It was on the following Sunday that I found myself in Aubrey Walk,
discussing Ben's future with her, with Melanie Ames, and with two
or three of the young men who were in the habit of dwelling within
Melanie's aura. In Guy's absence in Meerut she did not deny herself
certain detached male followers. More and more do English girls seem to
be acquiring similar treasure.
The two girls made a pretty contrast: Ben so quick and alert, and
Melanie so casual and apparently uninterested, although with an instant
comment for every situation. Already, I observed, her tardiness had
begun to draw out Ben's practicality. In appearance they were a
contrast too, for Ben was fresh-complexioned, with rich brown hair
which had maintained its steady natural shade ever since I had known
her, whereas Melanie was pale and had changed the colour of her tresses
three times at least and was now meditating a return from dark to fair.
Ben was not exactly clever or witty, but her brain was nimble enough
and clear enough, and her laugh of such seductive clarity and readiness
as to put men on their mettle. Women who make men talk better than
they are accustomed to are always popular, even when they are plain;
and Ben was by no means plain. Indeed, she had such pleasant looks as
to cause constant surprise that she was still single and unattached;
but only among those people who do not know how foolishly young men
can choose their partners for life. Ben was probably too sane, too
brightly normal. The feet of the young men of her acquaintance were
either turned away from marriage altogether, or were dancing attendance
upon creatures more capricious, more artificial, more suggestive even
of decadence. Melanie, for example with her pallor and her exotic
_coiffure_, was clearly more attractive to Tubby Toller and Eric Keene,
who were plying her with cigarettes and other necessaries of life when
I entered. Both these youths, who had been too young for the War, were
now engaged in such walks of life as products of public schools and
universities take to: Tubby having a clerkship in the Treasury, and
Eric having one eye on the Bar, wherever the other may have been.
"Tell them about your scheme, Ben," said Melanie, when we were all at
our ease.
"Well," said Ben, "there seems to be a vacancy for a kind of agent who
will do all kinds of things for those who are too lazy or too busy or
too helpless to do them for themselves and would pay to be relieved.
Finding a house or flat, for example. There are heaps of people who
would cheerfully give ten pounds to have these found for them. There
are people all over the country, and in Scotland and Ireland, who would
like their shopping done for them, particularly when the Sales come on.
There are heaps of English people abroad--on the Continent, in India,
in the Colonies--who want things done for them in London and have no
one to apply to and trust. There is a constant demand for servants
of every kind, not only housemaids and nurses, but chauffeurs and
secretaries and private tutors. People want to know where they can have
bridge lessons and golf lessons and billiard lessons. It's all very
vague in my mind at present, but I'm sure there's something practical
in it."
"It's not vague to me at all," said Tubby; "it's concrete. I've been
thinking like a black while you've been talking, and I believe I've got
a title. You must be original and alluring: a signboard, jolly colours,
nice assistants."
"I should call it 'Ben Trovato,'" said Eric.
"Oh, don't!" Ben groaned. "No more puns on my unfortunate name, please."
"Or 'Ben's Balm for Harassed Housewives,'" Eric continued.
"Or just a notice like this," said Melanie:
DOMESTIC DIFFICULTIES
FORWARD SOLUTIONS WITHIN
"Be serious," said Tubby. "I've got a real title for you. What do you
think of 'The Beck and Call'?"
"Very good," I said.
"I think you should have a signboard hanging out," said Tubby, "Like
an old inn, and on the sign, which would be very gay, something like
this:--
THE BECK AND CALL
DOMESTIC PROBLEM BUREAU
BRING YOUR NEEDS TO US
FEES MODERATE
"I don't know about 'moderate,'" said Melanie. "It's what the most
expensive hotels always say."
"Yes, and 'Domestic Problems'?" said Eric. "Don't they usually mean
rows between husband and wife? Admiralty, Probate and Divorce stuff?"
"I suppose so," said Tubby. "But it would be impossible to put up
anything that could not be misunderstood by someone. In connection
with 'Beck and Call' I think 'Domestic Problems' might stand. And,
after all, if a wife did come to complain of her husband there would
be no great harm done; she would simply be told that that kind of
business was not transacted and sent off to the nearest police court or
solicitor."
"But you could charge her for it just the same," said Eric. "After all,
knowing who is the nearest or best divorce solicitor is very special
knowledge and ought to be well paid for."
"Yes," said Tubby, "I've lived in the same house for two years, but
I'll be hanged if I know where the nearest police station is, or the
nearest fire station, or the nearest pawnbroker. Those are the valuable
facts of life, and I am ignorant of all of them. I know where my own
doctor lives, and my own dentist, but I haven't a notion where there is
a strange one handy. And of course dentists never work at night. The
address of a good dentist who would answer a night call would be worth
a tenner to anyone. You ought to specialize in that, Ben."
"I will," said Ben. "You are being very useful to me. Go on."
"The best of everything," said Eric, hastily cutting in, "is a good
thing to know. It takes a lot of finding out oneself. I've got a
haberdashery chap, for instance, who is absolutely useless with
socks. His vests are good, his shirts, his collars; but his socks are
disgraceful. Very dear, and no wear in them at all. 'Advice as to the
best shops for everything' would be a great line for you."
"I saw a shop the other day," Tubby said, "where there were Chinese
birds' nests in the window. For soup. I'll give you the address, Ben.
That will be something to start on."
"Yes," said Melanie, "and I know the best place for rings and bracelets
made of elephants' hair. For luck, you know. You'd better make a note
of that."
"And China tea," said I.
"And Waterford glass," said Melanie.
"And Japanese artichokes," said Tubby. "They're delicious and they're
practically weeds, but how many greengrocers have them? Hardly any."
"And salad oil," said Melanie. "The awful cart-grease most people give
you!"
"I'll tell you another thing worth knowing in your business," said
Eric. "Places--seaside resorts--where the water isn't hard. My old
father had a horror of hard water and all our summer holidays were
regulated by that. But it was the most difficult thing to find out."
"I hope you're writing all these things down," said Ben. "I must
have one of those big alphabetical books. I'd no idea how clever you
are--you're well worth a guinea a box."
"That reminds me," said Eric. "The best chemists. Where to get the best
soap."
"And the best lavender water," said I.
"And the best cold-cure," said Tubby. "Nothing so important as that."
"What price indigestion?" asked Melanie.
"Yes, of course," said Tubby. "I know of some ripping stuff."
"But you're going much too far," said Ben.
"Never mind," said Tubby, "you'll find it'll all help. You can't know
too much."
"There's that wonderful place for jam in Paris," said Melanie. "I
forgot the name. It's in the Rue de Sèze: oh yes, Tandrade. You see
them making it in the shop. Nothing like it. I'm sure that anyone who
could act as an intermediary between English people and the best French
shops would make a fortune."
"Or the other way round," said Tubby. "I'll bet you France is full of
people who would like to get things from London but don't know how.
Think of the awful things they have to put up with now," he went on.
"Have you ever been in a small French chemist's? No one but a peasant
in a smock to look after you. And their shoe leather; I mean for men.
And their umbrellas. I can see an International Shopping Bureau going
very strong."
"Please stop," said Ben, in mock despair. "You're too resourceful. And
what do you think," she asked, turning to me, "shall we call it 'The
Beck and Call'?"
"I think that's admirable," I said. "I wish I'd thought of it."