The Napoleon of Notting Hill, G. K. Chesterton [latest books to read .TXT] 📗

“Fifteen hundred pounds,” whispered Mr. Wilson of Bayswater; “can we do fifteen hundred pounds?”

“I’ll stand the racket,” said Buck, heartily. “Mr. Wayne is a gentleman and has spoken up for me. So I suppose the negotiations are at an end.”

Wayne bowed.

“They are indeed at an end. I am sorry I cannot sell you the property.”

“What?” cried Mr. Barker, starting to his feet.

“Mr. Buck has spoken correctly,” said the King.

“I have, I have,” cried Buck, springing up also; “I said⁠—”

“Mr. Buck has spoken correctly,” said the King; “the negotiations are at an end.”

All the men at the table rose to their feet; Wayne alone rose without excitement.

“Have I, then,” he said, “your Majesty’s permission to depart? I have given my last answer.”

“You have it,” said Auberon, smiling, but not lifting his eyes from the table. And amid a dead silence the Provost of Notting Hill passed out of the room.

“Well?” said Wilson, turning round to Barker⁠—“well?”

Barker shook his head desperately.

“The man ought to be in an asylum,” he said. “But one thing is clear⁠—we need not bother further about him. The man can be treated as mad.”

“Of course,” said Buck, turning to him with sombre decisiveness. “You’re perfectly right, Barker. He is a good enough fellow, but he can be treated as mad. Let’s put it in simple form. Go and tell any twelve men in any town, go and tell any doctor in any town, that there is a man offered fifteen hundred pounds for a thing he could sell commonly for four hundred, and that when asked for a reason for not accepting it he pleads the inviolate sanctity of Notting Hill and calls it the Holy Mountain. What would they say? What more can we have on our side than the common sense of everybody? On what else do all laws rest? I’ll tell you, Barker, what’s better than any further discussion. Let’s send in workmen on the spot to pull down Pump Street. And if old Wayne says a word, arrest him as a lunatic. That’s all.”

Barker’s eyes kindled.

“I always regarded you, Buck, if you don’t mind my saying so, as a very strong man. I’ll follow you.”

“So, of course, will I,” said Wilson.

Buck rose again impulsively.

“Your Majesty,” he said, glowing with popularity, “I beseech your Majesty to consider favourably the proposal to which we have committed ourselves. Your Majesty’s leniency, our own offers, have fallen in vain on that extraordinary man. He may be right. He may be God. He may be the devil. But we think it, for practical purposes, more probable that he is off his head. Unless that assumption were acted on, all human affairs would go to pieces. We act on it, and we propose to start operations in Notting Hill at once.”

The King leaned back in his chair.

“The Charter of the Cities⁠ ⁠… ,” he said with a rich intonation.

But Buck, being finally serious, was also cautious, and did not again make the mistake of disrespect.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing, “I am not here to say a word against anything your Majesty has said or done. You are a far better educated man than I, and no doubt there were reasons, upon intellectual grounds, for those proceedings. But may I ask you and appeal to your common good-nature for a sincere answer? When you drew up the Charter of the Cities, did you contemplate the rise of a man like Adam Wayne? Did you expect that the Charter⁠—whether it was an experiment, or a scheme of decoration, or a joke⁠—could ever really come to this⁠—to stopping a vast scheme of ordinary business, to shutting up a road, to spoiling the chances of cabs, omnibuses, railway stations, to disorganising half a city, to risking a kind of civil war? Whatever were your objects, were they that?”

Barker and Wilson looked at him admiringly; the King more admiringly still.

“Provost Buck,” said Auberon, “you speak in public uncommonly well. I give you your point with the magnanimity of an artist. My scheme did not include the appearance of Mr. Wayne. Alas! would that my poetic power had been great enough.”

“I thank your Majesty,” said Buck, courteously, but quickly. “Your Majesty’s statements are always clear and studied; therefore I may draw a deduction. As the scheme, whatever it was, on which you set your heart did not include the appearance of Mr. Wayne, it will survive his removal. Why not let us clear away this particular Pump Street, which does interfere with our plans, and which does not, by your Majesty’s own statement, interfere with yours.”

“Caught out!” said the King, enthusiastically and quite impersonally, as if he were watching a cricket match.

“This man Wayne,” continued Buck, “would be shut up by any doctors in England. But we only ask to have it put before them. Meanwhile no one’s interests, not even in all probability his own, can be really damaged by going on with the improvements in Notting Hill. Not our interests, of course, for it has been the hard and quiet work of ten years. Not the interests of Notting Hill, for nearly all its educated inhabitants desire the change. Not the interests of your Majesty, for you say, with characteristic sense, that you never contemplated the rise of the lunatic at all. Not, as I say, his own interests, for the man has a kind heart and many talents, and a couple of good doctors would probably put him righter than all the free cities and sacred mountains in creation. I therefore assume, if I may use so bold a word, that your Majesty will not offer any obstacle to our proceeding with the improvements.”

And Mr. Buck sat down amid subdued but excited applause among the allies.

“Mr. Buck,” said the King, “I beg your pardon, for a number of beautiful and sacred thoughts, in which you were generally classified as a fool. But there is another thing to be considered. Suppose you send in your workmen, and Mr. Wayne does a thing regrettable