rooms. She was sitting limp on a chair, overcome by the tropic warmth of Sloane Street, with her noble head thrown back, her fine eyes half shut, and her beautiful hands lying slackly on her black apron.
What an impeachment of civilization that a creature so fair and so divine should be forced to such a martyrdom! He desired ardently to run to her and to set her free for the day, for the whole summer, and on full wages. He wondered if he could trust the manager with instructions to alleviate her lot. … The next instant she sprang up, giving the indispensable smile of welcome to some customer who had evidently entered the trying-on room from the other side. The phenomenon distressed him. She disappeared from view behind the portière, and reappeared, but only for a moment, talking to a foppish old man with a white moustache. It was Senior Polycarp, the lawyer.
Hugo flushed, and, abandoning the manager in the middle of a sentence, fled to his central office. He had no confidence in his self-command. … Could this be jealousy? Was it possible that he, Hugo, should be so far gone? Nay!
But what was Polycarp, that old and desiccated widower, doing in the millinery department?
He said he must form some definite plan, and begin by giving her a private room.
CHAPTER III
HUGO EXPLAINS HIMSELF
'And what,' asked Hugo, smiling faintly at Mr. Senior Polycarp—'what is your client's idea of price?'
For half an hour they had been talking in the luxurious calm of Hugo's central office, which was like an island refuge in the middle of that tossing ocean of business. It overlooked the court of fountains from the second story, and the highest jet of water threw a few jewelled drops to the level of its windows.
Mr. Polycarp stroked his beautiful white moustache.
'We would give,' he said in his mincing, passionless voice, 'the cost price of premises, stock, and fixtures, and for goodwill seven times your net annual profits. In addition, we should be anxious to secure your services as managing director for ten years at five thousand a year, plus a percentage of profits.'
'Hum!'
'And, of course, if you wished part of the purchase-money in shares—'
'Have you formed any sort of estimate of my annual profits?' Hugo demanded.
'Yes—a sort of estimate.'
'You have looked carefully round, eh?'
'My clients have. I myself, too, a little. This morning, for example. Very healthy, Mr. Hugo.'
'What departments did you visit this morning? Each has its busy days.'
'Grocery, electrical, and—let me see—yes, furniture.'
'Not a good day for that—too hot! Anything else?'
'No,' said Mr. Polycarp.
'Ah! … Well, and what is your clients' estimate?'
'Naturally, I cannot pretend—'
'Listen, Mr. Polycarp,' said Hugo, interrupting: 'I will be open with you.'
The lawyer nodded, appreciatively benign. As usual, he kept his thoughts to himself, but he had the air of adding Hugo to the vast collection of human curiosities which he had made during a prolonged professional career.
'My net trading profits last year were £106,000. You are surprised?'
'Somewhat.'
'You expected a higher figure?'
'We did.'
'I knew it. And the figure might be higher if I chose. Only I do things in rather a royal way, you see. I pay my staff five hundred a week more than I need. And I allow myself to be cheated.' He laughed suddenly. 'Costume department, for instance. I send charming costumes out on approval, and fetch them back in two days. And the pretty girls who have taken off the tickets, and worn the garments, and carefully restored the tickets, and lied to my carmen—the pretty girls imagine they have deceived me. They have merely amused me. My detective reports are excellent reading. And, moreover, I like to think that I have helped a pretty girl to make the best of herself.'
'Immoral and unbusinesslike, Mr. Hugo.'
'Admitted. I have no doubt that if I put the screw on all round I could quite justifiably increase my profits by fifty per cent.'
'That shows what a splendid prospect a limited company would have.'
'Yes, doesn't it?' said Hugo joyously.
'But why are your clients so anxious to turn me into a limited company?'
'They see in your undertaking,' replied Polycarp, folding his thin hands, 'a legitimate opening for that joint-stock enterprise which has had such a beneficial effect on England's prosperity.'
'They would make a profit?'
'A reasonable profit. A small syndicate would be formed to buy from you, and that syndicate would sell to a public company. The usual thing.'
'And where do I come in?'
'Where do you come in, my dear Mr. Hugo? Everywhere! You would receive over a million in cash. You would have your salary and your percentage, and you would be relieved of all your present risks.'
'All my present risks?'
'You have risks, Mr. Hugo, because your business has increased so rapidly that your income is out of all proportion to your capital, which consists almost solely of buildings which you could not sell at anything like their cost price in open market, and of goodwill. Now, I ask you, what is goodwill? What is it? Under our scheme you would at once become a millionaire in actual fact.'
'Decidedly an inviting prospect,' said Hugo.
He walked about the room.
'Then I may take it that you are at any rate prepared to negotiate?' the lawyer ventured, staring at the fountain.
'Mr. Polycarp,' answered Hugo, 'I must first give you a little information and ask you a few questions.'
'Certainly.'
Hugo halted in front of Polycarp, close to him, and, lighting a cigar, gazed down at the frigid lawyer.
'Till the age of twenty-eight,' he began, 'I had no object in life. I was educated at Oxford. I narrowly escaped the legal profession. I had a near shave of the Church. I wasted years in aimless travel, waiting for destiny to turn up. I was conscious of no gift except a power for organizing. That gift I felt I had, and gradually I perceived that I would like to be the head of
