A Deal on 'Change

"A Deal on Change" by Robert Barr is a thought-provoking exploration of the dynamics of change in personal and professional settings. The book delves into how individuals and organizations can effectively navigate transformation, emphasizing the importance of adaptability, collaboration, and innovative thinking. Through engaging anecdotes and practical strategies, Barr guides readers on harnessing change as an opportunity for growth and success, rather than a hurdle to overcome. This compelling read serves as both a motivational guide and a roadmap for anyone looking to embrace change in today's rapidly evolving world.

• Short story

								
It was in the days when drawing-rooms were dark, and filled with bric-
a-brac. The darkness enabled the half-blinded visitor, coming in out of
the bright light, to knock over gracefully a $200 vase that had come
from Japan to meet disaster in New York.

In a corner of the room was seated, in a deep and luxurious armchair, a
most beautiful woman. She was the wife of the son of the richest man in
America; she was young; her husband was devotedly fond of her; she was
mistress of a palace; anything that money could buy was hers did she
but express the wish; but she was weeping softly, and had just made up
her mind that she was the most miserable creature in all the land.

If a stranger had entered the room he would first have been impressed
by the fact that he was looking at the prettiest woman he had ever
seen; then he would have been haunted by the idea that he had met her
somewhere before. If he were a man moving in artistic circles he might
perhaps remember that he had seen her face looking down at him from
various canvases in picture exhibitions, and unless he were a stranger
to the gossip of the country he could hardly help recollecting the
dreadful fuss the papers made, as if it were any business of theirs,
when young Ed. Druce married the artists' model, celebrated for her
loveliness.

Every one has read the story of that marriage; goodness knows, the
papers made the most of it, as is their custom. Young Ed., who knew
much more of the world than did his father, expected stern opposition,
and, knowing the unlimited power unlimited wealth gave to the old man,
he did not risk an interview with his parent, but eloped with the girl.
The first inkling old man Druce had of the affair was from a vivid
sensational account of the runaway in an evening paper. He was pictured
in the paper as an implacable father who was at that moment searching
for the elopers with a shot gun. Old Druce had been too often the
central figure of a journalistic sensation to mind what the sheet said.
He promptly telegraphed all over the country, and, getting into
communication with his son, asked him (electrically) as a favour to
bring his young wife home, and not make a fool of himself. So the
errant pair, much relieved, came back to New York.

Old Druce was a taciturn man, even with his only son. He wondered at
first that the boy should have so misjudged him as to suppose he would
raise objections, no matter whom the lad wished to marry. He was
bewildered rather than enlightened when Ed. told him he feared
opposition because the girl was poor. What difference on earth did
that make? Had he not money enough for all of them? If not, was
there any trouble in adding to their store? Were there not railroads to
be wrecked; stockholders to be fleeced; Wall Street lambs to be shorn?
Surely a man married to please himself and not to make money. Ed.
assured the old man that cases had been known where a suspicion of
mercenary motives had hovered round a matrimonial alliance, but Druce
expressed the utmost contempt for such a state of things.

At first Ella had been rather afraid of her silent father-in-law, whose
very name made hundreds tremble and thousands curse, but she soon
discovered that the old man actually stood in awe of her, and that his
apparent brusqueness was the mere awkwardness he felt when in her
presence. He was anxious to please her, and worried himself wondering
whether there was anything she wanted.

One day he fumblingly dropped a cheque for a million dollars in her
lap, and, with some nervous confusion, asked her to run out, like a
good girl, and buy herself something; if that wasn't enough, she was to
call on him for more. The girl sprang from her chair and threw her arms
around his neck, much to the old man's embarrassment, who was not
accustomed to such a situation. She kissed him in spite of himself,
allowing the cheque to flutter to the floor, the most valuable bit of
paper floating around loose in America that day.

When he reached his office he surprised his son. He shook his fist in
the young fellow's face, and said sternly--

"If you ever say a cross word to that little girl, I'll do what I've
never done yet--I'll thrash you!"

The young man laughed.

"All right, father. I'll deserve a thrashing in that case."

The old man became almost genial whenever he thought of his pretty
daughter-in-law. "My little girl," he always called her. At first, Wall
Street men said old Druce was getting into his dotage, but when a nip
came in the market and they found that, as usual, the old man was on
the right side of the fence, they were compelled reluctantly to admit,
with emptier pockets, that the dotage had not yet interfered with the
financial corner of old Druce's mind.

As young Mrs. Druce sat disconsolately in her drawing-room, the
curtains parted gently, and her father-in-law entered stealthily, as if
he were a thief, which indeed he was, and the very greatest of them.
Druce had small, shifty piercing eyes that peered out from under his
grey bushy eyebrows like two steel sparks. He never seemed to be
looking directly at any one, and his eyes somehow gave you the idea
that they were trying to glance back over his shoulder, as if he feared
pursuit. Some said that old Druce was in constant terror of
assassination, while others held that he knew the devil was on his
track and would ultimately nab him.

"I pity the devil when that day comes," young Sneed said once when some
one had made the usual remark about Druce. This echoed the general
feeling prevalent in Wall Street regarding the encounter that was
admitted by all to be inevitable.

The old man stopped in the middle of the room when he noticed that his
daughter-in-law was crying.

"Dear, dear!" he said; "what is the matter? Has Edward been saying
anything cross to you?"

"No, papa," answered the girl. "Nobody could be kinder to me than Ed.
is. There is nothing really the matter." Then, to put the truth of her
statement beyond all question, she began to cry afresh.

The old man sat down beside her, taking one hand in his own. "Money?"
he asked in an eager whisper that seemed to say he saw a solution of
the difficulty if it were financial.

"Oh dear no. I have all the money, and more, that anyone can wish."

The old man's countenance fell. If money would not remedy the state of
things, then he was out of his depth.

"Won't you tell me the trouble? Perhaps I can suggest----"

"It's nothing you can help in, papa. It is nothing much, any way. The
Misses Sneed won't call on me, that's all."

The old man knit his brows and thoughtfully scratched his chin.

"Won't call?" he echoed helplessly.

"No. They think I'm not good enough to associate with them, I suppose."

The bushy eyebrows came down until they almost obscured the eyes, and a
dangerous light seemed to scintillate out from under them.

"You must be mistaken. Good gracious, I am worth ten times what old

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