War-time Silhouettes | Page 3

War came Mr. Reiss was growing richer and richer. His talent for saving kept pace with his gift for making.
He spent evening after evening, when he came home from the City, thinking out different ways of tying up his fortune on Percy, so that it could remain intact as long as possible. Some of his schemes for insuring the safety of his capital, for the resettlement of the greater part of the income by trustees--for combining, in fact, a maximum of growing power for the fortune with a minimum of enjoyment for the heir--were really marvels of ingenuity.
But since the War his thoughts have taken a different turn. Half his fortune has gone. He is too old now to catch up again. It's all over with money-making. The most he can hope for is to keep "the little that is left." If only Percy had been older and had a son, he could settle the money upon his great-nephew. Then there would have been time for the money to accumulate again.
And now he's gone to the Front. He might be killed. It doesn't bear thinking about. He has toiled all his life. Surely after all his self-sacrifice and self-denial he is not to be robbed of the one satisfaction he asks for, to know that the beggarly remains of his wealth shall be safe after his own death.
Every day he scans the papers anxiously. His one preoccupation is the daily casualty list.
* * * * *
Spring is at hand, and though there is chill in the air Mr. Reiss is economical and sits before an empty grate. Self-mortification always seems to him to be evidence of moral superiority and to confirm his right to special grievances. He is reading a letter over again received that morning from Percy. It bears the stamp of the Base Censor and is some days old.
DEAR UNCLE ADOLF,
You remember my friend Jimmy Staples--the one I told you about, who was engaged and I lent that money to? Well, he's been killed, or rather he has just died of wounds. He has done splendidly. Our Brigadier had sent in his name for a V.C. I'll tell you all about it when I see you. But what I wanted to say is that it's all right about the money. I've got lots in the bank now, and in another couple of months I shall be able to pay you back. One can't spend anything much out here. I'm quite fit, but I'm rather in the blues about Jimmy. Mother will give you all my news.
Your affectionate Nephew.
P.S.--By the way, I gave your name as nearest relative in case of accidents, to save mother.
Mr. Reiss has a curious and unaccustomed feeling of flatness as he re-reads the letter. Somehow or other he does not want Percy to pay him back that fifty pounds. He thinks he'll write and tell him so at once.
He sits down at the writing-table--the same one at which he had written the cheque the last time he saw Percy. The scene comes back to him with a strange vividness as he dips his pen in the ink. He hesitates a moment before beginning the letter. Was there anything he could say that would please Percy? He has a curious and at the same time a strong desire to do something now--at once. He has never felt like this before. Supposing he were to--A knock on the door. His servant brings in a telegram. Why do Mr. Reiss's fingers tremble so? Why does Mr. Reiss begin cleaning his glasses before he opens the envelope?
He holds the pink paper under the lamp.
Deeply regret to inform you....
Mr. Adolf Reiss does not need to read farther, and now he has a final grievance against Life.

IN THE TRUE INTEREST OF THE NATION

II
IN THE TRUE INTEREST OF THE NATION
Sir Matthew Bale, baronet and Member of Parliament, appears to be, at first sight, a distinguished person. When you know him better, you ask yourself what misled you, and you reconsider his personality. Careful scrutiny reveals that he is a skilful imitation. On the other hand, he is not just a fa?ade, for there is will behind the mask. His imitation is, in fact, the result of an endeavour to be, not merely to appear, distinguished, and he fails because, while the manner is there, the moral qualities which should support it are not. Though he does not know it, this failure to realize his own ideal of himself is the fly in the amber. Sir Matthew was an ambitious man, and believed that all that was necessary in order to "arrive" was to will it sufficiently. Up to a point his career supports his theory, but not altogether; for while, considering where he began, he has climbed to a considerable height,