleton Styles, “having expounded my views, it

is necessary to take into consideration the mode of procedure. Of

course I am the promoter of the scheme; and to-morrow I shall register

it. This will only cost five pounds--and then the thing is secured to

us. ‘_Provisionally Registered, pursuant to 7 and 8 Victoria, cap.

110_;’--and so forth. Capital £8,000,000, in 400,000 shares of £20

each. Deposit, £2 2s. per share. You, Frank, must be the Secretary; and

you, captain, Consulting Engineer.”

“Is it an Ingineer ye’d be afther making of me in my ould age?” cried

the gallant officer: “for, be the power-rs! I’ve forgot more than I

ever knew of that same!”

“Oh! the place will be quite a sinecure--good pay and nothing to do,”

said Mr. Styles. “We shall have a regular Engineer, as a matter of

course; but it will look business-like to speak in the prospectus

of having ‘_secured the valuable services of that eminent Military

Engineer, Captain O’Blunderbuss, of Blunderbuss Park, Ireland; who,

having surveyed the whole of the proposed line, in concert with the

Company’s Civil Engineer, has reported most favourably of the scheme,

and has offered suggestions which will produce a saving to the Company

of nearly half a million sterling in the progress of the works_.’ This

is the way to manage business, gentlemen,” added Mr. Styles, glancing

in a satisfied manner at his two companions, one after the other: then,

looking at his watch, he exclaimed, “Just ten minutes more to stay--and

I must be off! Now, we have settled that I am to be Promoter--you,

Curtis, are to be Secretary--and you, captain, Consulting Engineer.

This evening I will draw up the prospectus: we must have about thirty

good names for the Provisional Committee--and by to-morrow afternoon

the document will be printed and ready.”

“You will not have time to call on the people to ask them to let you

put down their names?” said Frank Curtis, conceiving at the moment that

his friend was going a trifle too fast.

“Nonsense, my dear fellow!” exclaimed Mr. Bubbleton Styles: “I know

that I can take the liberty of using the names of at least half of

my intended Provisional Committee-men; and the others will not think

of contradicting the prospectus, when they see that we have got Mr.

Podgson as chairman.”

“What--Podgson!” cried Mr. Curtis, almost wild with joy and surprise.

“You don’t mean to say that you’ve got Podgson?”

“Not yet,” answered the speculator, with his characteristic coolness:

“but I _shall_ have him by this time to-morrow.”

“I thought that you had not spoken of your scheme to a soul before you

met me and the captain this morning----”

“Neither had I--and Podgson is totally unaware at this moment that

such a project is in existence,” interrupted Mr. Styles, calmly and

deliberately. “But I know how to deal with him: I have read his

character from a distance;--and, although I have never yet exchanged

a word with him in my life, depend upon it I shall hook him as our

chairman before I am twenty-four hours older. Three minutes more!”

cried the speculator: then, as if to make the most of the hundred and

eighty seconds at his disposal, Mr. Styles closed the present interview

in the following business-like and highly gratifying manner:--“You are

both as shabby as you well can be; and you must obtain new clothes as

soon as possible. Here is a ten-pound note for each of you. Moreover

you must get respectable lodgings at once; and you can give a reference

to me. To-morrow, at three o’clock punctually, there will be chops and

sherry in readiness at my office--and I shall expect you both. Not a

moment before three, remember--because you will be interrupting me: and

if you’re a moment after, I shall decline any farther transactions with

you. So good bye--I haven’t time to shake hands.”

Thus speaking, Mr. Styles rushed from the room, it being four o’clock

to an instant;--and it is perhaps as well to observe that this perfect

man of business had only made an appointment with his friends at the

public-house in Fleet Street, because he had another gentleman to meet

in the neighbourhood at six minutes past four.