第32章 CHAPTER THE SECOND(1)

THE YOUNG MAN ABOUT TOWN

The oldest novel in the world at any rate, White reflected, was a story with a hero and no love interest worth talking about.It was the story of Tobias and how he came out from the shelters of his youth into this magic and intricate world.Its heroine was incidental, part of the spoil, a seven times relict....

White had not read the book of Tobit for many years, and what he was really thinking of was not that ancient story at all, but Botticelli's picture, that picture of the sunlit morning of life.

When you say "Tobias" that is what most intelligent people will recall.Perhaps you will remember how gaily and confidently the young man strides along with the armoured angel by his side.

Absurdly enough, Benham and his dream of high aristocracy reminded White of that....

"We have all been Tobias in our time," said White.

If White had been writing this chapter he would have in all probability called it THE TOBIAS STAGE, forgetful that there was no Tobit behind Benham and an entirely different Sara in front of him.

From Cambridge Benham came to London.For the first time he was to live in London.Never before had he been in London for more than a few days at a time.But now, guided by his mother's advice, he was to have a flat in Finacue street, just round the corner from Desborough Street, a flat very completely and delightfully furnished under her supervision.It had an admirable study, in which she had arranged not only his books, but a number of others in beautiful old leather bindings that it had amused her extremely to buy; it had a splendid bureau and business-like letter-filing cabinets, a neat little drawing-room and a dining-room, well-placed abundant electric lights, and a man called Merkle whom she had selected very carefully and who she felt would not only see to Benham's comfort but keep him, if necessary, up to the mark.

This man Merkle seemed quite unaware that humanity "here and now"--even as he was engaged in meticulously putting out Benham's clothes--was ‘‘leaving its ancestral shelters and going out upon the greatest adventure that ever was in space or time." If he had been told as much by Benham he would probably have said, "Indeed, sir,"and proceeded accurately with his duties.And if Benham's voice had seemed to call for any additional remark, he would probably have added, "It's ‘igh time, sir, something of the sort was done.Will you have the white wesket as before, sir, or a fresh one this evening?...Unless it's a very special occasion, sir....

Exactly, sir.THANK you, sir."

And when her son was properly installed in his apartments Lady Marayne came round one morning with a large experienced-looking portfolio and rendered an account of her stewardship of his estate that was already some months overdue.It was all very confused and confusing, and there were inexplicable incidents, a heavy overdraft at the bank for example, but this was Sir Godfrey's fault, she explained."He never would help me with any of this business," she said."I've had to add sometimes for HOURS.But, of course, you are a man, and when you've looked through it all, I know you'll understand."He did look through it enough to see that it was undesirable that he should understand too explicitly, and, anyhow, he was manifestly very well off indeed, and the circumstances of the case, even as he understood them, would have made any businesslike book-keeping ungracious.The bankers submitted the corroborating account of securities, and he found himself possessed of his unconditional six thousand a year, with, as she put it, "the world at his feet." On the whole it seemed more wonderful to him now than when he had first heard of it.He kissed her and thanked her, and left the portfolio open for Merkle's entirely honest and respectful but very exact inspection, and walked back with her to Desborough Street, and all the while he was craving to ask the one tremendous question he knew he would never ask, which was just how exactly this beneficent Nolan came in....

Once or twice in the small hours, and on a number of other occasions, this unspeakable riddle assumed a portentous predominance in his mind.He was forced back upon his inner consciousness for its consideration.He could discuss it with nobody else, because that would have been discussing his mother.

Probably most young men who find themselves with riches at large in the world have some such perplexity as this mixed in with the gift.

Such men as the Cecils perhaps not, because they are in the order of things, the rich young Jews perhaps not, because acquisition is their principle, but for most other intelligent inheritors there must be this twinge of conscientious doubt."Why particularly am Ipicked out for so tremendous an advantage?" If the riddle is not Nolan, then it is rent, or it is the social mischief of the business, or the particular speculative COUP that established their fortune.

"PECUNIA NON OLET," Benham wrote, "and it is just as well.Or the west-ends of the world would reek with deodorizers.Restitution is inconceivable; how and to whom? And in the meanwhile here we are lifted up by our advantage to a fantastic appearance of opportunity.

Whether the world looks to us or not to do tremendous things, it ought to look to us.And above all we ought to look to ourselves.

RICHESSE OBLIGE."

It is not to be supposed that Benham came to town only with a general theory of aristocracy.He had made plans for a career.

Indeed, he had plans for several careers.None of them when brought into contrast with the great spectacle of London retained all the attractiveness that had saturated them at their inception.