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
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.