Part 3 (2/2)

”Anything you like, sir--but don't call me Mr. Goldenheart.”

”Why not?”

”Well, it sounds formal. And, besides, you're old enough to be my father; it's _my_ duty to call _you_ Mister--or Sir, as we say to our elders at Tadmor. I have left all my friends behind me at the Community--and I feel lonely out here on this big ocean, among strangers. Do me a kindness, sir. Call me by my Christian name; and give me a friendly slap on the back if you find we get along smoothly in the course of the day.”

”Which of your names shall it be?” Mr. Hethcote asked, humouring this odd lad. ”Claude?”

”No. Not Claude. The Primitive Christians said Claude was a finicking French name. Call me Amelius, and I shall begin to feel at home again.

If you're in a hurry, cut it down to three letters (as they did at Tadmor), and call me Mel.”

”Very good,” said Mr. Hethcote. ”Now, my friend Amelius (or Mel), I am going to speak out plainly, as you do. The Primitive Christian Socialists must have great confidence in their system of education, to turn you adrift in the world without a companion to look after you.”

”You've hit it, sir,” Amelius answered coolly. ”They have unlimited confidence in their system of education. And I'm a proof of it.”

”You have relations in London, I suppose?” Mr. Hethcote proceeded.

For the first time the face of Amelius showed a shadow of sadness on it.

”I have relations,” he said. ”But I have promised never to claim their hospitality. 'They are hard and worldly; and they will make you hard and worldly, too.' That's what my father said to me on his deathbed.”

He took off his hat when he mentioned his father's death, and came to a sudden pause--with his head bent down, like a man absorbed in thought.

In less than a minute he put on his hat again, and looked up with his bright winning smile. ”We say a little prayer for the loved ones who are gone, when we speak of them,” he explained. ”But we don't say it out loud, for fear of seeming to parade our religious convictions. We hate cant in our Community.”

”I cordially agree with the Community, Amelius. But, my good fellow, have you really no friend to welcome you when you get to London?”

Amelius answered the question mysteriously. ”Wait a little!” he said--and took a letter from the breast-pocket of his coat. Mr.

Hethcote, watching him, observed that he looked at the address with unfeigned pride and pleasure.

”One of our brethren at the Community has given me this,” he announced.

”It's a letter of introduction, sir, to a remarkable man--a man who is an example to all the rest of us. He has risen, by dint of integrity and perseverance, from the position of a poor porter in a shop to be one of the most respected mercantile characters in the City of London.”

With this explanation, Amelius handed his letter to Mr. Hethcote. It was addressed as follows:--

To John Farnaby, Esquire, Messrs. Ronald & Farnaby, Stationers, Aldersgate Street, London.

CHAPTER 2

Mr. Hethcote looked at the address on the letter with an expression of surprise, which did not escape the notice of Amelius. ”Do you know Mr.

Farnaby?” he asked.

”I have some acquaintance with him,” was the answer, given with a certain appearance of constraint.

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