SIR—or to speak more correctly, the Right Honourable Sir T. Charles Repton, Bart., M.V.O., O.M., Warden of the Court of Dowry, a man past middle age but in the height of industry, sat at breakfast in his house: a large house overlooking Hyde Park from the North, close to the corner of the Edgware Road, and therefore removed by at least a hundred yards from the graphic representation which marks the site of the old Permanent Gallows that once stood at Tyburn. I have said that he was Warden of the Court of Dowry, and the reader, if she has any acquaintance with parliamentary affairs, will remember that at the time of which I speak, the month of March, 1915, that post commonly carried with it Cabinet rank. The experienced in political matters will certainly induce that he was also in the House of Commons.[2] He sat there for Pailton, a borough which had been the last to elect him after previous experiences in Merionethshire, Kirkby, Bruton, Powkeley and the Wymp division of Dorset, in which last his somewhat constrained and cold manner had perhaps led to his defeat.
It was not his first experience of office, but he had never stood so high in the Councils of the Nation, nor had his presence in the Cabinet ever more weighed with the young and popular Prime Minister (who was suffering slightly from his left lung) than at this moment. For though Charles Repton did not belong by birth to the group of families from which the Prime Minister had sprung, he was of those who, as they advance through life, accumulate an increasing number of clients, of dependents and of friends who dare not trifle with such friendships.
In figure he was tall and somewhat lean; he was clean-shaven; his brilliant white hair was well groomed; his brown eyes were singularly piercing, and, in contrast with his head, two thick, very dark and strongly arched eyebrows emphasized his expression. He was by persuasion at this time of his life a Second Day Wycliffite, and had indeed professed his connection with that body since at least his fortieth year, before which period in his career he had permanently resided in a suburb of Leicester, to which in turn he had removed from Newcastle.
By profession he was, or rather had been, a[3] solicitor, in which calling he had ever advised those clients who had the wisdom to accumulate wealth to leave the investment of it at his discretion, nor were they disappointed in the regular receipt of a moderate but secure income calculated at a reasonable rate; while to those who (for whatever reason) lay under the necessity of borrowing, he was ever ready to advance at a somewhat higher rate such sums as he had at his disposal.
But this humdrum course of professional life could never satisfy abilities of his calibre. Shortly after his entry into political life he had undertaken the management of numerous industrial ventures, several of which had proved singularly successful, while those which had been less fortunate came to grief through the action of others than himself: nay it was often shown when the winding-up order came that such risks had attracted but little of his spare cash.
He was that morning in March, 1915, eating an egg. He had before him a copy of the Times, the affairs of which newspaper were among his most valued connections. The moments he could spare from its perusal were given to the methodical cutting open of envelopes and the glancing at their contents,—an exercise which it was his rule most methodically to pursue before he permitted his secretary to deal with the answers. Indeed some one or two of these missives he put into his pocket to be dealt with at his private leisure.
He was alone, for his wife—Maria, Lady Repton—would[4] commonly affect to come down after he had left the house; and this, no matter how late divisions might have kept him upon the previous evening, he invariably did at the hour of half-past nine. I may add that he had no children, but could boast no less than five horses in town and sixteen in the country, all his own property, and used to drag in the country I know not how many vehicles; in London three, each suitable for its own function. Of motor cars he kept but one, but that large and in colour a very bright sky-blue. As he had no proficiency in riding, he did not indulge in that exercise; but he was fond of golf and was acquainted with all the technical terms of the game.
To do him justice he was not without means, nay, he was what many would call wealthy, and the salary of ￡5000 to which, amid the enthusiastic cheers of the Legislature, the Wardenship of the Court of Dowry had recently been raised was of no great consequence to his position.
To another, alas! in the vast and heartless city, such a salary was shortly to mean far more,—and George Mulross Demaine, upon whom I will not for the moment linger, would have been even more benefited in pocket than in status by the handling of it.
Careless, however, as Sir Charles Repton might be of a fringe of income obtainable only while his own Party were in office, it was imagined that he was not a little attached to other advantages connected with[5] his Wardenship. It is doubtful whether a man of this firm, reticent and dominating character could really be attached to such accidents of his post as the carrying of a model ship, bareheaded, in the great procession upon Empire Day, the wearing upon state occasions of shoes which curled up at the toe and were caught back to the ankles by small silver chains, or the presence upon these ornaments of several tiny bells that jingled as he walked; anachronisms of this kind can have produced little but discomfort in one of his stern mould when, upon the rare occasions of court functions, he was compelled to adopt the official dress. But there was more!
The Wardenship of the Court of Dowry carried with it something regal in that great world of affairs in which he moved, and bitter as had been the attacks upon his colleagues in the Nationalist Cabinet,—especially during the futile attempt to pass the Broadening of the Streets Bill—Sir Charles had always been treated with peculiar and exceptional respect, though he would never have used methods so underhand as to foreclose upon any newspaper with whom he might have a political difference or to embarrass by official action any considerable advertiser of patent medicines whose manufacture came under the purview of his Department.
It would be an exaggeration to say that he had raised one of the minor Government posts to the[6] level of the Foreign Office, but, at any rate, it had under his reign become almost as prominent as it had been when GHERKIN had first raised it to the rank of a principal function in the State. It was one of the great spending departments; Repton saw to that.
Sir Charles Repton prepared to leave his house, I say, at half-past nine; his mind was intent upon the business of the morning, which was a Board meeting of the Van Diemens. It need not yet concern the reader, it is enough for her to know (and the knowledge is consonant with Repton’s character) that the Company was prepared to develop all that North-eastern littoral of the Australian Continent for which it had obtained a charter but which no enterprise had as yet succeeded in bringing into line with the vast energies of the Empire.
Of the strategical advantages such a position can give, I need not speak. Luckily they were in the hands of patriots.
The comparatively small sum of ￡4,000,000 which by its charter the Company was permitted to raise would have been subscribed twenty times over in the rush for shares seven years before, and it is common knowledge that at a particular moment during which values must surely have been inflated, they reached a premium of between 800 and 900 per cent. The cool process of reflection which often follows such errors had by this time driven them if anything too low, and the original one pound[7] share which had twice all but touched ￡9, had been for now many months unsaleable at a nominal price of 16/3.
There exists a sound rule of public administration of this country—inaugurated, I believe, by Mr. Gladstone—which forbids a Cabinet Minister to hold any public directorship at the same time as his official post, and indeed it is this rule which renders it usual for a couple of men upon opposite sides of the House to come to an arrangement whereby the one shall be Director while his colleague is in office, lest important commercial affairs should be neglected through the too rigid application of what is in principle so excellent a rule. But there had been no necessity for this arrangement in the case of so great an Imperial business as the Van Diemens: it touched too nearly the major interests of the country for its connection with a Cabinet Minister to be remarkable, and all patriotic opinion was sincerely glad when, in the preceding January, Sir Charles Repton had consented to acquire without direct purchase a few thousand shares and to take an active part in raising the fortunes of the scheme.
It was recognised upon all sides that the act was one of statesman-like self-sacrifice, and there were perhaps but two papers in London (two evening papers of large circulation but of no high standing) which so much as alluded to Sir Charles’ labours in this field.
Of these one, the Moon, catered especially[8] for that very considerable public which will have England mistress of the waves, which is interested in the printed results of horse-racing, which had formerly triumphantly carried at the polls the demand for protection, and which was somewhat embittered by so many years of office during which the Nationalist Party had done little more than tax the parts of motor cars, foreign unsweetened prunes, moss litter, and such small quantities of foreign sulphuric acid as are used in the manufacture of beer.
The other, the Capon—to give it its entire name—was of a finer stamp. All the young enthusiasts read it, and it was enormously bought for its Notes on Gardening, its caricatures, its clever headlines, and its short, downright little leaders not twenty lines long, printed, by a successful innovation, in capitals throughout, and in a red ink that showed up finely against the plain black and white of the remainder.
Both these papers had continually and violently attacked the connection of one of our few great statesmen with the last of the vast enterprises of Empire. The Capon, whose editor was a young man with very wild eyes and hair like a weeping willow, attacked it on principle. The Moon—whose proprietor was an intimate friend of Sir Charles’ own—was more practical, and attacked the connection between Repton and the Company with good old personalities worthy of a more virile age.
Well then, at this hour of half-past nine on that March day of 1915, Charles Repton rose from his[9] breakfast. He touched the crumbs upon his waistcoat so that they fell, and those upon his trousers also. He looked severely at the footman in the hall, who quailed a little at that glance, he rapidly put on his coat unaided, and asked briefly to see the butler.
The butler came.
“I’m out to lunch.”
“Yes, Sir Charles.”
“Tell Parker that if one of my letters is ever left again on the table after I have gone, I shall speak to Lady Repton.”
“Yes, Sir Charles.”
“The car is not to be used on any account.”
“No, Sir Charles.”
He turned round abruptly and went down the steps and into the street, while one of his large footmen shut the huge door ever so gently behind him.
He was a man of such character, who conducted his household so firmly, that the man, though now five months in his service, dared exchange no jest with the butler who went quietly off to his own part of the house again. It was a singular proof of what rigid domestic government can do.
From her room Maria, Lady Repton, when she was quite sure that her husband was gone, slunk downstairs. With a cunning that was now a trifle threadbare, she discovered from Parker the housekeeper, from the secretary, from the butler, by methods which she fondly believed to be indirect, what plans her husband had formed for the day.[10] She sighed to learn that she might not have the car, for she had designed to go and see her dear old friend widow, Mrs. Hulker, formerly of Newcastle, now of Ealing, a woman of great culture and refinement and one who gave Maria, Lady Repton, nearly all her information upon books and life. Of course there was always the Tube and the Underground, but they greatly wearied this elderly lady, and it was too far to drive. She sighed a little at her husband’s order.
He, meanwhile, was out in Oxford Street, and with the rapidity that distinguishes successful men, had decided not to take a motor-bus but to walk. The March day was cold and clear and breezy, and he went eastward at a happy gait. He did not need to be at his work until close upon eleven, and even that he knew to be full early for at least one colleague, the stupidest of all the Directors, a certain Bingham, upon whose late rising he counted. For the intolerable tedium of arguing against a man who invariably took the unintelligent side was one of the few things which caused Sir Charles to betray some slight shade of impatience.
The day pleased him, as indeed it pleased the greater part of London, from its fineness. He walked upon the sunny side of the street, and his smile, though restrained and somewhat sadly dignified, was the more genial from the influence of the weather. His brain during this brief exercise was not concerned, as those ignorant of our great[11] men might imagine, with affairs of State, nor even with the choice of investments upon which he was in so short a time to determine. He was occupied rather in planning (for his power of organisation was famous) how exactly he should fit in his engagements for the day.
A Board meeting, especially if there is any chance of long argument with a late riser of exceptional stupidity, may last for an indefinite time. He gave it an hour and a half.
Then he must lunch, and that hour was earmarked for a certain foreigner who could not wholly make up his mind whether to build a certain bridge over a certain river for a certain government or no.
By a quarter to three he must be in the House of Commons to answer questions, for those which fell to his share came early upon the paper, and it was the pride of this exact and efficient man to keep no one waiting. Before four he must see the manager of a bank; the matter was urgent, he did not wish to write or telephone. By five he must be back again in his room in the House of Commons to receive a deputation of gentlemen who would arrive from his distant constituency, and who proposed with a mixture of insistence and of fear to demand certain commercial advantages for their town at the expense of a neighbouring borough whose representative but rarely busied himself with the Great Council of the Nation.
At six he must order with particular care a[12] dinner upon which (in his opinion) the chances of the Saltoon Development largely depended. At seven he must dress, at eight he must dine. His guests (many of whom to his knowledge would drink to excess) would certainly detain him till long after ten. He must be back in the House to vote at eleven; for some half-hour or so after eleven he must be present to attend a short debate (or what he hoped would prove a short debate) concerning his own Department. He would be lucky if he was in bed by twelve.
Let the reader leave him there walking in Oxford Street and turn her attention to George Mulross Demaine, or rather, to Mount Popocatapetl.