Arnold Bennett - Imperial Palace

The speaker amplified his arguments at length, and ended:

“There is a proverb: ‘Where your treasure is, there is your heart also.’ I beg you, ladies and gentlemen, to think of all that that wisdom means. I feel that at this moment the fortunes of the Imperial Palace Hotel Company are trembling in the balance.”

Mr. Dickingham was applauded in several parts of the room. Then three other men rose in succession, and, with much less suavity of phrasing than Mr. Dickingham, spoke against the Resolution. Then silence.

Father Dennis lifted himself, and hoarsely squeaked:

“I have the pleasure to put the Resolution. Those in favour——” Many hands were raised. “The Resolution appears to be carried. But of course, if any of you would prefer a poll to be taken——”

“Poll! Poll! Poll!” cried a number of voices, fiercely, savagely. “Poll! Poll!”

Mr. Crump began to finger the pile of proxies by which some dozens or scores of absent shareholders had delegated their voting powers to the Board.

Mr. Dickingham was on his feet:

“Mr. Chairman, if you will permit me to suggest it, I should like to examine the proxies—of course in collaboration with my friend the Company’s solicitor.”

“I have not the smallest objection,” squeaked father Dennis magnanimously.

The battle was now joined.

Evelyn drew symmetrical patterns on a piece of paper, continually enlarging them and making them more elaborate and shading them. His absurd heart was still more insistently beating. Mr. Dickingham had said truth: the fortunes of the Imperial Palace Hotel Company were indeed trembling in the balance. Perhaps also Evelyn’s own fortunes. The autocrats of a big merger of hotels might or might not invite him to manage the whole lot. But the Palace was the Palace, unique. Anyhow he would not accept a subordinate position, as manager of one hotel, not even were that hotel the Imperial Palace itself. Either he would be autocrat or he would be nothing—he would start life again. He could not bear to look at the group of the two lawyers and the secretary, examining the proxies, comparing them with the share-register. He could not judge the total strength of the opposition. Nor could anybody else on the Board or off it.

Presently he heard father Dennis say: “Shareholders will now kindly substantiate their claims to vote.”

Shareholders approached the table, some diffidently, some defiantly. The assembly was in disorder. Noise of voices, explanatory and argumentative. Mr. Crump had rather more than he could do, but the two lawyers in their professional calm and patience helped him both practically and morally. One by one the shareholders returned to their seats. Then Mr. Dickingham sat down, his face illegible.

Mr. Crump rose and ceremoniously delivered a paper to the Chairman, who showed it to Evelyn and lifted himself again:

“The Resolution is carried, by a majority of 22,111 votes,” he squeaked, and then added with characteristic gratuitous naughtiness: “Ownership has exercised control.”

“For the last time,” shouted Mr. Dickingham in his rasping tone, springing up.

“An improper observation,” said the Chairman, smiling.

“I am sorry you should think so, sir,” said Mr. Dickingham, pale and furious. “And I will point out to those shareholders who do not know it that you closed the Transfer books a month ago, and I understand will keep them closed until after the confirmatory meeting a fortnight hence. You have thus prevented new genuine holders of shares from voting at this meeting or the next. If it had not been for this piece of sharp practice, probably illegal, your Resolution would have been lost to-day, and well you know it!”

Some uproar. Father Dennis replied with extraordinary mildness:

“The Board followed a perfectly normal procedure in closing the Transfer books. They acted within their rights. And they certainly did their duty. This gentleman”—he indicated Mr. Dickingham to the other shareholders—“is a lawyer. He is therefore aware that this is not the proper place to raise a legal question. There are the Law Courts. May I remind you, ladies and gentlemen, of the statutory Special General Meeting a fortnight hence for the purpose of formally confirming the Resolution which you have been good enough to pass to-day. The proceedings are now terminated.”

IV

Before the room had begun to empty, Mr. Levinsohn came up to the Chairman.

“Good afternoon, Dover,” he said briefly and evenly. “I have another meeting at four o’clock.” He shook hands with father Dennis and with Evelyn, and left, hurrying.

Everybody left. Shareholders could be heard in lively but hushed conversation beyond the open doors at the end of the banqueting-room. Evelyn had glimpses of them taking their hats and coats at the special vestiaire outside. Lingmell departed, with one nod which served for both father Dennis and Evelyn, the thought in his mind being that he had done his duty by the Imperial Palace Hotel Company and was free for a time to devote himself completely to himself. Dacker and Smiss went off at speed, conscientiously to resume at once the round of their important daily work. Mr. Crump gathered together his paraphernalia and, piling it all on the large Register, carried the whole away like a laden tea-tray. Ruffo entered through the service-doors, anxiety on his face. He was responsible for the arrangement of the room for a banquet that evening, and wanted the place to himself and his waiting minions at the earliest possible moment. Nevertheless, seeing Evelyn and father Dennis still together, he disappeared yet again. Evelyn, however, had noticed him and his impatience. Father Dennis and Evelyn had sat side by side without speech. Evelyn slowly tore up his patterned paper into smaller and smaller pieces.

“Rather a lark!” hoarsely murmured Dennis Dover, with a grim, benevolent, humorous smile at Evelyn.

“What?”

“Savott wandering about the hotel while all this has been going on. Eh?” He spluttered laughter and touched Evelyn on the arm.

“He knows by this time,” said Evelyn.

“You may bet your shirt he does!” said the old man, giving another shaking laugh.

Evelyn smiled. He reflected that he had been wrong about old Dennis. Old Dennis was not old. And he was not always cynical in his cheerfulness. There was still a free, impulsive, warm youth in that body so aged, so cumbrous, so unwieldy, and so dilapidated. His bleared eyes gazed into Evelyn’s eyes with quick sympathy. What could it matter to old father Dennis whether or not the Imperial Palace changed ownership? Nothing. Father Dennis had lived beyond such trifles. But it mattered tremendously to Evelyn, and father Dennis’s delight was for Evelyn. He was fondly attached to Evelyn. And Evelyn, realising this exquisite fact anew, felt tears spring to his eyes. He wanted to be by himself—he was so happy, so overcome by the spirit of loving-kindness pouring into him and permeating him from its magic source in the secret and divine place hidden somewhere in father Dennis’s coarse mortal envelope.

They rose and left the room together, and before they had reached the vestiaire, Ruffo and his shirt-sleeved corps had rushingly invaded it, carrying tables. Evelyn put the old gentleman into his vast overcoat, walked down the steps with him to the Queen Anne entrance, and helped him into his car.

“We must have that Board meeting to-morrow to elect our chairman,” said Evelyn as he was closing the door of the car.

“I reminded Lingmell,” squeaked father Dennis. “Noon, isn’t it? But he won’t come. Doesn’t matter. There’ll be a quorum without the old ruffian.” The car moved.

Evelyn strolled to his private office. Dacker, his alter ego in the affairs of the Palace, was standing at the big desk.