Part 4 (1/2)
”For saving and managing and turning his means to the best account. He has plenty to do with his money. You're an expensive family.”
”Yes, I'm very expensive,” Morgan concurred in a manner that made his preceptor burst out laughing.
”He's saving for _you_,” said Pemberton. ”They think of you in everything they do.”
”He might, while he's about it, save a little-” The boy paused, and his friend waited to hear what. Then Morgan brought out oddly: ”A little reputation.”
”Oh there's plenty of that. That's all right!”
”Enough of it for the people they know, no doubt. The people they know are awful.”
”Do you mean the princes? We mustn't abuse the princes.”
”Why not? They haven't married Paula-they haven't married Amy. They only clean out Ulick.”
”You _do_ know everything!” Pemberton declared.
”No, I don't, after all. I don't know what they live on, or how they live, or _why_ they live! What have they got and how did they get it?
Are they rich, are they poor, or have they a modeste aisance? Why are they always chiveying me about-living one year like amba.s.sadors and the next like paupers? Who are they, any way, and what are they? I've thought of all that-I've thought of a lot of things. They're so beastly worldly. That's what I hate most-oh, I've _seen_ it! All they care about is to make an appearance and to pa.s.s for something or other. What the d.i.c.kens do they want to pa.s.s for? What _do_ they, Mr. Pemberton?”
”You pause for a reply,” said Pemberton, treating the question as a joke, yet wondering too and greatly struck with his mate's intense if imperfect vision. ”I haven't the least idea.”
”And what good does it do? Haven't I seen the way people treat them-the 'nice' people, the ones they want to know? They'll take anything from them-they'll lie down and be trampled on. The nice ones hate that-they just sicken them. You're the only really nice person we know.”
”Are you sure? They don't lie down for me!”
”Well, you shan't lie down for them. You've got to go-that's what you've got to do,” said Morgan.
”And what will become of you?”
”Oh I'm growing up. I shall get off before long. I'll see you later.”
”You had better let me finish you,” Pemberton urged, lending himself to the child's strange superiority.
Morgan stopped in their walk, looking up at him. He had to look up much less than a couple of years before-he had grown, in his loose leanness, so long and high. ”Finish me?” he echoed.
”There are such a lot of jolly things we can do together yet. I want to turn you out-I want you to do me credit.”
Morgan continued to look at him. ”To give you credit-do you mean?”
”My dear fellow, you're too clever to live.”
”That's just what I'm afraid you think. No, no; it isn't fair-I can't endure it. We'll separate next week. The sooner it's over the sooner to sleep.”
”If I hear of anything-any other chance-I promise to go,” Pemberton said.
Morgan consented to consider this. ”But you'll be honest,” he demanded; ”you won't pretend you haven't heard?”
”I'm much more likely to pretend I have.”
”But what can you hear of, this way, stuck in a hole with us? You ought to be on the spot, to go to England-you ought to go to America.”