|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 29
Watched. Why?
CHAPTER XI
The home-bureau of charities was a success from the start; but beyond
the fact that it served to establish Thomas Webb as private secretary
in the Killigrew family, I was not deeply interested. I know that
Thomas ran about a good deal, delving into tenements and pedigrees,
judging candidates, passing or condemning, and that he earned his
salary, munificent as it appeared to him. Forbes told me that he
wouldn't have done the work for a thousand a week; and Forbes, like
Panurge, had ten ways of making money and twelve ways of spending it.
The amazing characteristic about Thomas was his unaffected modesty, his
naturalness, his eagerness to learn, his willingness to accept
suggestions, no matter from what source. Haberdashers' clerks--at
least, those I have known--are superior persons; they know it all, you
can not tell them a single thing. I can call to witness dozens of
neckties and shirts I shall never dare wear in public. But perhaps
seven years among a clientele of earls and dukes, who were set in their
ideas, had something to do with Thomas' attitude.
Killigrew was very well satisfied with the venture. He had had some
doubts at the beginning: a man whose past ended at Pier 60 did not look
like a wise speculation, especially in a household. But quite
unconsciously Thomas himself had taken these doubts out of Killigrew's
mind and--mislaid them. The subscriptions to all the suffragette
weeklies and monthlies were dropped; and there were no more banners
reading "Votes for Women" tacked over the doorways. Besides this, the
merchant had a man to talk to, after dinner, he with his cigar and
Thomas with his pipe, this privilege being insisted upon by the women
folk, who had tact to leave the two men to themselves.
Thomas amused the millionaire. Here was a young man of a species with
whom he had not come into contact in many years: a boy who did not know
the first thing about poker, or bridge, or pinochle, who played
outrageous billiards and who did not know who the latest reigning
theatrical beauty was, and moreover, did not care a rap; who could
understand a joke within reasonable time if he couldn't tell one; who
was neither a nincompoop nor a mollycoddle. Thomas interested
Killigrew more and more as the days went past.
Happily, the voice of conscience is heard by no ears but one's own.
After luncheons Thomas had a good deal of time on his hands; and, to
occupy this time he returned to his old love, composition. He began to
rewrite his romance; and one day Kitty discovered him pegging away at
it. He rose from his chair instantly.
"Will you be wanting me, Miss Killigrew?"
"Only to say that father will be detained down-town to-night and that
you will be expected to take mother and me to the theater. It is one
of your English musical comedies; and very good, they say."
Thomas had been dreading such a situation. As yet there had been no
entertaining at the Killigrew home; nearly all their friends were out
of town for the summer; thus far he had escaped.
"I am sorry, Miss Killigrew, but I have no suitable clothes." Which
was plain unvarnished truth. "And I do not possess an opera-hat." And
never did.
Kitty laughed pleasantly. "We are very democratic in this house, as by
this time you will have observed. In the summer we do not dress; we
take our amusements comfortably. Ordinarily we would be at our summer
home on Long Island; but delayed repairs will not let us into it till
August. Then we shall all take a vacation. You will join us as you
are; that is, of course, if you are not too busy with your own affairs."
"Never too busy to be of service to you, Miss Killigrew. I'm only
scribbling."
"A book?"--interestedly.
"Bally rot, possibly. Would you like to read it?"--one of the best
inspirations he had ever had. He was not one of those silly
individuals who hem and haw when some one discovers they have the itch
for writing, whose sole aim is to have the secret dragged out of them,
with hypocritical reluctance.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|