The Profiteers | Page 3

he wasn't more than thirty-five--and
much better-looking. I must say that in a struggle I shouldn't know
which to back. Wingate has sentiment and Phipps has none; conscience
of which Phipps hasn't a shred, and a sense of honour with which
Phipps was certainly never troubled. These points are all against him in
a market duel, but on the other hand he has a bigger outlook than
Phipps, he has nerves of steel and the grit of a hero. Did I tell you, by
the by, that he went into the war as a private and came out a brigadier?"
"Splendid!" Sarah murmured. "Now tell us where Peter Phipps comes
in?"

"Well," Kendrick continued, "Phipps attracts sympathy because of his
lavish hospitality and apparent generosity, whilst Wingate is a man of
many reserves and has few friends, either on this side or the other. Then
Phipps, I should say, is the wealthier man, and in this present deal, at
any rate, he has marvellous support, so that financially he must tower
over Wingate. Then, too, I think he understands the tricks of the market
better over here, and he has a very dangerous confederate in Skinflint
Martin. What that old blackguard doesn't know of chicanery and
crooked dealing, the devil himself couldn't make use of. If he's put his
own money into B. & I., I should say that Phipps can't be broken. My
advice to Wingate, at any rate, when we meet, will be to stand by for a
time."
The sound of approaching voices warned them that their seclusion was
on the point of being broken into. Their hostess, an elderly lady of great
social gifts and immense volubility, appeared, having for her escort a
tall, well-groomed man of youthful middle-age, with the square jaw
and humorous gleam in his grey eyes of the best trans-Atlantic type.
Lady Amesbury beamed upon them all.
"Just the people I was looking for!" she exclaimed. "I want you all to
know my great friend, Mr. Wingate from New York."
Every one was glad to meet Wingate, and Kendrick and he exchanged
the greetings of old friends.
"Now you have found some one whom you can talk to, my dear John,"
his hostess declared. "I shall consider you off my hands for the
afternoon. Come and dine with me next Sunday night, and don't lose
your heart to Sarah Baldwin. She's a capricious little minx, and, besides,
she's engaged to Jimmy there, though heaven knows whether they'll
ever get married.--There! I knew it! My own particular Bishop being
lured into conversation with Hilda Sutton, who's just become a
freethinker and can't talk of anything else. It will spoil the dear man's
afternoon if she gets really started.--Good-by, all of you. Take care of
Mr. Wingate."
She hurried off, and the newcomer seated himself between Kendrick

and Sarah.
"We've just been hearing all about you, Mr. Wingate," Sarah began,
"but I must say you're the last person we expected to see here. We
imagined you dashing in a great motor-car from Liverpool to your
office in the City, dictating letters, speaking into the telephone, and
doing all sorts of violent things. I don't believe Mr. Kendrick told us the
truth about you at all."
Wingate smiled good-humouredly.
"Tell me what Kendrick has been saying, and I will let you know
whether it is the truth or not," he promised.
"Well, he has just given us a thrilling picture of you," she went on,
"coming over here armed cap-a-pie to do battle for the romance of
money. Already we were picturing to ourselves poor Dreadnought
Phipps, the first of your victims, seeking for an asylum in the Stock
Exchange Almshouses; and the other desperado--what was his name?
Skinflint Martin?--on his knees before you while you read him a moral
lecture on the evils of speculation."
Wingate's eyes twinkled.
"From all of which I judge that you have been discussing the British
and Imperial Granaries," he remarked.
"Our dear young friend, Miss Baldwin," Kendrick said, "has a vivid
imagination and a wonderful gift of picturesque similies. Still, I have
just been telling them that one reason why I wouldn't touch B. & I.'s is
because they have an idea over here that you are going to have a shy at
them."
"My attitude toward the company in question is certainly an unfriendly
one," Wingate admitted. "I hate all speculations the basis of which is
utterly selfish. Dealing in foodstuffs is one of them. But, Miss
Baldwin," he went on, turning towards her, "why do we talk finance on
such a wonderful afternoon, and so far away from the City? I really

came over from the States to get an occasional cocktail, order some
new clothes and see some plays. What theatres do you advise me to go
to?"