It may be said of Bones that he was in the City, but not of it. Never
once had he been invited by the great and awe-inspiring men who
dominate the finance of the City to participate in any of those
adventurous undertakings which produce for the adventurers the fabulous
profits about which so much has been written. There were times when
Bones even doubted whether the City knew he was in it.
He never realised his own insignificance so poignantly as when he
strolled through the City streets at their busiest hour, and was
unrecognised even by the bareheaded clerks who dashed madly in all
directions, carrying papers of tremendous importance.
The indifference of the City to Mr. Tibbetts and his partner was more
apparent than real. It is true that the great men who sit around the
green baize cloth at the Bank of England and arrange the bank rate knew
not Bones nor his work. It is equally true that the very important
personages who occupy suites of rooms in Lombard Street had little or
no idea of his existence. But there were men, and rich and famous men
at that, who had inscribed the name of Bones in indelible ink on the
tablets of their memory.
The Pole Brothers were shipbrokers, and had little in common, in their
daily transactions, with Mr. Harold de Vinne, who specialised in
industrial stocks, and knew little more about ships than could be
learnt in an annual holiday trip to Madeira. Practically there was no
bridge to connect their intellects. Sentimentally, life held a common
cause, which they discovered one day, when Mr. Fred Pole met Mr. Harold
de Vinne at lunch to discuss a matter belonging neither to the realms
of industrialism nor the mercantile marine, being, in fact, the
question of Mr. de Vinne leasing or renting Mr. Pole's handsome
riverside property at Maidenhead for the term of six months.
They might not have met even under these circumstances, but for the
fact that some dispute arose as to who was to pay the gardener. That
matter had been amicably settled, and the two had reached the coffee
stage of their luncheon, when Mr. de Vinne mentioned the
inadvisability--as a rule--of discussing business matters at lunch, and
cited a deplorable happening when an interested eavesdropper had
overheard certain important negotiations and had most unscrupulously
taken advantage of his discovery.
"One of these days," said Mr. de Vinne between his teeth, "I'll be even
with that gentleman." (He did not call him a gentleman.) "I'll give
him Tibbetts! He'll be sorry he was ever born."
"Tibbetts?" said Mr. Fred Pole, sitting bolt upright. "Not Bones?"
The other nodded and seemed surprised.
"You don't know the dear fellow, do you?" he asked, only he did not use
the expression "dear fellow."
"Know him?" said Mr. Fred, taking a long breath. "I should jolly well
say I did know him. And my brother Joe knows him. That fellow----"