“Jam?”

“Isn’t it an idea?  Cheap sugar has done for the refiners, but it’s a fortune for the jam trade.  Why not put all we can realize into a jam factory?  We’ll go down into the country; find some delightful place where land is cheap; start a fruit farm; run up a building.  Doesn’t it take you, Will?  Think of going to business every day through lanes overhung with fruit-tree blossoms!  Better that than the filth and stench and gloom and uproar of Whitechapel—­what?  We might found a village for our workpeople—­the ideal village, perfectly healthy, every cottage beautiful.  Eh?  What?  How does it strike you, Will?”

“Pleasant.  But the money?”

“We shall have enough to start; I think we shall.  If not, we’ll find a moneyed man to join us.”

“What about that ten thousand pounds?” suggested Warburton.

Sherwood shook his head.

“Can’t get it just yet.  To tell you the truth, it depends on the death of the man’s father.  No, but if necessary, some one will easily be found.  Isn’t the idea magnificent?  How it would rile the Government if they heard of it!  Ho, ho!”

One could never be sure how far Godfrey was serious when he talked like this; the humorous impulse so blended with the excitability of his imagination, that people who knew him little and heard him talking at large thought him something of a crack-brain.  The odd thing was that, with all his peculiarities, he had many of the characteristics of a sound man of business; indeed, had it been otherwise, the balance-sheets of the refinery must long ago have shown a disastrous deficit.  As Warburton knew, things had been managed with no little prudence and sagacity; what he did not so clearly understand was that Sherwood had simply adhered to the traditions of the firm, following very exactly the path marked out for him by his father and his uncle, both notable traders.  Concerning Godfrey’s private resources, Warburton knew little or nothing; it seemed probable that the elder Sherwood had left a considerable fortune, which his only son must have inherited.  No doubt, said Will to himself, this large reserve was the explanation of his partner’s courage.

So the St. Kitts estate was sold, and, with all the deliberate dignity demanded by the fact that the Government’s eye was upon them, Sherwood Brothers proceeded to terminate their affairs in Whitechapel.  In July, Warburton took his three weeks’ holiday, there being nothing better for him to do.  And among the letters he found on his table when he returned, was one from Sherwood, which contained only these words: 

“Great opportunity in view.  Our fortunes are made!”

CHAPTER 4

When Franks was gone, Warburton took up The Art World, which his friend had left, and glanced again at the photogravure of “Sanctuary.”  He knew, as he had declared, nothing about art, and judged pictures as he judged books, emotionally.  His bent was to what is called the realistic point of view, and “Sanctuary” made him smile.  But very good-naturedly; for he liked Norbert Franks, and believed he would do better things than this.  Unless—?