Mr. Meeson's Will ... With sixteen illustrations

Front matter

■ I ■ ■ ■ ■ ■ MR. MEESON'S WILL WORKS BY H. RIDER HAGGARD. CETYWAYO AND HIS WHITE NEIGHBOURS. DAWN. THE WITCH'S HEAD. KING SOLOMON'S MINES. SHE. JESS. ALLAN QUATERMAIN. MAIWA'S REVENGE. MR. MEESON'S WILL. COLONEL QUARITCH, V.C. CLEOPATRA. ALLAN'S WIFE. BEATRICE. ERIC BRIGHTEYES. NADA THE LILY. MONTEZUMA'S DAUGHTER. (IN COLLABORA TION WITH ANDREW LANG) THE WORLD'S DESIRE. " He clumsily ran the point of the sharp bone so deep into Augusta that she cried aloud." — Page 130. All rights reserved MR. MEESON'S WILL BY H. RIDER HAGGARD author of "king solomon's mines," "dawn," "the witch's head," "she," "allan quatermain." etc. WITH EICrHTEEN illustrations JMtcmtt) ŒJjousatrt LONDON LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. IN recollection of much courtesy and kindness I (WITHOUT PERMISSION) HJeDtcate THIS SOLEMN AND VERACIOUS NARRATIVE TO ALL MY LEARNED FRIENDS OF THE PROBATE BAR

Preface

A letter received from a member of an eminent publishing firm who seems to take Mr. Meeson very solemnly, suggests that it may be well to preface this story with a few explanatory words. I cannot begin them better than by saying that Mr. Meeson and his vast establishment exist, so far as I am aware, in the regions of romance alone. There is no class of men more exposed to unjust accusations than are publishers, unless indeed we may give the palm to gentlemen connected with the legal professions. As a matter of fact, my experience is that publishers are in the main just and frequently generous in their dealings. Perhaps I may be allowed to give an example. Some time ago I sold a book to a well-known and respected firm for a certain moderate sum of money. The book succeeded, and that firm, to my considerable astonishment, voluntarily doubled the amount that they had agreed to pay for it. Such houses as this, however, or as that with

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X which I have the honour to be chiefly connected, need no testimony from me. But among the numbers who practise publishing, as in every other branch of trade, there are "sweaters" to be found, who deal almost as harshly with the in experienced producers of the raw literary material as Mr. Meeson dealt with Augusta. The only part of this humble skit, however, that is meant to be taken seriously, is the chapter which tells of the loss of the R.M.S. Kangaroo. I believe it to be a fair, and in the main an accurate account of what must, and one day will happen upon a large and crowded liner in the event of such a collision as that described, or of her rapid foundering from any other cause ; and it is a remarkable thing that people who for the most part set a sufficient value on their lives, daily consent to go to sea in ships, the boats of which could not on emergency possibly contain half their number.

It may be well to state that the story of the tattooed will had its origin in a trick which was played with some success upon a certain learned Q.O. by his own irreverent pupils, and not, as has been suggested, in any French tale whatsoever. I never even heard of the very foreign story from which I am accused of borrowing an idea till long after "Mr. Meeson's Will"

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XI was written, and to this hour I have not seen it. This is not said, however, by Way of claiming or disclaiming originality of incident, but merely in order to save a certain class of critics the labour of further research. Possibly the personage in Greek history who tattooed the head of his slave may have been original, but it is more probable that he "plagiarised" the idea from the Hittite. Tattooing stories, like most other tales, have for ages been the common property of the world. I for one should not be in the least surprised to learn that legacies, at some time or other, had actually passed under such a will. Perhaps I may be allowed to take this opportunity to add a few words about the accusations of plagiarism which are now so freely brought against authors. Were they all true there would be no great harm done, but for the most part they are quite devoid of truth.

As a rule they are laid on double lines. One is the time-honoured method of parallel columns, by which it is sought to prove that the accused author has boldly copied from some given work; the second resolves itself into a charge against him of having borrowed the leading idea, or a portion of the leading idea of his book, from a source other than his own brain. To take the last of these charges first, it will be obvious to any thinking person, that at this period

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XII of the world's history absolute originality has become a little difficult. There is no such thing as a new passion or even a new thought ; and the motives that sway our hearts swayed those of all the generations that are gone. This being so, the writers of to-day can only describe what has been described before. For instance : an author invents an immortal woman living in a cave, and prematurely rejoices, thinking that at last he has found a new thing. A little re flection shows his error. Homer found such a woman in the Odyssean myth, and sung of Calypso ; and doubtless the framers of the myth found her in some long-lost legend. So it is with everything ; rare indeed is the book that is not a partial plagiarism, if by plagiarism is meant the dealing with what in some way has been dealt with before.

Thus, if the anti plagiaristic code of morals is to be adopted in all its severity, it would seem that the manufacture of fiction must come to an end. We have already in this nine teenth century reached a stage in which the use, whether by chance or design, of an incident recorded in a book of travels, is held up as an offence deserving the contempt and hatred of society. What fate then is in store for the unborn novelists of the twentieth ? But if the guardians of literary morals are by any chance driven from this position of the stolen idea,

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XIII they fall back upon the parallel-column test. The two or more works in question are carefully searched, arid some half-dozen sentences (about three are sufficient to support a charge of plagiarism) are discovered, which, when stripped of their context and properly manipulated or even falsified, have some resemblance to each other. These are printed side by side ; the exposure of the sinner is assumed to be complete, and he is duly dealt with in the article or in a series of articles. I verily believe that any practitioner of the literary detective's sorry craft could in this fashion prove that Blackstone's Commentaries were plagiarised from the Book of Job, or the Book of Job from Black stone's Commentaries. When applied to two works dealing with kindred subjects, the results are almost certain, and, to those who wish to be deceived, con vincing.

If, however, the incriminating sentences are difficult to find, nearly the same effect can be produced by a very simple method. Thus, not long ago, I received what I may justly call a malignant newspaper attack upon myself, in the course of which certain points of my book, and of another from which I was accused of having plagiarised, were summed up and printed in parallel columns in such fashion as to resemble verbatim extracts to the eye of a careless reader. I handed the article to a friend. Presently

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XIV he looked up doubtfully. " Certainly," he said, " these quotations are very similar." It is probable that many other people made the same remark and remained undeceived.* Still, it is to be hoped that readers are left who hold that a book should be judged according to its merits and the skill with which its central ideas are handled, and not by the test of whether or no something can be raked from the literature of all times and countries that has a family resemblance to one or more of those ideas. If this hope is baseless novelists may throw aside their pens, and betake themselves to some more peaceful occupation. DlTCHINGHAM, I 888. * These and kindred exercises in the art of criticism are by no means new. Gautier, in his preface to "Mademoiselle de Maupin," which was published in 1830, alludes to them in these words : " Jusqu'ici, lorsqu'on avait voulu d^pr^cier un ouvrage quelconque, on avait fait des citations fausses ou perfidement isol(5es ; on avait tronque des phrases de facon que l'auteur lui-meme se fnt trouv^ le plus ridicule du monde, on lui avait intenti des plagiats imagi naires; on rapprochait des passages de son livre avec des passages il'auteurs anciens ou modernes qui n'y avaient pas le moindre rapport ; on l'accusait en style de cuisiniere, et avec force solecismes de ne pas savoir sa langue on assurait s^rieusement que son ouvrage poussait a l'anthropopagie, et que les lecteurs devenaient imman quablement cannibales."

CONTENTS OHAP. pA0E I. AUGUSTA AND HER PUBLISHER .... I II. HOW EUSTACE WAS DISINHERITED . . -14 III. AUGUSTA'S LITTLE SISTER . . • . . . -SO iv. Augusta's decision -43 V. THE R.M.S. " KANGAROO " 54 VI. MR. TOMBEY GOES FORWARD 69 VII. THE CATASTROPHE 82 VIII. KERGUELEN LAND 98 IX. AUGUSTA TO THE RESCUE 113 X. THE LAST OF MR. MEESON 1 36 XI. RESCUED I38 XII. SOUTHAMPTON QUAY 1 50 XIIL EUSTACE BUYS A PAPER 162 XIV. AT HANOVER SQUARE 170 XV. EUSTACE CONSULTS A LAWYER . . . I 82 XVI. SHORT ON LEGAL ETIQUETTE 796 XVII. HOW AUGUSTA WAS FILED 206 XVIII. AUGUSTA FLIES .220 XIX. MEESON V. ADDISON AND ANOTHER . . . .229 XX. JAMES BREAKS DOWN 24 1 XXI. GRANT AS PRAYED 257 XXII. ST. GEORGE'S, HANOVER SQUARE .... 277 XXIII. MEESON'S ONCE AGAIN LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS " He clumsily ran the point of the sharp bone so deep into Augusta that she cried aloud "...

Frontispiece PAGE "And to think that all this comes out of the brains of chaps like you " ? " I will publish nothing for five years . . . because I have been cheated, Mr. Meeson " 12 Mr. Meeson tearing his Will 24 Pompadour Hall 26 " Augusta gently lifted the sheet, revealing the sweet face of little Jeannie in her coffin " . . . . -47 " Suddenly, growing faint or for some other cause, the figure loosed its hold and rolled into the scuppers " . . 58 " ' No ! no ! ' cried Augusta, her heart moved. ' There is plenty of room in the boat '" . . . . -95 " ' She's going ! — by George, she's going ! ' said the seaman Johnnie" 98 " For answer, she stretched out her hand and gave him one sweet look'. 169 " Down went the books with a crash and a bang, and, carried away by their weight, down went Mr. Addison " . 247 " Augusta turned her back to the Judge, in order that he might examine what was written on it " . . . 259 "Just as the men came up, she got away somehow, and stood, looking very foolish " 301 h

Chapter I Augusta And Her Publisher

Everybody who has any connection with Birmingham will be acquainted with the vast publishing establish ment still known by the short title of " Meeson's," which is perhaps the most remarkable institution of its sort in Europe. There are — or rather there were, at the date of the beginning of this history — three partners in Meeson's — Meeson himself, the managing partner ; Mr. Addison, and Mr. Roscoe — and people in Birmingham said that there were others interested in the affair, for Meeson's was a company. However this may be, Meeson & Co. were un doubtedly a commercial marvel. The firm employed more than two thousand hands ; and its works, lit throughout with the electric light, cover two acres MR. MEESON'S WILL 2 and a quarter of land. One hundred commercial travellers, at three pounds a week and a commission, went forth east and west, and north and south, to sell the books of Meeson (which were largely religious in their nature) in all lands; and five-and-twenty tame authors (who were illustrated by thirteen tame artists) sat — at salaries ranging from one to five hundred a year — in vault-like hutches in the basement, and week by week poured out that hat-work* for which Meeson's was justly famous.

Then there were editors and vice editors, and heads of the various departments, and sub heads, and financial secretaries, and readers, and many managers ; but what their names were no man knew, because at Meeson's all the employes of the great house were distinguished by numbers ; personalities and per sonal responsibility being the abomination of the firm. Nor was it allowed to any one having dealings with these items ever to see the same number twice, pre sumably for fear lest the number should remember that he was a man and a brother, and his heart should melt towards the unfortunate, and the financial in terests of Meeson's should suffer. In short, Meeson's was an establishment created for and devoted to money-making, and the fact was kept studiously and even insolently before the eyes of everybody connected * Hat-work, it is perhaps necessary to explain, is work with no head in it. ' ' And to think that all this comes out of the brains of chaps like you." — Page 3. with it — which was, of course, as it should be, in this happy land of commerce.

After all that has been written, the reader will not be surprised to learn that the partners in Meeson's were rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Their palaces would have been a wonder even in ancient Babylon, and might have excited admiration in the corruptest and most luxurious days of Rome. Where could one see such horses, such carriages, such galleries of sculp ture, or such collections of costly gems as at the palatial halls of Messrs. Meeson, Addison, and Roscoe ? "And to think," as, with a lordly wave of Ids right hand, the mighty Meeson himself would say to some astonished wretch of an author whom he had chosen to overwhelm with the sight of this magnificence, "to think that all this comes out of the brains of chaps like you ! Why, young man, I tell you that if all the money that has been paid to you scribblers since the days of Elizabeth were added together it would not come up to my little pile ; but, mind you, it ain't so much fiction that has done the trick — it's religion.

It's piety as pays, especially when it's printed." Then that unsophisticated youth would go away, his heart too full for words, but pondering how these things were, and by-and-by he would pass into the Meeson melting-pot and learn something about it. One day King Meeson sat in his counting-house counting out his money, or, at least, looking over the books of the firm. He was in a very bad temper, and his heavy brows were wrinkled up in a way calculated to make the counting-house clerks shake on their stools. Meeson's had a branch establishment at Sydney, in Australia, which establishment had, until lately, been paying — it is true not as well as the English one, but still fifteen or twenty per cent. But now a wonder had come to pass. A great American publishing firm had started an opposition house in Melbourne, and their "cuteness" was more than the " cuteness " of Meeson.

Did Meeson's publish an edition of the works of any standard author at threepence per volume, the opposi tion company brought out the same work at twopence halfpenny ; did Meeson's subsidise a newspaper to puff their undertakings, the opposition firm subsidised two to cry them down, and so on. And now the results of all this were becoming apparent : for the financial year just ended the Australian branch had barely earned a beggarly net dividend of seven per cent. No wonder Mr. Meeson was furious, and no wonder that the clerks shook upon their stools. "This must be seen into, No. 3," said Mr. Meeson, bringing his fist down with a bang on to the balance sheet. No. 3 was one of the editors : a mildeyed little man with blue spectacles. He had once been a writer of promise ; but somehow Meeson's had got him for its own, and turned him into a publisher's hack.

" Quite so, sir," he said humbly. " It is very bad — it is dreadful to think of Meeson's coming down to seven per cent. — seven per cent. ! " and he held up his hands. "Don't stand there like a stuck pig, No. 3," said Mr. Meeson fiercely ; " but suggest something." " Well, sir," said No. 3 more humbly than ever, for he was terribly afraid of his employer ; " I think, perhaps, that somebody had better go to Australia, and see what can be done." "I know one thing that can be done," said Mr. Meeson, with a snarl: "all those fools out there can be sacked, and sacked they shall be ; and, what's more, I'll go and sack them myself. That will do, No. 3 ; that will do ; " and No. 3 departed, and glad enough he was to go. As he went a clerk arrived, and gave a card to the great man. "Miss Augusta Smithers," he read; then, with a grunt, " show Miss Augusta Smithers in."

Presently Miss Augusta Smithers arrived. She was a tall, well-formed young lady of about twenty-four with pretty golden hair, deep grey eyes, a fine forehead, and a delicate mouth ; just now, however, she looked very nervous. "Well, Miss Smithers, what is it?" asked the publisher. " I came, Mr. Meeson — I came about my book." " Your book, Miss Smithers ?" this was an affectation of forgetfulness ; " let me see ? — forgive me, but we publish so many books. Oh yes, I remember : ' Jemima's Vow.' Oh, well, I believe it is going on fairly." " I saw you advertised the sixteenth thousand the other day," put in Miss Smithers apologetically. " Did we — did we ? ah, then, you know more about it than I do," and he looked at his visitor in a way that conveyed clearly enough that he considered the inter view was ended.

Miss Smithers rose, and then, with a spasmodic effort, sat down again. "The fact is, Mr. Meeson," she said — "the fact is, I thought that, perhaps, as ' Jemima's Vow ' had been such a great success, you might, perhaps — in short, you might be inclined to give me some small sum in addition to what I have received. ' Mr. Meeson looked up. His forehead was wrinkled till the shaggy eyebrows nearly hid the sharp little eyes. " What !" he said. "What!" At this moment the door opened, and a young gentleman came slowly in. He was a very nice looking young man, tall and well-shaped, with a fair skin and jolly blue eyes — in short, a typical youno- Englishman of the better sort, œtate suo twenty-four. I have said that he came slowly in, but that scarcely conveys the gay and digagi air of independence which pervaded this young man, and which certaiuly would have struck any observer as little short of shocking, when contrasted with the worm-like attitude of those who crept round the feet of Meeson.

This young man had not, indeed, even taken the trouble to remove his hat, which was perched upon the back of his head ; his hands were in his pockets, a sacrilegious whistle hovered on his lips, and he opened the door of the sanctum sanctorum of the Meeson establishment vzith a kick I " How do, uncle ? " he said to the Commercial Terror, who was sitting there behind his formidable books, addressing him even as though he were an ordinary man. "Why, what's up?" Just then, however, he caught sight of the very handsome young lady who was seated in the office, and his whole demeanour underwent a most remark able change ; out came the hands from his pockets, off went the hat, and, turning, he bowed, really rather nicely, considering how impromptu the whole perform ance was. "What is it, Eustace?" asked Mr. Meeson sharply.

"Oh, nothing, uncle; nothing — it can bide," and, without waiting for an invitation, he took a chair, and sat down in such a position that he could see Miss Smithers without being seen of his uncle. "I was saying, Miss Smithers, or, rather, I was going to say," went on the elder Meeson, "that, in short, I do not in the least understand what you can mean. You will remember that you were paid a sum of fifty pounds for the copyright of ' Jemima's Vow.' " "Great Heavens!" murmured Master Eustace, be hind ; " what ado!" " At the time an alternative agreement, offering you seven per cent, on the published price of the book, was submitted to you, and had you accepted it, you would, doubtless, have realised a larger sum," and Mr. Meeson contracted his hairy eyebrows and gazed at the poor girl in a way that was, to say the least, alarming.

But Augusta, though she felt sadly inclined to flee, still stood to her guns, for, to tell the truth, her need was very great. "I could not afford to wait for the seven per cent., Mr. Meeson," she said humbly. "Oh, ye gods! seven per cent., when he makes about thirty-five ! " murmured Eustace, in the back ground. "Possibly, Miss Smithers; possibly," went on the great man. "You must really forgive me if I am not acquainted with the exact condition of your private affairs. I am, however, aware from experience that the money matters of most writing people are a little embarrassed." Augusta winced, and Mr. Meeson, rising heavily from his chair, went to a large safe which stood near, and extracted from it a bundle of agreements. These he glanced at one by one till he found what he was looking for.

"Here is the agreement," he said; "let me see? ah, I thought so — copyright fifty pounds, half proceeds of rights of translation, and a clause binding you to offer any future work you may produce during the next five years to our house on the seven per cent, agreement, or a sum not exceeding one hundred pounds for the copyright. Now, Miss Smithers, what have you to say? You signed this paper of your own free will. It so happens that we have made a large profit on your book : indeed, I don't mind telling you that we have got as much as we gave you back from America for the sale of the American rights; but that is no ground for your coming to ask more money than you agreed to accept. I never heard of such a thing in the whole course of my professional experience ; never ! " and he paused, and once more eyed her sternly.

" At any rate, there ought to be something to come to me from the rights of translation — I saw in the paper that the book was to be translated into French and German," said Augusta faintly. " Oh ! yes, no doubt — Eustace, oblige me by touch ing the bell." The young gentleman did so, and a tall, melancholy looking clerk appeared. "No. 1 8," snarled Mr. Meeson, in the tone of peculiar amiability that he reserved for his employes, " make out the translation account of 'Jemima's Vow,' and fill up a cheque of balance due to the author." No. 1 8 vanished like a thin, unhappy ghost, and Mr. Meeson once more addressed the girl before him. " If you want money, Miss Smithers," he said, "you had better write us another book. I am not going to deny that your work is good work — a little too deep, and not quite orthodox enough, perhaps; but still good.

I tested it myself when it came to hand — which is a thing I don't often do — and saw it was good selling quality, and you see I didn't make a mistake. I believe ' Jemima's Vow ' will sell twenty thousand without stopping — here's the account." As he spoke the spectre-like clerk put down a neatly ruled bit of paper and an unsigned cheque on the desk before his employer, and then smiled a shadowy smile and vanished. Mr. Meeson glanced through the account, signed the cheque, and handed it, together with the account, to Augusta, who proceeded to read it. It ran thus : — Augusta Smithers in account with Meeson & Co. £ s. d. 'io Sale of Right of Translation of \ " Jemima's Vow " into French \ 7 ° ° Do. do. do. into German . 700 £'4 ° o £ sd- Less amount due to Messrs. Meeson, ) being one half of net proceeds \ 7 ° ° Less Commission, &c, . . . . 3190 ;£lO 19 O Balance due to Author, as per cheque f herewith .... r £3 \ o Augusta looked, and then slowly crumpled up the cheque in her hand.

"If I understand, Mr. Meeson," she said, "you have sold the two rights of translation of my book, which you persuaded me to leave in your hands, for £i\; out of which I am to receive £3, is. ? " "Yes, Miss Smithers. Will you be so kind as to sign the receipt ; the fact is that I have a good deal of business to attend to." "No, Mr. Meeson," said Augusta, rising to her feet and looking exceedingly handsome and imposing in her anger. " No ; I will not sign the receipt, and I will not take this cheque. And, what is more, I will not write you any more books. You have entrapped me. You have taken advantage of my ignorance aud inexperience, and entrapped me so that for five years I shall be nothing but a slave to you, and, although I am now one of the most popular writers in the country, shall be obliged to accept a sum for my books upon which I cannot live.

Do you know that yesterday I was offered a thousand pounds for the copyright of a book like ' Jemima's Vow ' ? — it's a large sum ; but I have the letter. Yes, and I have the book in manu script now ; and if I could publish it I should be lifted out of poverty, together with my poor little sister ! " and she gave a sob. " But," she went on, " I cannot publish it, and I will not let you have it and be treated like this ; I had rather starve. I will publish nothing for five years, and I will write to the papers and say why — because I have been cheated, Mr. Meeson ! " "Cheated!" thundered the great man. "Be careful, young lady ; mind what you are saying. I have a witness — Eustace, you hear, ' cheated ! ' Eustace, ' cheated ! '" "I hear," said Eustace grimly. "Yes, Mr. Meeson, I said 'cheated;' and I will repeat it, whether I am locked up for it or not.

Good morning, Mr. Meeson," and she bowed to him, and then suddenly burst into a flood of tears. In a minute Eustace was by her side. " Don't cry, Miss Smithers ; for Heaven's sake, don't. I can't bear to see it," he said. c " I will publish nothing for five years . . . because I have been cheated, Mr. Meeson." — Page 12. AUGUSTA AND HER PUBLISHER 13 She looked up, her beautiful grey eyes full of tears, and tried to smile. "Thank you," she said; "I am very silly, but I am so disappointed. If you only knew There, I will go. Thank you," and in another instant she had drawn herself up and left the room. " Well," said Mr. Meeson, senior, who had been sitting at his desk with his great mouth open, apparently too much astonished to speak. " Well, there is a vixen for you. But she'll come round. I've known them to do that sort of thing before — there are one or two down there," and he jerked his thumb in the direction where the twenty and five tame authors sat each like a rabbit in his little hutch and did hat-work by the yard, " who carried on like that.

But they are quiet enough now — they don't show much spirit now. I know how to deal with that sort of thing — half-pay and a double tale of copy — that's the ticket. Why, that girl will be worth fifteen hundred a year to the house. What do you think of it, young man, eh ? " "I think," answered his nephew, on whose good tempered face a curious look of contempt and anger had gathered, " I think that you ought to be ashamed of yourself ! "