The Sins of Séverac Bablon | Page 2

from the window, "has its burden of hopelessness and misery. Ranks of
homeless wretches form up in the arch yonder, awaiting the arrival of
the Salvation Army officials. Where, in the whole world, can misery in
bulk be found thus side by side with all that wealth can procure?"
There was a brief silence. Sheard was on his hobbyhorse, and there
were few there disposed to follow him. The views of the Gleaner are
not everybody's money.
"What sort of gas are you handing us out?" asked Rohscheimer. "Those
lazy scamps don't deserve any comfort; they never worked to get it!

The people here are moneyed people."
"Just so!" interrupted Sheard, taking up the challenge with true Gleaner
ardour. "Moneyed people! That's the whole distinction in two words!"
"Well, then--what about it?"
"This--that if every guest now in the hotel would write a cheque for an
amount representing 1 per cent. of his weekly income, every man,
woman, and child under the arch yonder would be provided with board
and lodging for the next six months!"
"Why do it?" demanded Rohscheimer, not unreasonably. "Why feed
'em up on idleness?"
"Their idleness may be compulsory," replied Sheard. "Few would
employ a starving man while a well-nourished one was available."
"Cut the Socialist twaddle!" directed the other coarsely. "It gets on my
nerves! You and your cheques! Who'd you make 'em payable to? Editor
of the Gleaner."
"I would suggest," said Sir Richard Haredale, smiling, "to Séverac
Bablon."
"To who?" inquired Rohscheimer, with greater interest than grammar.
"Séverac Bablon," said Sheard, informatively, "the man who gave a
hundred dollars to each of the hands discharged from the Runek Mill,
somewhere in Ontario. That's whom you mean, isn't it, Haredale?"
"Yes," assented the latter. "I was reading about it to-day."
"We had it in this morning," continued Sheard. "Two thousand men."
"Eh?" grunted Rohscheimer hoarsely.
"Two thousand men," repeated Sheard. "Each of them received notes to
the value of a hundred dollars on the morning after the mill closed

down, and a card, 'With the compliments of Séverac Bablon.'"
"Forty thousand pounds!" shouted the millionaire. "I don't believe it!"
"It's confirmed by Reuter to-night."
"Then the man's a madman!" pronounced Rohscheimer conclusively.
"Pity he doesn't have a cut at London!" came Denby's voice.
"Is it?" growled the previous speaker. "Don't you believe it! A maniac
like that would mean ruination for business if he was allowed to get
away with it!"
"Ah, well!" yawned Sheard, standing up and glancing at his watch,
"you may be right. Anyway, I've got a report to put in. I'm off!"
"Me, too!" said the financier thickly. "Come on, Haredale. We're
overdue at Park Lane! It's time we were on view in Park Lane, Adeler!"
The tide of our narrative setting in that direction, it will be well if we,
too, look in at the Rohscheimer establishment. We shall find ourselves
in brilliant company.
Julius's harshest critics were forced to concede that the house in Park
Lane was a focus of all smart society. Yet smart society felt oddly ill at
ease in the salon of Mrs. Julius Rohscheimer. Nobody knew whether
the man to whom he might be talking at the moment were
endeavouring to arrange a mortgage with Rohscheimer; whether the
man's wife had fallen in arrears with her interest--to the imminent peril
of the family necklace; or whether the man had simply dropped in
because others of his set did so, and because, being invited, he chanced
to have nothing better to do.
These things did not add to the gaiety of the entertainments, but of their
brilliancy there could be no possible doubt.
Jewish society was well represented, and neither at Streeter's nor
elsewhere could a finer display of diamonds be viewed than upon one

of Mrs. Rohscheimer's nights. The lady had enjoyed some reputation as
a hostess before the demise of her first husband had led her to seek
consolation in the arms (and in the cheque-book) of the financier. So
the house in Park Lane was visited by the smartest people--to the
mutual satisfaction of host and hostess.
"Where's the Dook?" inquired the former, peering over a gilded
balustrade at the throng below. They had entered, unseen, by a private
stair.
"I understand," replied Haredale, "that the Duke is unfortunately
indisposed."
"Never turns up!" growled Rohscheimer.
"Never likely to!" was Haredale's mental comment; but, his situation
being a delicate one, he diplomatically replied, "We have certainly been
unfortunate in that respect."
Haredale--one of the best-known men in town--worked as few men
work to bring the right people to the house in Park Lane (and to save
his commission). This arrangement led Mr. Rohscheimer to rejoice
exceedingly over his growing social circle, and made Haredale so
ashamed of himself that, so he declared to an intimate