“You are a minor, I presume?”
Dicky said he wasn’t yet, but he had thought of being a mining engineer some day, and going to Klondike.
“Minor, not miner,” said the G.B. “I mean you’re not of age?”
“I shall be in ten years, though,” said Dicky.
“Then you might repudiate the loan,” said the G.B., and Dicky said “What?” Of course he ought to have said “I beg your pardon. I didn’t quite catch what you said”—that is what Oswald would have said. It is more polite than “What.”
“Repudiate the loan,” the G.B. repeated. “I mean you might say you would not pay me back the money, and the law could not compel you to do so.”
“Oh, well, if you think we’re such sneaks,” said Dicky, and he got up off his chair. But the G.B. said, “Sit down, sit down; I was only joking.”
Then he talked some more, and at last he said—
“I don’t advise you to enter into that partnership. It’s a swindle. Many advertisements are. And I have not a hundred pounds by me today to lend you. But I will lend you a pound, and you can spend it as you like. And when you are twenty-one you shall pay me back.”
“I shall pay you back long before that,” said Dicky. “Thanks, awfully! And what about the note of hand?”
“Oh,” said the G.B., “I’ll trust to your honour. Between gentlemen, you know—and ladies”—he made a beautiful bow to Alice—“a word is as good as a bond.”
Then he took out a sovereign, and held it in his hand while he talked to us. He gave us a lot of good advice about not going into business too young, and about doing our lessons—just swatting a bit, on our own hook, so as not to be put in a low form when we went back to school. And all the time he was stroking the sovereign and looking at it as if he thought it very beautiful. And so it was, for it was a new one. Then at last he held it out to Dicky, and when Dicky put out his hand for it the G.B. suddenly put the sovereign back in his pocket.
“No,” he said, “I won’t give you the sovereign. I’ll give you fifteen shillings, and this nice bottle of scent. It’s worth far more than the five shillings I’m charging you for it. And, when you can, you shall pay me back the pound, and sixty percent interest—sixty percent, sixty percent—”
“What’s that?” said H. O.
The G.B. said he’d tell us that when we paid back the sovereign, but sixty percent was nothing to be afraid of. He gave Dicky the money. And the boy was made to call a cab, and the G.B. put us in and shook hands with us all, and asked Alice to give him a kiss, so she did, and H. O. would do it too, though his face was dirtier than ever. The G.B. paid the cabman and told him what station to go to, and so we went home.
That evening Father had a letter by the seven o’clock post. And when he had read it he came up into the nursery. He did not look quite so unhappy as usual, but he looked grave.
“You’ve been to Mr. Rosenbaum’s,” he said.
So we told him all about it. It took a long time, and Father sat in the armchair. It was jolly. He doesn’t often come and talk to us now. He has to spend all his time thinking about his business. And when we’d told him all about it he said—
“You haven’t done any harm this time, children; rather good than harm, indeed. Mr. Rosenbaum has written me a very kind letter.”
“Is he a friend of yours, Father?” Oswald asked.
“He is an acquaintance,” said my father, frowning a little, “we have done some business together. And this letter—” he stopped and then said: “No; you didn’t do any harm today; but I want you for the future not to do anything so serious as to try to buy a partnership without consulting me, that’s all. I don’t want to interfere with your plays and pleasures; but you will consult me about business matters, won’t you?”
Of course we said we should be delighted, but then Alice, who was sitting on his knee, said, “We didn’t like to bother you.”
Father said, “I haven’t much time to be with you, for my business takes most of my time. It is an anxious business—but I can’t bear to think of your being left all alone like this.”
He looked so sad we all said we liked being alone. And then he looked sadder than ever.
Then Alice said, “We don’t mean that exactly, Father. It is rather lonely sometimes, since Mother died.”
Then we were all quiet a little while.
Father stayed with us till we went to bed, and when he said good night he looked quite cheerful. So we told him so, and he said—
“Well, the fact is, that letter took a weight off my mind.”
I can’t think what he meant—but I am sure the G.B. would be pleased if he could know he had taken a weight off somebody’s mind. He is that sort of man, I think.
We gave the scent to Dora. It is not quite such good scent as we thought it would be, but we had fifteen shillings—and they were all good, so is the G.B.
And until those fifteen shillings were spent we felt almost as jolly as though our fortunes had been properly restored. You do not notice your general fortune so much, as long as you have money in your pocket. This is why so many children with regular pocket-money have never felt it their duty to seek for treasure. So, perhaps, our not having pocket-money was a blessing in
