Soames always attended the General Meeting; it was considered better
that he should do so, in case 'anything should arise!' He glanced round
with his close, supercilious air at the walls of the room, where hung
plans of the mine and harbour, together with a large photograph of
a shaft leading to a working which had proved quite remarkably
unprofitable. This photograph--a witness to the eternal irony underlying
commercial enterprise till retained its position on the--wall, an effigy
of the directors' pet, but dead, lamb.
And now old Jolyon rose, to present the report and accounts.
Veiling under a Jove-like serenity that perpetual antagonism deep-seated
in the bosom of a director towards his shareholders, he faced them
calmly. Soames faced them too. He knew most of them by sight. There was
old Scrubsole, a tar man, who always came, as Hemmings would say, 'to
make himself nasty,' a cantankerous-looking old fellow with a red face,
a jowl, and an enormous low-crowned hat reposing on his knee. And the
Rev. Mr. Boms, who always proposed a vote of thanks to the chairman, in
which he invariably expressed the hope that the Board would not forget
to elevate their employees, using the word with a double e, as
being more vigorous and Anglo-Saxon (he had the strong Imperialistic
tendencies of his cloth). It was his salutary custom to buttonhole a
director afterwards, and ask him whether he thought the coming year
would be good or bad; and, according to the trend of the answer, to buy
or sell three shares within the ensuing fortnight.
And there was that military man, Major O'Bally, who could not help
speaking, if only to second the re-election of the auditor, and who
sometimes caused serious consternation by taking toasts--proposals
rather--out of the hands of persons who had been flattered with little
slips of paper, entrusting the said proposals to their care.
These made up the lot, together with four or five strong, silent
shareholders, with whom Soames could sympathize--men of business, who
liked to keep an eye on their affairs for themselves, without being
fussy--good, solid men, who came to the City every day and went back in
the evening to good, solid wives.
Good, solid wives! There was something in that thought which roused the
nameless uneasiness in Soames again.
What should he say to his uncle? What answer should he make to this
letter?
. . . . "If any shareholder has any question to put, I shall be glad
to answer it." A soft thump. Old Jolyon had let the report and accounts
fall, and stood twisting his tortoise-shell glasses between thumb and
forefinger.