“If men or women give you their service, see that you give them far more than the market rate, and you’ll find your reward.” He always had found his reward.
The chase of the secret held him in London for all one week; then for a second week; then for a part of a third. He gave no thought to
It was one of the happiest moments of his life; certainly the one happy moment since Margaret’s death. It was a great moment, made all the happier by the gladness of his staff, who were present when the proof was made.
In that happiness, he thought:
“Why should not all my N.T.T. be made at St. Margaret’s? The place could be built out of two years’ of the savings made by this new process. We should have all that side of the Works brought into the country, farther from possible air attack; and I could develop my Garden City and my explosives plant together.”
This was much too tempting to resist; he decided that it should be done. He would have the building pushed on, and the people moved in there towards the end of the following Winter, say at the end of February, when every day brought a change for the better in the weather, so that the people could be lured to country life through all a Summer, before the Winter taught them its drawbacks. He meant to make the place a success. He asked his people to meet him in the Hall of the Works, and told them what he hoped to do, if they would support him. He asked them to think it over and let him know what they thought about it; there was no hurry, but he would be glad to hear their views; he wanted only volunteers.
Having had a hard three weeks, he went down to
But he was not quite satisfied with the wording; he felt that it could be made a little bitterer; would it not be neater to say:
Somehow, that was a little too prolix; brevity was called for:
He could not resolve upon the wording; he thought of it for a long time, but inspiration did not fall upon him. Anyhow, notices of that kind should go up as soon as he could be satisfied. Meanwhile, a letter came to him from the Rector of Stubbington, asking him to be so very kind as to attend a meeting in Stubbington about the War Memorial. The letter said that the Members of the Committee hoped that he would give them the great benefit of his advice in any question which might arise concerning art and artists.
“Well, if they want my advice,” he commented, “they shall have it. But I’m inclined to think that I shall only fall foul of some more of them.”
As a maker of guns and explosives, he had seen a good deal of the War.
“The great enemy in war is mud,” he used to say. “Mud on the battlefield, and the thicker mud in human minds.”
Though he lived by war and the preparation for war, he loathed it, as the opportunity for the scoundrel. He had lost friends in the War, from several lands, and wished those men to be commemorated by a better Europe, which would be a public confession, that in killing those young men, she had followed cannibal gods. However, Europe had not been bettered; far from it; she had gone farther towards cannibalism.
Still, the young men of Stubbington who had died deserved a memorial, the very best that could be had. He would see that the best should be recommended for them. Somehow he felt that he was foolish to go to the meeting; he would only make more enemies; these people knew nothing of art. He was fond of taking the views of country people on these topics; he went over to the