Young Gilbert Farney, secretary of "The Island Navigation Company,"
entering his hushed Board-room, stepped briskly to the table,
gathered some papers, and stood looking at his chairman. Not more than
thirty-five, with the bright hues of the optimist in his hair, beard,
cheeks, and eyes, he had a nose and lips which curled ironically. For,
in his view, he was the Company; and its Board did but exist to chequer
his importance. Five days in the week for seven hours a day he wrote,
and thought, and wove the threads of its business, and this lot came
down once a week for two or three hours, and taught their grandmother
to suck eggs. But watching that red-cheeked, white-haired, somnolent
figure, his smile was not so contemptuous as might have been expected.
For after all, the chairman was a wonderful old boy. A man of go and
insight could not but respect him. Eighty! Half paralysed, over head and
ears in debt, having gone the pace all his life--or so they said!--till
at last that mine in Ecuador had done for him--before the secretary's
day, of course, but he had heard of it. The old chap had bought it up
on spec'--"de l'audace, toujours de l'audace," as he was so fond of
saying--paid for it half in cash and half in promises, and then--the
thing had turned out empty, and left him with L20,000 worth of the old
shares unredeemed.
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