Rodens Corner | Page 9

refreshment-room to investigate the matter. As she passed through the crowded rooms, she glanced from face to face with her quick, seeking look. She cordially disliked all these people. And their principal crime was that they ate and drank. For Lady Ferriby was a miser.
At the upper end of the room a low platform served as a safe retreat for sleepy chaperons on such occasions as the annual Ferriby ball. To-night there were no chaperons. Is not charity the safest as well as the most lenient of these? And does her wing not cover a multitude of indiscretions?
Upon this platform there now appeared, amid palms and chrysanthemums, a long, rotund man like a bolster. He held a paper in his hand and wore a platform smile. His attitude was that of one who hesitated to demand silence from so well-bred a throng. His high, narrow forehead shone in the light of the candelabra. This was Lord Ferriby--a man whose best friend did his best for him in describing him as well-meaning. He gave a cough which had sufficient significance in it to command a momentary quiet. During the silence, a well-dressed parson stood on tiptoe and whispered something in Lord Ferriby's ear. The suggestion, whatever it may have been, was negated by the speaker on receipt of a warning shake of the head from Joan.
"Er--ladies and gentlemen," said Lord Ferriby, and gained the necessary silence. "Er--you all know the purpose of our meeting here to-night. You all know that Lady Ferriby and myself are much honoured by your presence here. And--er--I am sure----" He did not, however, appear to be quite sure, for he consulted his paper, and the colonial bishop near the yellow chrysanthemums said, "Hear, hear!"
"And I am sure that we are, one and all, actuated by a burning desire to relieve the terrible distress which has been going on unknown to us in our very midst."
"He has missed out half a page," said Joan to Major White, who somehow found himself at her side again.
"This is no place, and we have at the moment no time, to go into the details of the manufacture of malgamite. Suffice it to say, that such a--er--composition exists, and that it is a necessity in the manufacture of paper. Now, ladies and gentlemen, the painful fact has been brought to light by my friend Mr. Roden----" His lordship paused, and looked round with a half-fledged bow, but failed to find Roden.
"By--er--Mr. Roden that the manufacture of malgamite is one of the deadliest of industries. In fact, the makers of malgamite, and fortunately they are comparatively few in number, stricken as they are by a corroding disease, occupy in our midst the--er--place of the lepers of the Bible."
Here Lord Ferriby bowed affably to the bishop, as if to say, "And that is where you come in."
"We--er--live in an age," went on Lord Ferriby--and the practical Joan nodded her head to indicate that he was on the right track now--"when charity is no longer a matter of sentiment, but rather a very practical and forcible power in the world. We do not ask your assistance in a vague and visionary crusade against suffering. We ask you to help us in the development of a definite scheme for the amelioration of the condition of our fellow-beings."
Lord Ferriby spoke not with the ease of long practice, but with the assurance of one accustomed to being heard with patience. He now waited for the applause to die away.
"Who put him up to it?" Major White asked Joan.
"Mr. Roden wrote the speech, and I taught it to papa," was the answer.
At this moment Cornish hurried up in his busy way. Indeed, these people seemed to have little time on their hands. They belonged to a generation which is much addicted to unnecessary haste.
"Seen Roden?" he asked, addressing his question to Joan and her companion jointly.
"Never in my life," answered Major White. "Is he worth seeing?"
But Cornish hurried away again. Lord Ferriby was still speaking, but he seemed to have lost the ear of his audience, and had lapsed into generalities. A few who were near the platform listened attentively enough. Some who hoped that they were to be asked to speak applauded hurriedly and finally whenever the speaker paused to take breath.
The world is full of people who will not give their money, but offer readily enough what they call their "time" to a good cause. Lord Ferriby was lavish with his "time," and liked to pass it in hearing the sound of his own voice. Every social circle has its talkers, who hang upon each other's periods in expectance of the moment when they can successfully push in their own word. Lord Ferriby, looking round upon faces well known to him, saw half a dozen men