[-137-]
UP WEST - CHAPTER IV
MODERN STOCKBROKERS—TOPSY-TURVYDOM
Changes in stockbroking—The aristocratic “runner
“—His way of conducting business—stock Exchange gambling amongst
women—Its cause—A typical case—The conversation at modern dinner-parties
—An old friend—Strawberry Hill—The Grange—My life at Bushey— The new
system.
PERHAPS no business in the world has passed through more
changes than that which is pursued with so much profit in Capel Court and the
neighbourhood.
Within my own recollection, stockbroking has undergone a
remarkable metamorphosis. My oldest memories of stocks and shares date back to
1846, the year of the railway mania, when George Hudson reigned as king. The
whole of my information was picked up from the conversations that took place
upon the domestic hearth, for I am afraid mine were long ears even for a lad of
twelve. By-the-bye, one thing is proved by this reminiscence: in whatever other
ways matters have changed since then, fortunes were won and lost on the Stock
Exchange half a century ago as rapidly as they are won and lost in the present
day.
Not only were sales and purchases of stock not conducted in
my young days as they are now, but both the firms and .their clients were of a
totally different calibre. In fact, I think I shall be able to show, before
completing this chapter, that there has been an absolute topsy-turvydom in this
business. I had almost written “in this profession”; but, had I done so, I
should most assuredly have incurred the displeasure of any of the old school
under whose notice the expression might have come.
At the time of which I am speaking, the business usually
[-138-] descended from father to son, and it not infrequently happened that a head
clerk was taken in as partner, in reward for many years of faithful service.
In those days, members of the nobility who had money to
invest, or, at any rate, a great many of them, were in the habit of visiting the
City, and personally arranging with their brokers, not for mere time bargains,
but for real and permanent investments.
The stockbrokers of that period enjoyed wisely the good
things Dame Fortune had been bounteous enough to shower upon them. Most of them
had West End houses, some owned country seats, a few sat in Parliament, and I am
bound to say that the great majority of them were charitable and generous to
their poorer brethren. Punctuality and regularity were their watchwords, and the
eldest member of the firm would always be as methodical in his attendance at the
office as the youngest clerk.
The stockbrokers rarely speculated, being content with the
commission they received from their private clients, or—in the case of those
who had the good fortune to be connected with a joint-stock or other bank—the
interest that accrued from lending out money, either from day to day or from
account to account. Now the whole aspect of things has changed, as I shall
briefly show.
In former days, when any young sprig of the aristocracy
occupying a position in the Army, diplomacy, or civil service, came to grief, he
generally, as a last resource, tried his hand at the wine trade. This course had
its advantages, for the young man was very likely, on account of the amiability
of his disposition, or the position and influence of his friends, or both, to
hake sufficient income to jive upon fairly comfortably. In the event,
moreover, of pecuniary reverse and failure, there was generally a sufficient
residue of champagne or brandy in stock to enable him, with very little trouble
and with extraordinary rapidity, to pass into those realms where the weary are
at rest.
Of recent years, when it has, been necessary for the son of
Lord This, or of Sir Harry That, to earn his living, he has shown a marked
preference for the Stock Exchange, and, as I think, with very good sense. It may
be taken for granted that he has no capital. Having, therefore, nothing to lose,
he has everything to gain. The position he attains is that of “runner,” as
it is termed, to some firm of stockbrokers.
[-139-] The representative of the Strawberry Leaves or of the
Bloody Hand thus obtains a chair in a stockbroker’s office, and it is arranged
that he shall receive half commission on all business introduced by him. He gets
on little by little, and in due time, by taking out a certificate, becomes what
is, known as an “authorised clerk,” and has admission to the sacred
precincts of the “House.”
This new way of conducting business, which has been rapidly
on the increase during the past ten years, has, in my humble opinion, been
productive of a very great deal of mischief.
The young “runner,” who has perhaps been in the
Grenadier or Life Guards, or some other crack position in life, belongs to
various clubs and has many friends. He repeats to them, innocently enough, all
that has been told him by those with whom he mixes in the City; how these shares
are bound to turn out well, how those others are safe to run up next week, and
how much money must of necessity be gained by the immediate purchase of De
Beers, etc. he relates how, by investing in the last-named securities, a friend
of his realised over eight thousand pounds in a fortnight, from account to
account.
“Indeed; but how?” is the question asked.
“Oh,” is the reply, “the thing is very simple. There
is no actual money required. You only have to give an order to sell or buy until
the next account day.”
Further questions are asked, and answered satisfactorily,
and in the end the “runner” receives an order, which he cannot run fast
enough to execute.
The moth has singed his wings. The first step has been
taken in the very worst kind of gambling of the day. It makes very little
difference whether the client wins or loses. If successful, he decides to have
“another flutter for more;” if unsuccessful, he resolves to try his luck
again, and see if he cannot win back his losses. The result is obvious; facilis
descensus Averni
The hard part of the case is that the punter has not
brought his misfortune upon himself. He has ,not been enticed by the glowing
newspaper advertisements of the outside .brokers, and he has not sought out
and been caught in the Daedalean webs of those gentry; the temptation has been
carried to him by his own friend, whose word he would not dream of doubting.
Anxious to share in the good fortune of [-140-] which he hears so much, and delighted to
do an “old pal” a good turn, he plunges headlong into a stream which is composed
entirely of whirlpools.
But the mischief does not stop here; this is not the worst
outcome of the new way of conducting Stock Exchange business. Women—I mean, of
course, society women—are fellow-victims with their brothers and husbands.
The women of to-day have a keen relish for gambling. How
many hundreds, nay thousands, have delighted in poker, baccarat, and other games
of that description! If you have watched these pastimes, where have you found
anxious greed most manifest—in their eyes, or in those of their male companions?
I appeal to the experience of any man of the world. Again, what scores of women
gamble on the turf; at Epsom, Newmarket, Ascot, and elsewhere! Look in at
Sandown or Kempton—places almost invented for “grandes dames” and their
pleasures—and you will find the betting pretty equally divided between the
sexes.
Among the women of the beau monde, Stock Exchange
gambling is rapidly becoming as dire a disease as baccarat and horse-racing. Why
is this? The explanation is as plain as the nose in your face. It is all owing
to the “runner.”
As I have already indicated, the individual in question has
been nursed in society’s lap. He is a good-looking, dashing, agreeable young
English gentleman, whose superior, nay, whose equal, is to be found in no other
country with which I am acquainted. He has been the pet of all the young débutantes
who, season after season, have dropped their first graceful curtsy -to her most
gracious and Imperial Majesty. These have in time married, and no guest is more
welcome at their different houses, come when he may, than this young friend and
companion of their girlhood. What is the consequence? Without meaning any
harm, when he calls to afternoon tea, or at other visiting times, he brings his
tempting trade with him.
Young Lady C— has heard what a run of luck Mrs. B— has
had in the City during the past few months. She has also heard that that
lady’s business has been conducted through a certain firm of stockbrokers, and
by whom? Why, by “dear old Georgie “—to wit, the “runner.” Lady
C——at once determines what to do, and sits down and writes the following
letter:
[-141-] “DEAR GEORGE,
“Just saw you for a moment from my boudoir window this
morning riding in the Park. Fancy you becoming so industrious as to be
compelled to join the Liver Brigade! I want to speak to you. Most important
business. At home on Thursday afternoon after five. Come early. I’m going to
make some money, and you must help me.
“Yours truly,
“AGATHA ——“
Thursday afternoon arrives, and her ladyship has not long
to wait after the clock has struck the appointed hour. Her visitor is duly
announced, and as he shakes hands he cannot help exclaiming:
“Why, ever since we were boy and girl together I’ve
never seen you looking so lovely.”
“My dear George,” says the hostess, slightly blushing,
and pushing him into a chair, “ we have no time for bandying compliments.
I’m in a most serious dilemma. I want money, and money I must have. Of course
I have some, but not nearly enough for the straits I am at present in, and so I
thought we’d have a little gamble — only a little one, you know. I hear you
have done wonders for Mrs. B—-—, and that you and your firm are absolute
conjurers in your knowledge of good things —that’s the proper term,
isn’t it, George? —and you must reserve one of your straight tips for me.”
“What is it to be?” he asks gaily. “Berthas (Brighton
A’s), or Sarahs (Midlands), or Brummeys (Birminghams)? Why do you shake that
business-like head of yours? Not railways?”
“No, not railways. Something foreign, of course.”
“Indeed; and so you’re not scared by the Baring
crisis?” he replies, laughing.
“Oh, no, I’m not so silly. You see, George, I want to
win a lot. The fact is I’ve not paid my bills, I mean my personal bills, for
the last three years. Madame F——, of Bond Street, and some other big
tradespeople are getting very tiresome, and beginning to bore me to death. I
seem never to get a moment’s peace. The Earl, I know, is himself rather hard
hit—he backed Orme for a large amount—I can’t possibly ask him, and so
what is to be done?”
[-142-] The conversation continues, and they eventually decide in
what securities the speculation shall take place. Whether successful or not, it
is not the business of this article to say. I have merely given an example of
the way in which the movers in the fashionable world often enter upon their
speculations.
At modern dinner-parties, if the conversation does not turn
on racing, it is usually about the Stock Exchange. The young men- 1 have
endeavoured to describe are considered most eligible guests. Many a young lady
having business transactions is not above arranging with her hostess to be taken
down to dinner by one of the individuals in question. Instead of the usual
society chat, which, Heaven knows, was usually as dull and stupid as it well
could be, everybody discusses past City ventures, and the successes which the
future may have in store.
Is this or is this not a most unhappy state of things, and
is happiness or misery likely to be the outcome of it?
My personal experiences of members of the Stock Exchange
date a great many years back, and are associated in my mind with some very
pleasant memories.
Years ago, soon after I was called to the Bar, I was living
with my wife and a very young child in Gordon Street, Gordon Square; and while
we were located there I made the acquaintance of a man for whom I came to enter
tam the sincerest regard, and for whose memory I shall always have the deepest
respect. He lived a simple life with his family—to whom he was much attached
—in a large house in a neighbouring square. He was a stockbroker and the
head of his firm, his only partner being his son. They did a thriving business,
and were sole brokers to one of the largest and most influential private banks
in the City.
My friend’s tastes were of the simplest description. He
delighted in having one or two intimates to dinner every now and then, and
cigars and pictures were his only extravagance. He kept no horses or carriages,
either for himself or for his family. Punctually at twenty minutes to ten every
week-day morning the same four-wheeled cab would call for him and take him to
the City; and he was never known to keep it waiting three minutes. The same
vehicle brought him back in the evening. His first wish, after his business was
done, [-143-] was to get back to his family. He -never stopped on the road, save at rare
intervals when he called at a club to which we both belonged.
In the vacation—and he allowed himself a very short rest
—my friend was in the habit of taking a furnished house on or near the banks
of the Thames. He was careful to keep within easy hail of the City, for fear his
services should be required there at a moment’s notice. The houses he took
were usually in the neighbourhood of Twickenham, Teddington, Walton, or
Shepperton.
I have always, in thinking over my past life—its
pleasures and pains, its successes and disappointments, its bitters and its
sweets—come to the conclusion that my happiest days were spent at the period
to which I am alluding.
Besides the family I have referred to, I had many friends
living up the river, and it is not surprising, therefore, that, as soon as I
could afford it, I pitched my own summer tabernacle there. Who that knew the
neighbourhood at the time of which I am speaking will ever forget it?
In those days Frances, Countess of Waldegrave, afterwards
Lady Carlingford, reigned supreme at Strawberry Hill. What a beautiful house,
and what lovely surrounding country! What gardens, and what a perfect boat-house
in the meadow across the way—not “with roses at the door,” but covered all
over with clusters of them ! Who among the many that enjoyed it will ever forget
the hospitality of the Grange, the charming country residence of Mr. and Mrs.
Edward Lawson, where every Sunday were gathered together the elite of journalism,
literature, and the law, and all that was clever, witty, and bright.
Consider what all this was to one who had spent the whole
week grinding away in the filthy atmosphere of the closest of law courts! The
reader can imagine what were nay feelings when, rushing off to Waterloo just in
time to catch the train, I proceeded to our cottage at Bushey, a little dwelling
just facing the Teddington gates of the Park, and overlooking those glorious
avenues of chestnuts which are so lovely at the end of May, but which, alas,
flourish for so short a time.
How glorious it was to hurry into one’s flannels, bolt up
the village, and get old father Kemp, or his son William, or Joe Baldwin to take
one out after the barbel for an hour [-144-] before dark; or, if too late for this
sport, to hasten up to. Messenger’s, jump into one’s boat, scull up to the
weir, and either lie to in the expiring rays of the sun, or go on shore tad ask
the genial master of Weir Bank for a cooling drink!
But alas! all this has passed away, never to return.
I, too, have wandered far from my theme. I crave pardon,
and can only plead as my excuse that memory was a little too much for me.
My pen carried me astray while I was describing the place
where the summer vacation was passed by my friend, whom I have instanced as a
typical member of the Stock Exchange in those days. It was at Teddington, I
think, that he took his last furnished house. He afterwards became more attached
to his London home, and contented himself with taking rooms up the river for his
boys, to whom he would pay brief visits from time to time. As he once skid to
me: “My halcyon days are gone.”
My friend has now been dead some years. He is to this day
spoken of with respect and affection by persons of all grades with whom he came
in contact. He died very fairly off, but no millionaire. How could it have been
otherwise? As I have said, he never gambled, but was always content with his
legitimate commission.
At the time of his decease, the proprietors of the private
bank with which his firm had business dealings hinted at a desire to make fresh
arrangements with reference to their brokers. They had an interview with the
remaining member of the firm, and the matter was discussed. Some of these
bankers were related to certain members of the aristocracy who had lately set up
in business on the Stock Exchange, and at the interview the former agreed to
leave their custom in the old channel on condition that their noble kinsmen were
taken into the broking firm as partners. The arrangement was ultimately agreed
to, and with the new blood was inaugurated the new system.
In days gone by, there was practically only one person to
live on the profits of the firm, and I have shown that his income was not a
particularly large one. Now there are -several partners, each of whom keeps up a
much larger establishment than my deceased friend was able to do. The head of
the firm—a somewhat extravagant fellow, but with [-145-] many of his father’s good
qualities—spends, I should say, not far short of fifty thousand pounds a year.
I think, then, I have proved that a great deal of the
business of the Stock Exchange is very different now to what it was in my young
days.
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