"I've started in, sir. Rum game, business, isn't it? I suppose you saw a
lot of human nature as a solicitor."
"I did."
"Shall I tell you what I've noticed: People are quite on the wrong tack
in offering less than they can afford to give; they ought to offer more,
and work backward."
Soames raised his eyebrows.
"Suppose the more is accepted?"
"That doesn't matter a little bit," said Mont; "it's much more paying to
abate a price than to increase it. For instance, say we offer an author
good terms--he naturally takes them. Then we go into it, find we can't
publish at a decent profit and tell him so. He's got confidence in us
because we've been generous to him, and he comes down like a lamb, and
bears us no malice. But if we offer him poor terms at the start, he
doesn't take them, so we have to advance them to get him, and he thinks
us damned screws into the bargain.
"Try buying pictures on that system," said Soames; "an offer accepted is
a contract--haven't you learned that?"
Young Mont turned his head to where Fleur was standing in the window.
"No," he said, "I wish I had. Then there's another thing. Always let a
man off a bargain if he wants to be let off."
"As advertisement?" said Soames dryly.
"Of course it is; but I meant on principle."
"Does your firm work on those lines?"
"Not yet," said Mont, "but it'll come."
"And they will go."
"No, really, sir. I'm making any number of observations, and they all
confirm my theory. Human nature is consistently underrated in business,
people do themselves out of an awful lot of pleasure and profit by that.
Of course, you must be perfectly genuine and open, but that's easy
if you feel it. The more human and generous you are the better chance
you've got in business."
Soames rose.
"Are you a partner?"
"Not for six months, yet."
"The rest of the firm had better make haste and retire."
Mont laughed.
"You'll see," he said. "There's going to be a big change. The possessive
principle has got its shutters up."
"What?" said Soames.
"The house is to let! Good-bye, sir; I'm off now."
Soames watched his daughter give her hand, saw her wince at the squeeze
it received, and distinctly heard the young man's sigh as he passed out.
Then she came from the window, trailing her finger along the mahogany
edge of the billiard-table. Watching her, Soames knew that she was going
to ask him something. Her finger felt round the last pocket, and she
looked up.