Kabanata Kabanata 9 · CHAPTER 9. THE G. B.

. CHAPTER 9. THE G. B.

Being editors is not the best way to wealth. We all feel this now, and

highwaymen are not respected any more like they used to be.

I am sure we had tried our best to restore our fallen fortunes. We felt

their fall very much, because we knew the Bastables had been rich once.

Dora and Oswald can remember when Father was always bringing nice things

home from London, and there used to be turkeys and geese and wine and

cigars come by the carrier at Christmas-time, and boxes of candied fruit

and French plums in ornamental boxes with silk and velvet and gilding

on them. They were called prunes, but the prunes you buy at the grocer’s

are quite different. But now there is seldom anything nice brought from

London, and the turkey and the prune people have forgotten Father’s

address.

‘How _can_ we restore those beastly fallen fortunes?’ said Oswald.

‘We’ve tried digging and writing and princesses and being editors.’

‘And being bandits,’ said H. O.

‘When did you try that?’ asked Dora quickly. ‘You know I told you it was

wrong.’

‘It wasn’t wrong the way we did it,’ said Alice, quicker still, before

Oswald could say, ‘Who asked you to tell us anything about it?’

which would have been rude, and he is glad he didn’t. ‘We only caught

Albert-next-door.’

‘Oh, Albert-next-door!’ said Dora contemptuously, and I felt more

comfortable; for even after I didn’t say, ‘Who asked you, and cetera,’

I was afraid Dora was going to come the good elder sister over us. She

does that a jolly sight too often.

Dicky looked up from the paper he was reading and said, ‘This sounds

likely,’ and he read out--

‘L100 secures partnership in lucrative business for sale of

useful patent. L10 weekly. No personal attendance necessary.

Jobbins, 300, Old Street Road.’

‘I wish we could secure that partnership,’ said Oswald. He is twelve,

and a very thoughtful boy for his age.

Alice looked up from her painting. She was trying to paint a fairy

queen’s frock with green bice, and it wouldn’t rub. There is something

funny about green bice. It never will rub off; no matter how expensive

your paintbox is--and even boiling water is very little use.

She said, ‘Bother the bice! And, Oswald, it’s no use thinking about

that. Where are we to get a hundred pounds?’

‘Ten pounds a week is five pounds to us,’ Oswald went on--he had done

the sum in his head while Alice was talking--‘because partnership means

halves. It would be A1.’

Noel sat sucking his pencil--he had been writing poetry as usual. I saw

the first two lines--

I wonder why Green Bice

Is never very nice.

Suddenly he said, ‘I wish a fairy would come down the chimney and drop a

jewel on the table--a jewel worth just a hundred pounds.’

‘She might as well give you the hundred pounds while she was about it,’

said Dora.

‘Or while she was about it she might as well give us five pounds a

week,’ said Alice.

‘Or fifty,’ said I.

‘Or five hundred,’ said Dicky.

I saw H. O. open his mouth, and I knew he was going to say, ‘Or five

thousand,’ so I said--

‘Well, she won’t give us fivepence, but if you’d only do as I am always

saying, and rescue a wealthy old gentleman from deadly peril he would

give us a pot of money, and we could have the partnership and five

pounds a week. Five pounds a week would buy a great many things.’

Then Dicky said, ‘Why shouldn’t we borrow it?’ So we said, ‘Who from?’

and then he read this out of the paper--

MONEY PRIVATELY WITHOUT FEES

THE BOND STREET BANK

Manager, Z. Rosenbaum.

Advances cash from L20 to L10,000 on ladies’ or gentlemen’s

note of hand alone, without security. No fees. No inquiries.

Absolute privacy guaranteed.

‘What does it all mean?’ asked H. O.

‘It means that there is a kind gentleman who has a lot of money, and he

doesn’t know enough poor people to help, so he puts it in the paper

that he will help them, by lending them his money--that’s it, isn’t it,

Dicky?’

Dora explained this and Dicky said, ‘Yes.’ And H. O. said he was a

Generous Benefactor, like in Miss Edgeworth. Then Noel wanted to know

what a note of hand was, and Dicky knew that, because he had read it in

a book, and it was just a letter saying you will pay the money when you

can, and signed with your name.

‘No inquiries!’ said Alice. ‘Oh--Dicky--do you think he would?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ said Dicky. ‘I wonder Father doesn’t go to this kind

gentleman. I’ve seen his name before on a circular in Father’s study.’

‘Perhaps he has.’ said Dora.

But the rest of us were sure he hadn’t, because, of course, if he had,

there would have been more money to buy nice things. Just then Pincher

jumped up and knocked over the painting-water. He is a very careless

dog. I wonder why painting-water is always such an ugly colour? Dora ran

for a duster to wipe it up, and H. O. dropped drops of the water on his

hands and said he had got the plague. So we played at the plague for a

bit, and I was an Arab physician with a bath-towel turban, and cured

the plague with magic acid-drops. After that it was time for dinner, and

after dinner we talked it all over and settled that we would go and see

the Generous Benefactor the very next day. But we thought perhaps the G.

B.--it is short for Generous Benefactor--would not like it if there were

so many of us. I have often noticed that it is the worst of our being

six--people think six a great many, when it’s children. That sentence

looks wrong somehow. I mean they don’t mind six pairs of boots, or six

pounds of apples, or six oranges, especially in equations, but they

seem to think you ought not to have five brothers and sisters. Of course

Dicky was to go, because it was his idea. Dora had to go to Blackheath

to see an old lady, a friend of Father’s, so she couldn’t go. Alice

said _she_ ought to go, because it said, ‘Ladies _and_ gentlemen,’ and

perhaps the G. B. wouldn’t let us have the money unless there were both

kinds of us.

H. O. said Alice wasn’t a lady; and she said _he_ wasn’t going, anyway.

Then he called her a disagreeable cat, and she began to cry.

But Oswald always tries to make up quarrels, so he said--

‘You’re little sillies, both of you!’

And Dora said, ‘Don’t cry, Alice; he only meant you weren’t a grown-up

lady.’

Then H. O. said, ‘What else did you think I meant, Disagreeable?’

So Dicky said, ‘Don’t be disagreeable yourself, H. O. Let her alone and

say you’re sorry, or I’ll jolly well make you!’

So H. O. said he was sorry. Then Alice kissed him and said she was sorry

too; and after that H. O. gave her a hug, and said, ‘Now I’m _really and

truly_ sorry,’ So it was all right.

Noel went the last time any of us went to London, so he was out of it,

and Dora said she would take him to Blackheath if we’d take H. O. So as

there’d been a little disagreeableness we thought it was better to take

him, and we did. At first we thought we’d tear our oldest things a bit

more, and put some patches of different colours on them, to show the

G. B. how much we wanted money. But Dora said that would be a sort

of cheating, pretending we were poorer than we are. And Dora is right

sometimes, though she is our elder sister. Then we thought we’d better

wear our best things, so that the G. B. might see we weren’t so very

poor that he couldn’t trust us to pay his money back when we had it. But

Dora said that would be wrong too. So it came to our being quite honest,

as Dora said, and going just as we were, without even washing our faces

and hands; but when I looked at H. O. in the train I wished we had not

been quite so particularly honest.

Every one who reads this knows what it is like to go in the train, so I

shall not tell about it--though it was rather fun, especially the part

where the guard came for the tickets at Waterloo, and H. O. was under

the seat and pretended to be a dog without a ticket. We went to Charing

Cross, and we just went round to Whitehall to see the soldiers and then

by St James’s for the same reason--and when we’d looked in the shops a

bit we got to Brook Street, Bond Street. It was a brass plate on a

door next to a shop--a very grand place, where they sold bonnets and

hats--all very bright and smart, and no tickets on them to tell you

the price. We rang a bell and a boy opened the door and we asked for Mr

Rosenbaum. The boy was not polite; he did not ask us in. So then Dicky

gave him his visiting card; it was one of Father’s really, but the

name is the same, Mr Richard Bastable, and we others wrote our names

underneath. I happened to have a piece of pink chalk in my pocket and we

wrote them with that.

Then the boy shut the door in our faces and we waited on the step. But

presently he came down and asked our business. So Dicky said--

‘Money advanced, young shaver! and don’t be all day about it!’

And then he made us wait again, till I was quite stiff in my legs, but

Alice liked it because of looking at the hats and bonnets, and at last

the door opened, and the boy said--

‘Mr Rosenbaum will see you,’ so we wiped our feet on the mat, which said

so, and we went up stairs with soft carpets and into a room. It was a

beautiful room. I wished then we had put on our best things, or at least

washed a little. But it was too late now.

The room had velvet curtains and a soft, soft carpet, and it was full

of the most splendid things. Black and gold cabinets, and china, and

statues, and pictures. There was a picture of a cabbage and a pheasant

and a dead hare that was just like life, and I would have given worlds

to have it for my own. The fur was so natural I should never have been

tired of looking at it; but Alice liked the one of the girl with

the broken jug best. Then besides the pictures there were clocks and

candlesticks and vases, and gilt looking-glasses, and boxes of cigars

and scent and things littered all over the chairs and tables. It was a

wonderful place, and in the middle of all the splendour was a little old

gentleman with a very long black coat and a very long white beard and a

hookey nose--like a falcon. And he put on a pair of gold spectacles and

looked at us as if he knew exactly how much our clothes were worth.

And then, while we elder ones were thinking how to begin, for we had

all said ‘Good morning’ as we came in, of course, H. O. began before we

could stop him. He said:

‘Are you the G. B.?’

‘The _what_?’ said the little old gentleman.

‘The G. B.,’ said H. O., and I winked at him to shut up, but he didn’t

see me, and the G. B. did. He waved his hand at _me_ to shut up, so I

had to, and H. O. went on--‘It stands for Generous Benefactor.’

The old gentleman frowned. Then he said, ‘Your Father sent you here, I

suppose?’

‘No he didn’t,’ said Dicky. ‘Why did you think so?’

The old gentleman held out the card, and I explained that we took that

because Father’s name happens to be the same as Dicky’s.

‘Doesn’t he know you’ve come?’

‘No,’ said Alice, ‘we shan’t tell him till we’ve got the partnership,

because his own business worries him a good deal and we don’t want to

bother him with ours till it’s settled, and then we shall give him half

our share.’

The old gentleman took off his spectacles and rumpled his hair with his

hands, then he said, ‘Then what _did_ you come for?’

‘We saw your advertisement,’ Dicky said, ‘and we want a hundred pounds

on our note of hand, and my sister came so that there should be both

kinds of us; and we want it to buy a partnership with in the lucrative

business for sale of useful patent. No personal attendance necessary.’

‘I don’t think I quite follow you,’ said the G. B. ‘But one thing I

should like settled before entering more fully into the matter: why did

you call me Generous Benefactor?’

‘Well, you see,’ said Alice, smiling at him to show she wasn’t

frightened, though I know really she was, awfully, ‘we thought it was so

_very_ kind of you to try to find out the poor people who want money and

to help them and lend them your money.’

‘Hum!’ said the G. B. ‘Sit down.’

He cleared the clocks and vases and candlesticks off some of the chairs,

and we sat down. The chairs were velvety, with gilt legs. It was like a

king’s palace.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘you ought to be at school, instead of thinking about

money. Why aren’t you?’

We told him that we should go to school again when Father could manage

it, but meantime we wanted to do something to restore the fallen

fortunes of the House of Bastable. And we said we thought the lucrative

patent would be a very good thing. He asked a lot of questions, and we

told him everything we didn’t think Father would mind our telling, and

at last he said--

‘You wish to borrow money. When will you repay it?’

‘As soon as we’ve got it, of course,’ Dicky said.

Then the G. B. said to Oswald, ‘You seem the eldest,’ but I explained to

him that it was Dicky’s idea, so my being eldest didn’t matter. Then he

said to Dicky--‘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 to-day 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 per cent interest--sixty per cent, sixty

per cent.’

‘What’s that?’ said H. O.

The G. B. said he’d tell us that when we paid back the sovereign, but

sixty per cent 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 to-day; 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 disguise. But the disguise was quite

impenetrable, like the villains’ in the books; and it seemed still more

so when the fifteen shillings were all spent. Then at last the others

agreed to let Oswald try his way of seeking for treasure, but they were

not at all keen about it, and many a boy less firm than Oswald would

have chucked the whole thing. But Oswald knew that a hero must rely on

himself alone. So he stuck to it, and presently the others saw their

duty, and backed him up.