SEVEN months previous to the arrival of the Dover Castle at Suakim, three men were together on the ground floor of a house in Queen Street, which is one of the most beautiful in Melbourne, herself the queen of Australia. Although near mid-day, that busiest of commercial hours in Anglo-Saxon cities, these men were doing nothing but lazily reading the Argus, Herald, Tribune, and other morning papers. They sat on morocco arm-chairs in front of great mahogany desks. The room was separated from the corridor by panes of ground glass, and a partition of the same material divided it from the street, and bore in brass letters the inscription:
THE ELECTRIC TRANSMISSION CO. (LIMITED),
PETER GRYPHINS, VOGEL, WAGNER & CO.,
Sole Agents.
Against the right wall stood a magnificent iron safe of stern business-like aspect. The left wall supported a marble chimney-piece on which stood models of electrical machines and submarine cables; whilst beautifully framed diagrams and plans occupied every free space. In its own quiet corner stood the telephone, ready for confidential communications. Openings were cut here and there in the ground glass for the various purposes of “deposits,” “inquiries,” and “dividends.” A thick Turkey carpet covered the floor, and everything in fine bespoke opulence and security.
Perhaps, indeed, a little too much security, judging from the idleness of the three partners.
“Ignaz Vogel,” suddenly said one of them. “Peter Gryphins?”
”How much have we in the cash-box?”
“Seven pounds sterling, eleven shillings, and threepence.”
“What payments are we expecting before the end of the month?”
“There is a credit of twenty pounds to Wolf; but it is no more likely to be paid than that of last month; four pounds due from Johannsen, and twenty-eight shillings from Krause.”
“And how much have we to pay on the 30th?”
”Three thousand pounds sterling, six shillings, and twopence.”
“Are they pressing debts?”
”Most pressing! They have the signature of the firm, the stamp of the house, and the sign manuals on paper bearing the royal arms.”
“Does this amount include the accounts or the rent?”
“No! Peter Gryphins.”
“Nor our salaries and those of Costerus Wagner and Mtiller’s wages?”
“No! Peter Gryphins, not even the wages of Mrs. Cumber, the housekeeper.”
“If such is the case, Ignaz Vogel, it is probable that about the yth of next month, the house of Peter Gryphins, Vogel, Wagner & Co. will be declared bankrupt.”
“Say for fraudulent bankruptcy, Peter Gryphins, and you will be right.”
With this ironical, if somewhat sad conclusion, the partners buried their heads once more in their newspapers.
“It is all our own fault, too!” exclaimed Costerus Wagner, a minute afterwards, speaking for the first time. “We wanted to do too much in proposing to amalgamate every possible combination of electricity!...It did not take with the public. We ought to have contented our-selves with some one thing, at once novel and simple; such as ‘the transmission by electricity of the force of the waves and tides’ for instance! That would have been understood. Oh! if only we could begin again!”
“Costerus with his crotchets again!” said Peter Gryphins, turning up his nose.
“Hang it all! We see the sort of thing done by companies every day, and facts prove their success! It is all the fashion...‘platina mines of Congo,’ ‘swallows’ nests of Formosa,’ ‘Devonshire bitumen,’ ‘false hair from the Herzegovina,’ the more absurd the better likely to take in fools. But as to Transatlantic cables, induction machines, electric accumulators, how can you expect them to appeal to cooks, jockeys, and tenors, who are the real capitalists in these days?
A resounding knock at the outer door cut short these effusions. Footsteps were heard in the corridor, and presently two little taps were given on the shutter inscribed Payments.
Ignaz Vogel opened it leisurely, and was confronted with a head framed in carroty whiskers. The following dialogue ensued:
“Can I see the director, Mr. Peter Gryphins?”
“He is not here at present.”
“Is he always absent?”
”Just so.”
“When will he be back?”
”As soon ashe has settled an important matter at Sydney.” Silence ensued. Then the voice resumed:—
“It is about the account for the iron safe. Cannot you settle it?...This is the eleventh time I have brought it.”
“We have no orders to do so. But if you are pressed, and short of money, I can ask the manager to authorize me to pay it. He shall be written to this very morning.”
“It is not a question of my being short of money,” said carroty whiskers, evidently vexed.
“Then you do not wish me to write? Very well. He shall not be written to,” instantly retorted Ignaz Vogel, as if this settled the difficulty.
And he closed the shutter.
Hesitating steps were heard slowly retreating down the corridor, and indistinct grumbling: at last the man was gone.
A quarter of an hour went by in silence: then the sound of the knocker was again heard, a heavy tread creaked along the passage, and some one tapped on the shutter labelled Inquiries. Peter Gryphins opened it this time.
“A parcel for the Electric Transmission Company,” said a drayman with an oilskin cap on his head. “Sent by Simpson, Exchange Agent, 27, Hercules Street. Will you sign the receipt?”
Peter Gryphins looked at his partners with dismay, then having signed the paper, he opened the door. The messenger put down his parcel with a letter and departed.
Peter Gryphins read aloud as follows;—
“With regret I return you the five hundred shares of your Company with which you entrusted me. Notwithstanding all my efforts, I have been unable to negociate even one on any terms whatsoever, and the state of the market precludes any hope of subsequent success.
“I remain, sirs,
“Your obedient servant,
“ARTHUR REGINALD SIMPSON.”
“Were they the last shares out?” asked Peter Gryphins.
“The very last. All the others have been called in and arranged in order in this cupboard,” answered Ignaz, opening a sliding panel in the wall...“There they are! Ten thousand fine sheets of foolscap paper worth at least twopence each if there was nothing printed on them, and not worth a rap with our seal on them!” he added with a sigh.
Placing the parcel on the only free shelf, he shut up the cupboard, and returned to his desk.
“It is enough to make one believe that the shares are bewitched,” groaned Costerus Wagner. “I could understand it if only a thousand, or even a hundred, or say fifty were sold!...But that not one should be taken!...To think that throughout the Australian continent not a single man should be found to appreciate the affair and invest twenty pounds in it!”...
Just at that moment, as if in obedience to his wish, the long~dfor rara avis knocked at the shutter labelled Inquiries.
“Is this the Electricity Transmission Company?” asked a sallow, clean-shaven individual with yellow hair plastered down on his temples.
“It is,” answered Costerus, who was the appointed janitor of the
Inquiries.
“Is the subscription list closed?” rejoined the sallow-faced man, with evident anxiety. “What subscription?”
“That of the limited Company.”...
“Yes, sir,” replied Costerus, somewhat haughtily, suspecting a ruse.
“Oh! I am sorry!...I am, indeed!”...cried the sallow-faced man. “It was only yesterday that I came upon your Prospectus in an old number of the Herald. But I was in hopes of being in time to purchase some shares!...Confound it!”
Costerus still suspected a trick. not long proof against the serious air of the newcomer.
But his incredulity was air of the new comer, and the look in his little grey eyes of evident annoyance at being too late to participate in the advantages of the wonderful speculation; and so, on reflection, Costerus saw reason to rejoice.
“When I say that the subscription is closed,” he resumed in a diplomatic tone, “I speak of the public subscription... The shares, as you rightly suppose, are all sold. We had, indeed, to decline numerous applications on the very first day of issue.”...
On hearing this, the sallow face fell lower still, and the poor man sighed deeply.
“But still, if you are disposed to make a sacrifice and give an immense premium to obtain some of the shares, we might, perhaps, persuade one of our subscribers to give them up to you...Do you want many?”...
“Oh, no!...Twenty or thirty...if it is at all possible.”
Thirty shares! It was nearly a thousand pounds sterling! Costerus Wagner glanced at his two partners dumfoundered with surprise and hope.
“I think that can be managed,” he replied paternally, “if you are disposed to give twenty-one pounds instead of twenty for each share. But you must make a deposit.”...
“I have the sum with me,” said the other, feverishly brandishing a bundle of bank-notes.
“Very well. I will receive it-Ignaz, draw out a receipt...Please to hand them in at the next window, and give me, sir, your name, address, and profession in full.”...
“Tyrrel Smith, valet of Sir Bucephalus Coghill, Baronet, of 29, Curzon Street, London, and now of the Victoria Hotel, Melbourne.”
“That is a good house,” said Costerus, with a patronizing air... “Should Sir Bucephalus desire some shares on the like conditions, we shall be happy to supply him with them...You have no stamp with you?...Never mind! Ignaz will give you one...Good-bye for the present, sir!...The shares shall be at your disposal in a few days’ time.”...
The window closed on the bank-notes, and Tyrrel Smith went off triumphant.
Eight hundred pounds! It was an unexpected windfall to the Electric Transmission Company!...
“I vote we have a good lunch at once,” exclaimed Ignaz Vogel, Il and talk over matters!”
This was agleed to on all sides. It was easier to talk with one’s feet under the table.
MLi.ller, the office boy, who passed his days yawning in the passage, was despatched forthwith to a neighbouring restaurant, and soon a succulent repast was spread on the office table.
“My advice,” said Peter Gryphins, as soon as there was a slight pause in the business of eating, “is that we should at once share the dividend among us, and wind up the Company. We have found our ideal shareholder, true, but he is evidently the only one of his species. We had better seize this opportunity; we are not likely to have another.”
“Agreed!” cried Ignaz Vogel. “If we give thirty shillings to Miiller for his wages, we shall be entitled to two hundred and twelve pounds sterling, that is to say five thousand three hundred francs in French currency, or four thousand two hundred and forty German marks. It is a tidy little sum, which would not be very beneficial to our creditors, but we shall find it very useful to ourselves!”...
“Much good it would do us to have two hundred and twelve pounds each!” cried Costerus disdainfully. “How can you dream of such an absurd division?...Are we to leave this splendid office in one of the great streets of Melbourne, and eight hundred pounds sterling in cash, with the experience of a first attempt to boot, and not turn it all to better advantage than that? .. It would be idiotic!”
So saying, Costcrus expre3sed his opinion by vigorously thumping the table with his fist.
“It would be idiotic,” he repeated. “As I said just now, the only thing that was wanting to our success was to manage to impress the imagination of the public. Do that, and you will have not one, but ten or twenty thousand shareholders...Not eight hundred and thirty pounds, but eight hundred thousand, eight hundred millions of pounds, any amount you like to name!...Now listen! I have a scheme in my head that would make a fine sensation!”...
“Let us hear it!” exclaimed Ignaz and Peter simultaneously.
They were greatly influenced by their partner, owing to his immense superiority over them in the way of’ actual learning. His was a strange history. He was a typical example of the fate that may overtake the highest genius when unaccompanied by good principle, and sound, practical common sense. Costerus Wagner had been one of the most brilliant scholars in the Friedrich-Karl Gymnasium of Berlin and the University of Gottingen. At the age of twenty he was a doctor of philosophy, already of note among the most distinguished young physicians of Germany, and on the staff of the Hildesheim Observatory as one of the assistants. At twenty-five he was known to the world of science as being the author of a remarkable work on stellar radiation. Unfortunately this character did not correspond with the strength of his understanding. He could not shake off the drunken habits he had contracted at the University; he was neglectful of social duties and observances; and he had such an exaggerated, notion of his own importance, moreover, as to think himself wronged because he only held a secondary post, and had not yet been admitted a member of the Academy of Science. He had long paved the way to a final fall by his open disdain of his superiors, and by the continual scandals of his private life. It was a question only of time. He struggled to live by teaching as a private professor, but his vices followed him everywhere, and could not but lead to the one inevitable result of failure. Falling lower and lower until he had reached the deepest depth of misery and degradation, he emigrated to Melbourne as a last chance. Here his still vigorous understanding stood him in good stead; he conceived the idea of utilizing in a practical manner the recent discoveries concerning the transference of mechanical forces by means of electricity. Meeting by chance with Vogel, a compatriot, and Peter Gryphins, an American who had amassed a little money with a foreign circus, the chief attraction of which had been a remarkable dwarf, he entered into partnership with them, and they set up at the house in Queen Street. Once more failure seemed to dog his steps. Their fundamental idea was a good one, founded on experimental facts of great interest, but the promoters were unfortunately strangers to the ways of the Australian market. The three partners soon used up their small capital of cash and energy. Most of their money went in preliminary expenses of advertising and starting their business, or else in premiums to gobetweens who lured them on with false promises. At the end of six months they saw the bottom of their purse, and were on the point of overstepping the slender barrier between solvency and bankruptcy.
At this moment Tyrrel Smith appeared on the scene, with his welcome eight hundred and thirty pounds, and Costerus Wagner, taking heart, resolved to resume operations, trusting this time to gull the public credulity, and make it subserve his own advantage.
“Have you any notion of astronomy?” he continued to his two partners. “No matter if you have not. You will better resemble the public whom we have to catch. Know, then, that this earth on which we live is one of the planets that revolve round the sun. It is but a star like the rest, a little globe of small importance. It may be compared to a gigantic cannon-ball turning on its own axis like a humming-top, whilst at the same time describing an ellipse round the solar centre...There are other planets both larger and smaller than the earth, that are also suspended in space at different distances from the sun. What is the power, you may ask, that holds them thus suspended? I will just briefly answer that they keep their places by their own movement, and by their mutual attraction for each other. Among these planets are some so near to us that we can already foresee the time when earthly beings will be able to enter into relations with them, either by way of optical telegraphy, or otherwise. Perhaps we may succeed some day in travelling from one globe to another, just as we now go from London to Paris, or from Melbourne to San Francisco. But we have not got to that point yet, however...Among those worlds that are nearest, and are beginning to be known to us with great exactness of detail through the recent researches of astronomy, there is one that belongs to our own system, and is indeed dependent on the earth. It is her satellite, the moon.
“You must know that apparently the moon once made part of the incandescent matter of which our earth was originally composed, and was only separated from her at a comparatively recent period. She revolves round our globe, whilst at the same time she moves with us round the sun. The distance that separates her from us is so small that it is looked upon by astronomers as almost nothing.
“Some idea may perhaps be gained of it by considering that we are 14,000,000 leagues distant from Mars, the planet nearest to us, whilst the moon is scarcely 90,000 leagues from our earth. The proportion is like the respective distances of towns that are 411 leagues, or only one league apart.
“A telegram would reach the moon in a second and a half. Tourist and alpine guides have undoubtedly traversed on foot quite as great a distance as that between the earth and the moon. It would not exceed indeed twenty times the distance between London or Paris, and Melbourne. Clearly, then, the moon can, with all strictness, be considered just a suburb of the earth.”...
“Evidently!” said Peter Gryphins and Ignaz Vogel, opening wide eyes in the endeavour to take it all in, but only understanding a word here and there, notwithstanding the elementary character of their first lesson in astronomy.
“Well!” resumed Costerus Wagner, getting up and striding about the room; “given this propinquity of the earth and moon, does it not seem strange that no one has tried to go from one globe to the other?”...
“But I thought that the attempt had been made in America, by means of a prodigious cannon and a projectile?” rejoined Peter Gryphins.
“It is true that a Frenchman did make the attempt, and even succeeded in his enterprise, which is most valuable from our present point of view. But his venture was unique of its kind, precisely because the means he employed were most exceptional, and difficult to reproduce.1 The plan that I propose you should submit to the public, or rather that you should carry out, will be of commercial importance...We have to get hold of the moon, and open a decided and direct communication with her, so as to come and go at our will—to annex her, in a word, to our own world, and have full command over all her riches and resources known or unknown!”...
“Can that be possible?” asked Ignaz Vogel.
“I really think so. But let me point out, oh, young and ingenious friend, that it matters little to us whether it be feasible or not!...All we have to do is to bring out a company for the . The question is not whether this be really possible, but only whether it can be made to appear possible...Now I will answer for that!...And I will add that the journey just alluded to by Peter Gryphins will prove of vast assistance to us...”
“But what practical interest can the matter be to the world at large?”
“I think that is sufficiently evident of itself! Suppose that a new unexplored world were offered you, full of every sort of mineral riches—of gold, silver, platinum, precious stones, coal, marble, rock salt, and the rest...Would you not find it tempting?”
”Is all that in the moon?”
“Not only all that and much more, but it has been found out to be actually the case. In the last fifty years astronomy has placed the matter beyond the shadow of a doubt, and it is mentioned in all the specific manuals of science...The moon is now almost as well known as if the foot of man had already gone there. We have the geographical Lunar map; we know its seas and conti. nents; we have measured the height of its mountains; we have named them, photographed them, and have even discovered by analogy their chemical constituents...In fine there is nothing remaining but to take possession of a world already known to us, with more minuteness of detail than either Central Africa, Australia, New Guinea, or the polar regions of the earth!”...
“Let us go there at once!” cried Peter Gryphins. “I wact my ticket directly.”
“The ticket will be rather expensive,” replied Costerus Wagner significantly. “And for that reason, friends, in order to defray our expenses, we must apply to a source having more money than the Rothschilds themselves; to all the world, in fact!”...
“Costerus, you are our very dear friend!” exclaimed Peter and Ignaz, as they embraced him in their enthusiasm. “If your prospectus is as clear as your explanations, our fortune is made; we shall soon roll in good English guineas to the tune of thousands and tens of thousands! “
”All right, then, let us draw up the prospectus at once,” rejoined Costerus, “so that it may be in all the papers to-morrow morning!”...
Sitting down to his desk, and talking a large sheet of paper, he wrote the title as follows:—
“LUNA COMPANY, Limited. An Association for the conquest and exploration of the mineral riches of the Moon. Working capital, Two Millions Sterling.”