That morning, and many mornings both
before and afterwards, were spent by Laura at the
New Hall examining the treasures of the museum, playing
with the thousand costly toys which Raffles Haw had
collected, or sallying out from the smoking-room in
the crystal chamber into the long line of luxurious
hot-houses. Haw would walk demurely beside her
as she flitted from one thing to another like a butterfly
among flowers, watching her out of the corner of his
eyes, and taking a quiet pleasure in her delight.
The only joy which his costly possessions had ever
brought him was that which came from the entertainment
of others.
By this time his attentions towards
Laura McIntyre had become so marked that they could
hardly be mistaken. He visibly brightened in
her presence, and was never weary of devising a thousand
methods of surprising and pleasing her. Every
morning ere the McIntyre family were afoot a great
bouquet of strange and beautiful flowers was brought
down by a footman from the Hall to brighten their breakfast-table.
Her slightest wish, however fantastic, was instantly
satisfied, if human money or ingenuity could do it.
When the frost lasted a stream was dammed and turned
from its course that it might flood two meadows, solely
in order that she might have a place upon which to
skate. With the thaw there came a groom every
afternoon with a sleek and beautiful mare in case
Miss McIntyre should care to ride. Everything
went to show that she had made a conquest of the recluse
of the New Hall.
And she on her side played her part
admirably. With female adaptiveness she fell
in with his humour, and looked at the world through
his eyes. Her talk was of almshouses and free
libraries, of charities and of improvements.
He had never a scheme to which she could not add some
detail making it more complete and more effective.
To Haw it seemed that at last he had met a mind which
was in absolute affinity with his own. Here was
a help-mate, who could not only follow, but even lead
him in the path which he had chosen.
Neither Robert nor his father could
fail to see what was going forward, but to the latter
nothing could possibly be more acceptable than a family
tie which should connect him, however indirectly, with
a man of vast fortune. The glamour of the gold
bags had crept over Robert also, and froze the remonstrance
upon his lips. It was very pleasant to have the
handling of all this wealth, even as a mere agent.
Why should he do or say what might disturb their present
happy relations? It was his sister’s business,
not his; and as to Hector Spurling, he must take his
chance as other men did. It was obviously best
not to move one way or the other in the matter.
But to Robert himself, his work and
his surroundings were becoming more and more irksome.
His joy in his art had become less keen since he had
known Raffles Haw. It seemed so hard to toll and
slave to earn such a trifling sum, when money could
really be had for the asking. It was true that
he had asked for none, but large sums were for ever
passing through his hands for those who were needy,
and if he were needy himself his friend would surely
not grudge it to him. So the Roman galleys still
remained faintly outlined upon the great canvas, while
Robert’s days were spent either in the luxurious
library at the Hall, or in strolling about the country
listening to tales of trouble, and returning like
a tweed-suited ministering angel to carry Raffles Haw’s
help to the unfortunate. It was not an ambitious
life, but it was one which was very congenial to his
weak and easy-going nature.
Robert had observed that fits of depression
had frequently come upon the millionaire, and it had
sometimes struck him that the enormous sums which
he spent had possibly made a serious inroad into his
capital, and that his mind was troubled as to the
future. His abstracted manner, his clouded brow,
and his bent head all spoke of a soul which was weighed
down with care, and it was only in Laura’s presence
that he could throw off the load of his secret trouble.
For five hours a day he buried himself in the laboratory
and amused himself with his hobby, but it was one
of his whims that no one, neither any of his servants,
nor even Laura or Robert, should ever cross the threshold
of that outlying building. Day after day he vanished
into it, to reappear hours afterwards pale and exhausted,
while the whirr of machinery and the smoke which streamed
from his high chimney showed how considerable were
the operations which he undertook single-handed.
“Could I not assist you in any
way?” suggested Robert, as they sat together
after luncheon in the smoking-room. “I am
convinced that you over-try your strength. I
should be so glad to help you, and I know a little
of chemistry.”
“Do you, indeed?” said
Raffles Haw, raising his eyebrows. “I had
no idea of that; it is very seldom that the artistic
and the scientific faculties go together.”
“I don’t know that I have
either particularly developed. But I have taken
classes, and I worked for two years in the laboratory
at Sir Josiah Mason’s Institute.”
“I am delighted to hear it,”
Haw replied with emphasis. “That may be
of great importance to us. It is very possible indeed,
almost certain that I shall avail myself
of your offer of assistance, and teach you something
of my chemical methods, which I may say differ considerably
from those of the orthodox school. The time, however,
is hardly ripe for that. What is it, Jones?”
“A note, sir.”
The butler handed it in upon a silver
salver. Haw broke the seal and ran his eye over
it.
“Tut! tut! It is from Lady
Morsley, asking me to the Lord-Lieutenant’s
ball. I cannot possibly accept. It is very
kind of them, but I do wish they would leave me alone.
Very well, Jones. I shall write. Do you know,
Robert, I am often very unhappy.”
He frequently called the young artist
by his Christian name, especially in his more confidential
moments.
“I have sometimes feared that
you were,” said the other sympathetically.
“But how strange it seems, you who are yet young,
healthy, with every faculty for enjoyment, and a millionaire.”
“Ah, Robert,” cried Haw,
leaning back in his chair, and sending up thick blue
wreaths from his pipe. “You have put your
finger upon my trouble. If I were a millionaire
I might be happy, but, alas, I am no millionaire!”
“Good heavens!” gasped Robert.
Cold seemed to shoot to his inmost
soul as it flashed upon him that this was a prelude
to a confession of impending bankruptcy, and that all
this glorious life, all the excitement and the colour
and change, were about to vanish into thin air.
“No millionaire!” he stammered.
“No, Robert; I am a billionaire perhaps
the only one in the world. That is what is on
my mind, and why I am unhappy sometimes. I feel
that I should spend this money that I should
put it in circulation and yet it is so
hard to do it without failing to do good without
doing positive harm. I feel my responsibility
deeply. It weighs me down. Am I justified
in continuing to live this quiet life when there are
so many millions whom I might save and comfort if
I could but reach them?”
Robert heaved a long sigh of relief.
“Perhaps you take too grave a view of your responsibilities,”
he said. “Everybody knows that the good
which you have done is immense. What more could
you desire? If you really wished to extend your
benevolence further, there are organised charities
everywhere which would be very glad of your help.”
“I have the names of two hundred
and seventy of them,” Haw answered. “You
must run your eye over them some time, and see if you
can suggest any others. I send my annual mite
to each of them. I don’t think there is
much room for expansion in that direction.”
“Well, really you have done
your share, and more than your share. I would
settle down to lead a happy life, and think no more
of the matter.”
“I could not do that,”
Haw answered earnestly. “I have not been
singled out to wield this immense power simply in
order that I might lead a happy life. I can never
believe that. Now, can you not use your imagination,
Robert, and devise methods by which a man who has command
of well, let us say, for argument’s
sake, boundless wealth, could benefit mankind by it,
without taking away any one’s independence or
in any way doing harm?”
“Well, really, now that I come
to think of it, it is a very difficult problem,”
said Robert.
“Now I will submit a few schemes
to you, and you may give me your opinion on them.
Supposing that such a man were to buy ten square miles
of ground here in Staffordshire, and were to build
upon it a neat city, consisting entirely of clean,
comfortable little four-roomed houses, furnished in
a simple style, with shops and so forth, but no public-houses.
Supposing, too, that he were to offer a house free
to all the homeless folk, all the tramps, and broken
men, and out-of-workers in Great Britain. Then,
having collected them together, let him employ them,
under fitting superintendence, upon some colossal piece
of work which would last for many years, and perhaps
be of permanent value to humanity. Give them
a good rate of pay, and let their hours of labour be
reasonable, and those of recreation be pleasant.
Might you not benefit them and benefit humanity at
one stroke?”
“But what form of work could
you devise which would employ so vast a number for
so long a time, and yet not compete with any existing
industry? To do the latter would simply mean to
shift the misery from one class to another.”
“Precisely so. I should
compete with no one. What I thought of doing was
of sinking a shaft through the earth’s crust,
and of establishing rapid communication with the Antipodes.
When you had got a certain distance down how
far is an interesting mathematical problem the
centre of gravity would be beneath you, presuming
that your boring was not quite directed towards the
centre, and you could then lay down rails and tunnel
as if you were on the level.”
Then for the first time it flashed
into Robert McIntyre’s head that his father’s
chance words were correct, and that he was in the presence
of a madman. His great wealth had clearly turned
his brain, and made him a monomaniac. He nodded
indulgently, as when one humours a child.
“It would be very nice,”
he said. “I have heard, however, that the
interior of the earth is molten, and your workmen would
need to be Salamanders.”
“The latest scientific data
do not bear out the idea that the earth is so hot,”
answered Raffles Haw. “It is certain that
the increased temperature in coal mines depends upon
the barometric pressure. There are gases in the
earth which may be ignited, and there are combustible
materials as we see in the volcanoes; but if we came
across anything of the sort in our borings, we could
turn a river or two down the shaft, and get the better
of it in that fashion.”
“It would be rather awkward
if the other end of your shaft came out under the
Pacific Ocean,” said Robert, choking down his
inclination to laugh.
“I have had estimates and calculations
from the first living engineers French,
English, and American. The point of exit of the
tunnel could be calculated to the yard. That portfolio
in the corner is full of sections, plans, and diagrams.
I have agents employed in buying up land, and if all
goes well, we may get to work in the autumn. That
is one device which may produce results. Another
is canal-cutting.”
“Ah, there you would compete with the railways.”
“You don’t quite understand.
I intend to cut canals through every neck of land
where such a convenience would facilitate commerce.
Such a scheme, when unaccompanied by any toll upon
vessels, would, I think, be a very judicious way of
helping the human race.”
“And where, pray, would you
cut the canals?” asked Robert.
“I have a map of the world here,”
Haw answered, rising, and taking one down from the
paper-rack. “You see the blue pencil marks.
Those are the points where I propose to establish
communication. Of course, I should begin by the
obvious duty of finishing the Panama business.”
“Naturally.” The
man’s lunacy was becoming more and more obvious,
and yet there was such precision and coolness in his
manner, that Robert found himself against his own
reason endorsing and speculating over his plans.
“The Isthmus of Corinth also
occurs to one. That, however, is a small matter,
from either a financial or an engineering point of
view. I propose, however, to make a junction
here, through Kiel between the German Ocean and the
Baltic. It saves, you will observe, the whole
journey round the coast of Denmark, and would facilitate
our trade with Germany and Russia. Another very
obvious improvement is to join the Forth and the Clyde,
so as to connect Leith with the Irish and American
routes. You see the blue line?”
“Quite so.”
“And we will have a little cutting
here. It will run from Uleaborg to Kem, and will
connect the White Sea with the Gulf of Bothnia.
We must not allow our sympathies to be insular, must
we? Our little charities should be cosmopolitan.
We will try and give the good people of Archangel
a better outlet for their furs and their tallow.”
“But it will freeze.”
“For six months in the year.
Still, it will be something. Then we must do
something for the East. It would never do to overlook
the East.”
“It would certainly be an oversight,”
said Robert, who was keenly alive to the comical side
of the question. Raffles Haw, however, in deadly
earnest, sat scratching away at his map with his blue
pencil.
“Here is a point where we might
be of some little use. If we cut through from
Batoum to the Kura River we might tap the trade of
the Caspian, and open up communication with all the
rivers which run into it. You notice that they
include a considerable tract of country. Then,
again, I think that we might venture upon a little
cutting between Beirut, on the Mediterranean, and
the upper waters of the Euphrates, which would lead
us into the Persian Gulf. Those are one or two
of the more obvious canals which might knit the human
race into a closer whole.”
“Your plans are certainly stupendous,”
said Robert, uncertain whether to laugh or to be awe-struck.
“You will cease to be a man, and become one
of the great forces of Nature, altering, moulding,
and improving.”
“That is precisely the view
which I take of myself. That is why I feel my
responsibility so acutely.”
“But surely if you will do all
this you may rest. It is a considerable programme.”
“Not at all. I am a patriotic
Briton, and I should like to do something to leave
my name in the annals of my country. I should
prefer, however, to do it after my own death, as anything
in the shape of publicity and honour is very offensive
to me. I have, therefore, put by eight hundred
million in a place which shall be duly mentioned in
my will, which I propose to devote to paying off the
National Debt. I cannot see that any harm could
arise from its extinction.”
Robert sat staring, struck dumb by
the audacity of the strange man’s words.
“Then there is the heating of
the soil. There is room for improvement there.
You have no doubt read of the immense yields which
have resulted in Jersey and elsewhere, from the running
of hot-water pipes through the soil. The crops
are trebled and quadrupled. I would propose to
try the experiment upon a larger scale. We might
possibly reserve the Isle of Man to serve as a pumping
and heating station. The main pipes would run
to England, Ireland, and Scotland, where they would
subdivide rapidly until they formed a network two
feet deep under the whole country. A pipe at
distances of a yard would suffice for every purpose.”
“I am afraid,” suggested
Robert, “that the water which left the Isle of
Man warm might lose a little of its virtue before it
reached Caithness, for example.”
“There need not be any difficulty
there. Every few miles a furnace might be arranged
to keep up the temperature. These are a few of
my plans for the future, Robert, and I shall want
the co-operation of disinterested men like yourself
in all of them. But how brightly the sun shines,
and how sweet the countryside looks! The world
is very beautiful, and I should like to leave it happier
than I found it. Let us walk out together, Robert,
and you will tell me of any fresh cases where I may
be of assistance.”