Of all man’s accomplishments, none
is more coveted by Society that the ability to create capital. Consequently, no
man is held in higher esteem by Society than Mr. Merdle, who is immensely rich;
a man of prodigious enterprise; a Midas without ears, who turns all he touches
to gold. He is in everything good, from
banking to building. He is in Parliament, of course. He is in the City,
necessarily. He is Chairman of this, Trustee of that, President of the other. He
is a philanthropist, and a true friend to the Common Man, whom he employs in
vast numbers in his factories and in his foundries and in his mines, and pays
them withal for the privilege.
Mr. Merdle was wont to acknowledge
the tributes Society laid before him by inviting it in its multifarious forms to dine at his
establishment in Harley Street,
Cavendish Square.
There gathered magnates from the Court and magnates from the City, magnates
from the Commons and magnates from the Lords, magnates from the Bench and
magnates from the Bar, Bishop magnates, Treasury magnates, Horse Guard
magnates, Admiralty magnates; and amongst all these magnates was Mr. Headstone,
whose fortune had elevated him to such a height that he was quite dizzy when he
viewed the prospect before him. The talk that evening was of Mr. Merdle’s most
recent acquisition. The Bishop magnate had heard the figure of a hundred
thousand pounds. Horse Guards had heard two. Treasury had heard three. Mr.
Headstone, not wishing to be outdone by the present company, increased the
stakes to five, and instantly won the admiration of his circle - for if anything,
Society was more impressed by the display of wealth than the acquisition of it.
