I had a great and pleasurable shock this morning. I was deep in drab
and perplexed thought about the muddle the world had got into and,
incidentally, the muddle I was getting into myself, when the postman
came and, among other things, brought me a letter from a gentleman
named Rosen. I had never heard of him before--shouldn't know him if
I met him. Yet he began in this cordial fashion: "Can I be of any
service to you?" My heart leapt up at so friendly and handsome an
inquiry. This was the sort of man I had dreamt of meeting all my
life, a hearty, kindly fellow, full of melting charity who only asked
to be allowed to help a lame dog over the stile. I wondered who had
told Mr. Rosen about me and induced him to sit down and write in this
warm, generous spirit. Or perhaps he was a reader who had been
touched by the articles of "Alpha of the Plough." I imagined him
reading one of my most agreeable little things--one with just a hint
of pathos in it perhaps--and turning to Mrs. Rosen and saying: "We
ought to do something for this charming writer, my dear. What would
you suggest?" And the sensible woman--just touching her eyes, I
think, with the corner of her handkerchief--replied: "Why not write
to him and ask what he would like?" And Mr. Rosen exclaimed:
"Admirable woman! The very thing," and hastened to his desk and
wrote forthwith.
But he did not stop at asking whether he could be of any service to
me. With a fine sense of delicacy he raised a subject which he knew
I might have some hesitation in mentioning myself. "He is sure,
being a literary man, to be hard-up," he said to Mrs. R., "and you
can tell he is a sensitive fellow who would starve rather than say
anything about it. We must make it easy for him to tell us all about
it." And Mrs. R., her eyes shining through her tears--for she is a
soft-hearted woman--said: "Yes, poor fellow, make it easy for him."
So Mr. Rosen, his heart warming towards me, went on: "If an immediate
sum of money, £50 to £10,000, would be useful, you can have same at
_first interview or per registered post_ upon your note of
hand--i.e., without security."
When I read this I was amazed. How had he hit the sum so perfectly?
Why, it was precisely something between £50 and £10,000--rather
nearer £10,000 than £50--that I _did_ want. It seemed like manna
dropping from heaven. I called to Jane up the stairs and asked her
to come and hear of the splendid luck that had befallen us. I
declaimed the letter to her in loud and joyous tones. "However can
he have heard of us?" she said. "But I wish he wouldn't say 'same.'"
"We must not look a gift-horse in the mouth," I said severely.
"These noble-hearted people always say 'same.' 'We send same by even
post,' they say, 'but if same is not satisfactory, we will take same
back and return money for same.' It is very clear and saves time.
We must not be fastidious. We must not let our little literary
niceties stand in the way of £10,000. I think I shall take the
£10,000. He doesn't seem to mind whether it's £50 or £10,000, and I
mind a great deal."
Jane thought we ought to see the Rosens first, to make sure there was
not a mistake. It would be odious if we wrote accepting, took the
money, spent it, and then found it was meant for someone else of the
same name, who probably needed it more. I said I thought Mr. Rosen
would not like this cold and calculating way of meeting his friendly
advances. I had now a clear perception of him. He was an elderly,
big-hearted man with a flowing white beard. He wanted to do a little
good in the world before he left it, and he had chosen me as the
humble vessel of his benefaction because he liked my articles in the
_Star_. What need was there to go prying into his motives farther?
He would certainly not like it. He did not want the thing to be
talked about. "Please retain the card (enclosed) as a guarantee of
absolute secrecy," he said in his letter. That showed the sort of
man he was. He did good by stealth. It was our plain duty to
respect his wishes. If he did not want the matter talked about, why
should we worry him with inquiries?
I think this consideration had great weight with Jane and removed any
lingering scruples she had about taking the money. She accepted my
view of Mr. Rosen as a venerable old gentleman of the Cheeryble type
who wanted to make people happy, and she agreed that we ought not to
put obstacles in his way. In the evening we went for a walk down New
Bond Street, where the dear old man lives, and took a survey of the
premises of our fairy godfather from the other side of the road. I
fancy we caught a glimpse of him at the window, with flowing white
beard and skull-cap and velvet jacket and gold-rimmed spectacles,
through which his eyes beamed with benevolence upon the passers-by.
To-morrow I think I will write and tell him I will accept his kind
offer of service. Or perhaps I will call, for the post is very
uncertain. But I don't think I will take the £10,000. It would look
grasping. I think I will ask him for £5000. And I will promise him,
of course, "absolute secrecy."