The home-bureau of charities was a success from the start; but beyond

the fact that it served to establish Thomas Webb as private secretary

in the Killigrew family, I was not deeply interested. I know that

Thomas ran about a good deal, delving into tenements and pedigrees,

judging candidates, passing or condemning, and that he earned his

salary, munificent as it appeared to him. Forbes told me that he

wouldn't have done the work for a thousand a week; and Forbes, like

Panurge, had ten ways of making money and twelve ways of spending it.

The amazing characteristic about Thomas was his unaffected modesty, his

naturalness, his eagerness to learn, his willingness to accept

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suggestions, no matter from what source. Haberdashers' clerks--at

least, those I have known--are superior persons; they know it all, you

can not tell them a single thing. I can call to witness dozens of

neckties and shirts I shall never dare wear in public. But perhaps

seven years among a clientele of earls and dukes, who were set in their

ideas, had something to do with Thomas' attitude.

Killigrew was very well satisfied with the venture. He had had some

doubts at the beginning: a man whose past ended at Pier 60 did not look

like a wise speculation, especially in a household. But quite

unconsciously Thomas himself had taken these doubts out of Killigrew's

mind and--mislaid them. The subscriptions to all the suffragette

weeklies and monthlies were dropped; and there were no more banners

reading "Votes for Women" tacked over the doorways. Besides this, the

merchant had a man to talk to, after dinner, he with his cigar and

Thomas with his pipe, this privilege being insisted upon by the women

folk, who had tact to leave the two men to themselves.

Thomas amused the millionaire. Here was a young man of a species with

whom he had not come into contact in many years: a boy who did not know

the first thing about poker, or bridge, or pinochle, who played

outrageous billiards and who did not know who the latest reigning

theatrical beauty was, and moreover, did not care a rap; who could

understand a joke within reasonable time if he couldn't tell one; who

was neither a nincompoop nor a mollycoddle. Thomas interested

Killigrew more and more as the days went past.

Happily, the voice of conscience is heard by no ears but one's own.

After luncheons Thomas had a good deal of time on his hands; and, to

occupy this time he returned to his old love, composition. He began to

rewrite his romance; and one day Kitty discovered him pegging away at

it. He rose from his chair instantly.




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