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vi Contents
References 385
Index 393
This textbook is intended for use in courses dealing with public policy toward
business. It is based on my lecture notes from a course entitled Government
and Business taught in the Sauder School of Business at the University of
British Columbia (UBC). Earlier editions of this book have been widely used
in business schools and have also been used for public policy courses in
public administration programs, economics departments, and political sci-
ence departments, and as a supplementary text for a variety of other courses.
The fifth edition of this book contains major revisions. In addition to
general updating, some chapters in earlier editions have been condensed
and combined, and two new chapters have been added. One new chapter
is “Innovation Policy and Intellectual Property”—an area that has emerged
as an important focus of government policy. This chapter deals with patent
policy and other areas of intellectual property policy, and also addresses
policies affecting innovation finance and the role of university research in
the innovation process.
The other new chapter is “Corporate Social Responsibility.” Years ago, such
a chapter might have been called “Business Ethics” but the term “corporate
social responsibility” (CSR) seems to have entered general usage. When the
first edition of this book was published, very few large corporations had
published policies or staff units devoted to such areas as “sustainability” or
“social responsibility.” Now, such policy statements and staff assignments are
1.1 Introduction
This book is concerned primarily with government policies directed toward
business. Such policies are an important focus of political debate and feature
prominently in the business media. In addition, dealing with government
policies toward business is a very important activity in the private sector,
and implementing such policies is a major function of the public sector. This
book is directed principally toward students in business, economics, and
public policy, many of whom will deal professionally with public policy is-
sues within either the public sector or the private sector.
Most citizens of modern developed countries expect government policy
to play an important role in their lives. We expect governments to provide
law enforcement, education, and a variety of other goods and services, and
we accept, or at least expect, that governments will finance these activities
in large part by imposing taxes. Most of us also recognize that government
policy has some influence on unemployment, inflation, interest rates, and
general business conditions.
Many people, however, are surprised when they discover the extent to
which consumer decisions and the business decisions of private sector firms
are affected by government intervention. We might wonder what all this
government intervention is intended to achieve and why governments choose
the policies that they do. We might also wonder whether the chosen poli-
cies are effective methods of pursuing the intended objectives. This book is
concerned with these and related issues. More precisely, it offers a systematic
method for analyzing government policy affecting businesses. This analysis
subdivides naturally into two questions:
Language: English
UNVARNISHED TALES.
BY
WILLIAM MACKAY.
LONDON:
SWAN SONNENSCHEIN, LOWREY AND CO.,
PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
1886.
TO
REGINALD SHIRLEY BROOKS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. A QUEER QUEST 1
II. THE SAWDUST MAN’S CURSE 11
III. LORD LUNDY’S SNUFF-BOX 23
IV. “ONE WAS RENT AND LEFT TO DIE” 32
V. THE GRIGSBY LIVING 41
VI. RES EST SACRA MISER 51
VII. MR. GREY 60
VIII. THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN 69
IX. A PHILANTHROPIC “MASHER” 78
X. A DISHONOURED BILL 87
XI. A MAN OF GENIUS 96
XII. A DIGNIFIED DIPSOMANIAC 106
XIII. “OLD BOOTS” 115
XIV. A MISSING HEIRESS 124
XV. TEDDY MARTIN’S BRIEF 135
XVI. BLUEBEARD’S CUPBOARD 144
XVII. TRUE TO POLL 154
XVIII. JOHN PHILP, MASTER CARPENTER 166
XIX. PICTURES ON THE LINE 177
XX. THE DEVIL’S PLAYTHINGS 186
XXI. LOVE AND A DIARY 199
I.
A QUEER QUEST.
Mr. White was a timid gentleman, with thin reddish hair—a very tall
forehead and weak eyes. He was also a very well tailored man, and
lived in a neatly-appointed villa, in the Hilgrove Road, St. John’s
Wood, N.W. He was married, but had no children. He was by
profession a briefless barrister, but he made his name by writing
novels. It so happened that the public applauded Mr. White from the
very first moment that he appealed to them—at least in book form:
his tentative efforts in periodicals having fallen very short of creating
a furor. His nonsense, which, it must be confessed, was not of a
very rollicking description, suited their nonsense. And that was the
whole secret of his success. Being a very industrious man, he wrote
a great many fictions, and being modest withal, attributed his fame
to hard work rather than to any endowment of genius.
When Mr. White neglected his grilled bone, his buttered toast, his
hot coffee, and his new-laid egg, and seemed spell-bound by what
appeared in the Times newspaper, his wife instinctively knew that
there was a notice of her husband’s book in that great organ, and
she guessed by the twitching of his mouth, and the flushing of his
face, that the notice was the reverse of favourable.
“It is quite true. It is quite true,” said Mr. White, aloud, but to
himself, as he laid the paper down.
“What is quite true?” asked Mrs. White, who, while greatly
appreciating the pecuniary results of her husband’s labour, had but
little sympathy with the work itself.
“I am all wrong,” he replied, grimly.
“Good gracious! What is the matter with you?”
“I am wanting in backbone,” he explained, gloomily—“criminally
deficient in backbone.”
“Why, John, you must be mad,” said the wife of his bosom. And,
indeed, there was a seeming irrelevancy in his remarks, which
favoured his helpmate’s theory. But John knew quite well what he
was about.
“Tell Edward to fetch my coat and hat,” he said, having trifled with
his breakfast instead of eating it like a Briton; “and lend me your
scissors.”
The dutiful young woman handed her lord and master the scissors,
with which he proceeded to cut out the Times review—the which,
when carefully abstracted, he placed in his pocket-book. But before
Edward came with his coat and hat, Mrs. White, with natural and
justifiable curiosity asked,—
“Where are you going so early, John?”
“I am going,” said John, quoting from the article, “I am going among
the men and women by whom I am surrounded. I am going to
study human character from the life.”
Mrs. White shrugged her little shoulders, elevated her little
eyebrows, kissed her husband, and when she heard the hall-door
close behind him, she said very quietly, as though she were making
an observation which did not affect her even remotely,—
“He doesn’t seem to study me very much.”
John White’s great crony was Anthony Lomax, of Paper Buildings.
And John White took a ticket to the Temple Station, being
determined to consult his old friend on this new revelation which the
great Times newspaper had opened up to him. He was fortunate in
finding Mr. Lomax at home, devouring a frugal meal of brandy and
soda, preparatory to appearing before Vice-Chancellor Bacon in the
celebrated case of Breeks v. Woolfer.
“You see,” said John White, with characteristic modesty, “you see I
never thought of achieving a first rank. My books take well and I
make money—thank heaven. But this fellow in the newspaper
absolutely says that I am possessed of genius!”
“And haven’t I always said it?” asked Tony, with an offended air;
“haven’t we all always said it?”
“Yes; but you are friends, don’t you know?”
“Not a bit. Do I ever tell Jones that he has genius? Do I ever tell
Sandford that he has genius—although he is a Fellow of Merton?
Did I ever tell Barlow that his works would set the Thames on fire?
Never! Friendship in my case never interferes with strict
impartiality.”
This pleased Mr. White. He absolutely blushed with pleasure. A kind
word from Lomax was more real satisfaction to him than a page of
praise from the Sultry Review—which is not, perhaps, rating the
eulogy of Mr. Lomax very highly.
“And are they right about the—the want of backbone?” he inquired,
nervously, “and the necessity to study character from the life?”
“As right as nine-pence, my boy. Doctors analyse dead bodies, and
pull live ones about. Artists draw, I am told, from the nude. Actors
imitate particular individuals. Yes, I think the Times rascal is
absolutely right.”
“Then I shall commence and study from the life at once. But where
now,” he asked plaintively, “where would you advise me to
commence? You don’t know of any very likely place for the
acquirement of the backbone?”
“Well, my boy, there’s Breeks and Woolfer; if you’ll step over to the
Vice-Chancellor’s Court—it’s quite full of character.”
But the novelist only shuddered at the mention of the case, and
saying gently that he thought he would take his own course, bade
his friend “Good-bye,” and departed much disturbed in his mind at
the magnitude and amount of the task the censor of Printing-house
Square had set for him.
Three months and a couple of weeks had passed away. It was now
the 15th of October, 18–, and Tony Lomax once more sat in his
chambers. He had been away for his holidays, and had just
returned, brown and invigorated, and ready to grapple with and
subdue that insatiable monster, “Breeks and Woolfer.” He was sitting
with his legs stretched well under his table, his coat was off
notwithstanding the chilliness of the weather, and his white shirt-
sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He looked the picture of rude
health and high animal spirits.
A feeble knock on the panel of his door. A loud and cheery “Come
in” from Tony. The door opened, and Mr. White entered, glanced
nervously round, and gliding up to Lomax, said in a whisper,—
“Are we alone?”
Lomax could hardly believe his eyes. The dapper little friend of his
youth had grown prematurely old. His thin red hair was no longer
neatly arranged. His weak eyes had a wild and nervous shifting. His
hands moved convulsively. His lips were dry, and his throat—to
judge from his voice—parched.
“What in heaven’s name—!” exclaimed Lomax, starting from his seat.
“Hush,” said the other, in extreme agitation, “don’t speak so loudly.
They might hear you.”
“Who might hear me?”
“The human characters—from the life—don’t you know. I have
plenty of backbone now—too much, Tony. It’s very awful!”
Lomax saw how it was, attempted to calm him, and induced him to
take a seat, and to release his hat from his trembling fingers. Then
he said, with something of a tremor in his voice,—
“Now, old man, tell us all about it.”
John White looked nervously about the room, again asked whether
they were quite alone, and commenced, in a husky whisper, to tell
his narrative, with awful rapidity.
“It was all right at first, Tony, and I made some capital notes, but in
a few days I tired. All the human characters seemed so much alike
when studied in the life. So brutally alike. It pained me. The
monotony of it made me giddy. But then the worst came, Tony.
Whenever I went out to study a character—from the life—the
character began to study me. I tried to brave it and bear up against
it, because you know, Tony, the Times said I had genius and only
wanted backbone. But just fancy to yourself setting out to study
murderers and thieves, and all sorts and conditions of
unmentionable men, and the murderers and thieves and
unmentionables—from the life—turning round and studying you!
What do you think of that? Study you—d’ye hear?—from the life!
Ay, and follow you, too—to your club, to your home:—to your very
bed!”
The trembling hands searched for the hat. Mr. White had jumped
from his chair, and uttered a wild shriek, that sounded like “Here
they are—from the life,” and had fled out on to the pavement of
Paper Buildings.
Poor White died at Hanwell just two years ago—and Lomax married
his widow. She, poor creature, finds in her new husband a practical
person, whom she can understand, and seems all the happier for the
change.
II.
THE SAWDUST MAN’S CURSE.