THE OFFICIAL DEMISE OF TOMMY SMITH
NEXT morning Mr. Mablethorpe, after a quite unexpectedly serious
conversation with Philip, departed upon Boanerges to seek out Uncle
Joseph.
Having achieved a comparatively unadventurous journey (if we except a
collision with a milk-cart in the Finchley Road), he drew up at Holly
Lodge, which looked very much the same as when Philip had left it two
days before, save that a large board, newly painted and announcing that
"This House" was to be "Let or Sold," projected over the laurel hedge
which separated the gravel sweep from the roadway.
Uncle Joseph was at home, and received his visitor in the library.
The owner of Boanerges came to the point at once.
"My name," he said, "is Mablethorpe. I do not suppose that the
information will interest you in the least, but it is customary to give
it. What is more to the point is the fact that I have found a stray
nephew. Have you lost one?"
Uncle Joseph admitted that this was so.
"He appears to have left home," continued Mr. Mablethorpe, "two days
ago, owing to a sudden and rather unexpected change in your domestic
routine."
"He told you the story, then?"
"Yes."
"I cannot quite understand," said Uncle Joseph, "why the event to which
you refer should have made it necessary for him to leave my house. In
fact, I should have thought it would have been an inducement to him to
remain. Have a cigar?"
Mr. Mablethorpe helped himself, and replied thoughtfully:--
"I gather that the--the event to which we have referred absolved him, in
his rather immature judgment, from further allegiance to your person and
service."
Uncle Joseph eyed his visitor keenly.
"Service--eh? Did he explain to you the nature of his services?"
"Yes, he told me all about it. The Kind Young Hearts, the Unwanted
Doggies, Tommy Smith--everything. I made him tell me every shred
of the story. I would not have missed a word of it. It was
priceless--immense--the most brilliant thing I ever heard of! As a
brother-artist, in a smaller and less remunerative way, I beg to offer
you my felicitations and thanks. But our young friend Philip appears to
have found his share of the work uncongenial. Apparently his
conscience--"
"Not his conscience," interposed Uncle Joseph: "his disposition. The boy
is a born sentimentalist, like his father before him. I had noticed the
paternal characteristics developing for some time, and I expected an
upheaval sooner or later. The--the event to which reference has been
made precipitated matters, that is all."
"Quite so," agreed Mr. Mablethorpe. "But whatever his underlying forces
may be, your nephew appears to be a youth of some directness of
character. When I intercepted him yesterday he was on his way to
Coventry, with the intention of studying the mechanics of automobilism.
He is now in my house, and on my representations has agreed to place his
future unreservedly in your hands. But I don't think you will persuade
him to go back to the Little Tommy Smith business, you know."
"There is no need," said Uncle Joseph. "Little Tommy Smith is dead, and
his works have perished with him."
"So I had gathered," said Mr. Mablethorpe.
"How?" asked Uncle Joseph, a little startled.
Mr. Mablethorpe waved his hand in the direction of the window.
"Partly from the presence of that board outside," he said, "and partly
because, in the light of--of recent events, any other _denouement_ would
have been an inartistic anticlimax, contrary to the canons of the best
fiction."
Uncle Joseph surveyed his rather unusual visitor with interest.
"You appear to know something of men and women," he said.
"I have to," explained Mr. Mablethorpe. "I make a living by studying the
weaknesses of mankind and publishing the results of my observations at
four-and-sixpence net."
"A novelist, I gather."
"Yes, but of the obsolete school. I hate your morbid, soul-dissecting,
self-centred pessimist like poison. I go in for happy endings and the
eternal good in human nature. In this respect I rejoice to observe that
you are not going to disappoint me."
Uncle Joseph's cold blue eyes glowed suddenly.
"No, thank God!" he said; "I am not."
After that he told Mr. Mablethorpe the rest of the story.
"Her husband died five years ago. I rather gather it was drink, but
I did not press the point. I am quite content to accept the official
virtues of the deceased as enumerated on his tombstone and let his
hobbies drop into oblivion. She had one little girl, who died, too;
and since then she has been living alone--quite alone. Poor soul,
she has paid--paid in full. Perhaps I have, too. Pride, pride! Have
you ever noticed, in your observations of human life, how very
heavily--disproportionately, one might say--God punishes pride? Sins
which arise from weakness seem to get off, on the whole, rather more
lightly than they deserve; but the sins of the strong--pride, obduracy,
even reticence--never! I suppose it is God's way of rubbing in the fact
that Strength Belongeth to the Lord Alone."
"I don't think that the strong get punished more heavily than the weak,"
said Mr. Mablethorpe, "but they feel their punishment much more keenly.
It is impossible to punish the weak. They run howling to their betters
the moment they feel the first whack, and unload their woes on to them.
But the strong, especially the proud, endure their punishment and say
nothing. That's why it hurts so."
"Perhaps you are right," said Uncle Joseph. "But we appear to be
digressing into philosophy. I am to be married next month, and we are
going to live in the country. She has been left very poorly off, as the
money has passed on with the title. But I think we shall be tolerably
comfortable--and busy. We have some small arrears of happiness to make
up."
"And your benevolent exercises," said Mr. Mablethorpe, after a long
silence, "are now a thing of the past?"
"Yes. Frankly, I am sorry; for the people who paid the money extracted a
large amount of innocent pleasure from giving it, and it was a perfect
godsend to the people who ultimately received it. But, of course,
pedantically speaking, the whole thing was illegal, and Vivien has all a
woman's respect for the letter of the law. So I intend to close down. My
charities will suffer, I fear; but possibly I shall be able to make good
by personal service some of the deficiencies caused by my failure as a
source of revenue. Still, I shall miss it all. I enjoyed composing the
appeals, particularly."
"I rather fancy I once received one from you," said Mr. Mablethorpe. "I
read it with great appreciation. In fact, I answered it. But now, as to
Master Philip. What are your views?"
"Supposing I hear yours first?" said Uncle Joseph.
"Very well. I am a comparatively prosperous man. I have no son. The boy
interests me, and I scent copy in him. I also want an occasional
secretary and amanuensis. I suggest that he should make his headquarters
with me, and I will be responsible for his education. He shall visit you
whenever and for as long as you want him. The only stipulation I make is
that we have no formal agreement or business arrangement about him. I am
not a man of business, and I hate legal contracts and attempts to
harness the future more than anything in this world. Will you let me
have the boy for as long as he is willing to stay with me?"
"Certainly," said Uncle Joseph.
And with that word Philip's career as a misogynist and recluse came to
an official conclusion.
BOOK TWO
LABOR OMNIA VINCIT