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<h2> CHAPTER 9. THE G. B. </h2>
<p>Being editors is not the best way to wealth. We all feel this now, and
highwaymen are not respected any more like they used to be.</p>
<p>I am sure we had tried our best to restore our fallen fortunes. We felt
their fall very much, because we knew the Bastables had been rich once.
Dora and Oswald can remember when Father was always bringing nice things
home from London, and there used to be turkeys and geese and wine and
cigars come by the carrier at Christmas-time, and boxes of candied fruit
and French plums in ornamental boxes with silk and velvet and gilding on
them. They were called prunes, but the prunes you buy at the grocer's are
quite different. But now there is seldom anything nice brought from
London, and the turkey and the prune people have forgotten Father's
address.</p>
<p>'How <i>can</i> we restore those beastly fallen fortunes?' said Oswald.
'We've tried digging and writing and princesses and being editors.'</p>
<p>'And being bandits,' said H. O.</p>
<p>'When did you try that?' asked Dora quickly. 'You know I told you it was
wrong.'</p>
<p>'It wasn't wrong the way we did it,' said Alice, quicker still, before
Oswald could say, 'Who asked you to tell us anything about it?' which
would have been rude, and he is glad he didn't. 'We only caught
Albert-next-door.'</p>
<p>'Oh, Albert-next-door!' said Dora contemptuously, and I felt more
comfortable; for even after I didn't say, 'Who asked you, and cetera,' I
was afraid Dora was going to come the good elder sister over us. She does
that a jolly sight too often.</p>
<p>Dicky looked up from the paper he was reading and said, 'This sounds
likely,' and he read out—</p>
<p>'L100 secures partnership in lucrative business for sale of<br/>
useful patent. L10 weekly. No personal attendance necessary.<br/>
Jobbins, 300, Old Street Road.'<br/></p>
<p>'I wish we could secure that partnership,' said Oswald. He is twelve, and
a very thoughtful boy for his age.</p>
<p>Alice looked up from her painting. She was trying to paint a fairy queen's
frock with green bice, and it wouldn't rub. There is something funny about
green bice. It never will rub off; no matter how expensive your paintbox
is—and even boiling water is very little use.</p>
<p>She said, 'Bother the bice! And, Oswald, it's no use thinking about that.
Where are we to get a hundred pounds?'</p>
<p>'Ten pounds a week is five pounds to us,' Oswald went on—he had done
the sum in his head while Alice was talking—'because partnership
means halves. It would be A1.'</p>
<p>Noel sat sucking his pencil—he had been writing poetry as usual. I
saw the first two lines—</p>
<p>I wonder why Green Bice<br/>
Is never very nice.<br/></p>
<p>Suddenly he said, 'I wish a fairy would come down the chimney and drop a
jewel on the table—a jewel worth just a hundred pounds.'</p>
<p>'She might as well give you the hundred pounds while she was about it,'
said Dora.</p>
<p>'Or while she was about it she might as well give us five pounds a week,'
said Alice.</p>
<p>'Or fifty,' said I.</p>
<p>'Or five hundred,' said Dicky.</p>
<p>I saw H. O. open his mouth, and I knew he was going to say, 'Or five
thousand,' so I said—</p>
<p>'Well, she won't give us fivepence, but if you'd only do as I am always
saying, and rescue a wealthy old gentleman from deadly peril he would give
us a pot of money, and we could have the partnership and five pounds a
week. Five pounds a week would buy a great many things.'</p>
<p>Then Dicky said, 'Why shouldn't we borrow it?' So we said, 'Who from?' and
then he read this out of the paper—</p>
<p>MONEY PRIVATELY WITHOUT FEES<br/>
THE BOND STREET BANK<br/>
Manager, Z. Rosenbaum.<br/>
<br/>
Advances cash from L20 to L10,000 on ladies' or gentlemen's<br/>
note of hand alone, without security. No fees. No inquiries.<br/>
Absolute privacy guaranteed.<br/></p>
<p>'What does it all mean?' asked H. O.</p>
<p>'It means that there is a kind gentleman who has a lot of money, and he
doesn't know enough poor people to help, so he puts it in the paper that
he will help them, by lending them his money—that's it, isn't it,
Dicky?'</p>
<p>Dora explained this and Dicky said, 'Yes.' And H. O. said he was a
Generous Benefactor, like in Miss Edgeworth. Then Noel wanted to know what
a note of hand was, and Dicky knew that, because he had read it in a book,
and it was just a letter saying you will pay the money when you can, and
signed with your name.</p>
<p>'No inquiries!' said Alice. 'Oh—Dicky—do you think he would?'</p>
<p>'Yes, I think so,' said Dicky. 'I wonder Father doesn't go to this kind
gentleman. I've seen his name before on a circular in Father's study.'</p>
<p>'Perhaps he has.' said Dora.</p>
<p>But the rest of us were sure he hadn't, because, of course, if he had,
there would have been more money to buy nice things. Just then Pincher
jumped up and knocked over the painting-water. He is a very careless dog.
I wonder why painting-water is always such an ugly colour? Dora ran for a
duster to wipe it up, and H. O. dropped drops of the water on his hands
and said he had got the plague. So we played at the plague for a bit, and
I was an Arab physician with a bath-towel turban, and cured the plague
with magic acid-drops. After that it was time for dinner, and after dinner
we talked it all over and settled that we would go and see the Generous
Benefactor the very next day. But we thought perhaps the G. B.—it is
short for Generous Benefactor—would not like it if there were so
many of us. I have often noticed that it is the worst of our being six—people
think six a great many, when it's children. That sentence looks wrong
somehow. I mean they don't mind six pairs of boots, or six pounds of
apples, or six oranges, especially in equations, but they seem to think
you ought not to have five brothers and sisters. Of course Dicky was to
go, because it was his idea. Dora had to go to Blackheath to see an old
lady, a friend of Father's, so she couldn't go. Alice said <i>she</i>
ought to go, because it said, 'Ladies <i>and</i> gentlemen,' and perhaps
the G. B. wouldn't let us have the money unless there were both kinds of
us.</p>
<p>H. O. said Alice wasn't a lady; and she said <i>he</i> wasn't going,
anyway. Then he called her a disagreeable cat, and she began to cry.</p>
<p>But Oswald always tries to make up quarrels, so he said—</p>
<p>'You're little sillies, both of you!'</p>
<p>And Dora said, 'Don't cry, Alice; he only meant you weren't a grown-up
lady.'</p>
<p>Then H. O. said, 'What else did you think I meant, Disagreeable?'</p>
<p>So Dicky said, 'Don't be disagreeable yourself, H. O. Let her alone and
say you're sorry, or I'll jolly well make you!'</p>
<p>So H. O. said he was sorry. Then Alice kissed him and said she was sorry
too; and after that H. O. gave her a hug, and said, 'Now I'm <i>really and
truly</i> sorry,' So it was all right.</p>
<p>Noel went the last time any of us went to London, so he was out of it, and
Dora said she would take him to Blackheath if we'd take H. O. So as
there'd been a little disagreeableness we thought it was better to take
him, and we did. At first we thought we'd tear our oldest things a bit
more, and put some patches of different colours on them, to show the G. B.
how much we wanted money. But Dora said that would be a sort of cheating,
pretending we were poorer than we are. And Dora is right sometimes, though
she is our elder sister. Then we thought we'd better wear our best things,
so that the G. B. might see we weren't so very poor that he couldn't trust
us to pay his money back when we had it. But Dora said that would be wrong
too. So it came to our being quite honest, as Dora said, and going just as
we were, without even washing our faces and hands; but when I looked at H.
O. in the train I wished we had not been quite so particularly honest.</p>
<p>Every one who reads this knows what it is like to go in the train, so I
shall not tell about it—though it was rather fun, especially the
part where the guard came for the tickets at Waterloo, and H. O. was under
the seat and pretended to be a dog without a ticket. We went to Charing
Cross, and we just went round to Whitehall to see the soldiers and then by
St James's for the same reason—and when we'd looked in the shops a
bit we got to Brook Street, Bond Street. It was a brass plate on a door
next to a shop—a very grand place, where they sold bonnets and hats—all
very bright and smart, and no tickets on them to tell you the price. We
rang a bell and a boy opened the door and we asked for Mr Rosenbaum. The
boy was not polite; he did not ask us in. So then Dicky gave him his
visiting card; it was one of Father's really, but the name is the same, Mr
Richard Bastable, and we others wrote our names underneath. I happened to
have a piece of pink chalk in my pocket and we wrote them with that.</p>
<p>Then the boy shut the door in our faces and we waited on the step. But
presently he came down and asked our business. So Dicky said—</p>
<p>'Money advanced, young shaver! and don't be all day about it!'</p>
<p>And then he made us wait again, till I was quite stiff in my legs, but
Alice liked it because of looking at the hats and bonnets, and at last the
door opened, and the boy said—</p>
<p>'Mr Rosenbaum will see you,' so we wiped our feet on the mat, which said
so, and we went up stairs with soft carpets and into a room. It was a
beautiful room. I wished then we had put on our best things, or at least
washed a little. But it was too late now.</p>
<p>The room had velvet curtains and a soft, soft carpet, and it was full of
the most splendid things. Black and gold cabinets, and china, and statues,
and pictures. There was a picture of a cabbage and a pheasant and a dead
hare that was just like life, and I would have given worlds to have it for
my own. The fur was so natural I should never have been tired of looking
at it; but Alice liked the one of the girl with the broken jug best. Then
besides the pictures there were clocks and candlesticks and vases, and
gilt looking-glasses, and boxes of cigars and scent and things littered
all over the chairs and tables. It was a wonderful place, and in the
middle of all the splendour was a little old gentleman with a very long
black coat and a very long white beard and a hookey nose—like a
falcon. And he put on a pair of gold spectacles and looked at us as if he
knew exactly how much our clothes were worth.</p>
<p>And then, while we elder ones were thinking how to begin, for we had all
said 'Good morning' as we came in, of course, H. O. began before we could
stop him. He said:</p>
<p>'Are you the G. B.?'</p>
<p>'The <i>what</i>?' said the little old gentleman.</p>
<p>'The G. B.,' said H. O., and I winked at him to shut up, but he didn't see
me, and the G. B. did. He waved his hand at <i>me</i> to shut up, so I had
to, and H. O. went on—'It stands for Generous Benefactor.'</p>
<p>The old gentleman frowned. Then he said, 'Your Father sent you here, I
suppose?'</p>
<p>'No he didn't,' said Dicky. 'Why did you think so?'</p>
<p>The old gentleman held out the card, and I explained that we took that
because Father's name happens to be the same as Dicky's.</p>
<p>'Doesn't he know you've come?'</p>
<p>'No,' said Alice, 'we shan't tell him till we've got the partnership,
because his own business worries him a good deal and we don't want to
bother him with ours till it's settled, and then we shall give him half
our share.'</p>
<p>The old gentleman took off his spectacles and rumpled his hair with his
hands, then he said, 'Then what <i>did</i> you come for?'</p>
<p>'We saw your advertisement,' Dicky said, 'and we want a hundred pounds on
our note of hand, and my sister came so that there should be both kinds of
us; and we want it to buy a partnership with in the lucrative business for
sale of useful patent. No personal attendance necessary.'</p>
<p>'I don't think I quite follow you,' said the G. B. 'But one thing I should
like settled before entering more fully into the matter: why did you call
me Generous Benefactor?'</p>
<p>'Well, you see,' said Alice, smiling at him to show she wasn't frightened,
though I know really she was, awfully, 'we thought it was so <i>very</i>
kind of you to try to find out the poor people who want money and to help
them and lend them your money.'</p>
<p>'Hum!' said the G. B. 'Sit down.'</p>
<p>He cleared the clocks and vases and candlesticks off some of the chairs,
and we sat down. The chairs were velvety, with gilt legs. It was like a
king's palace.</p>
<p>'Now,' he said, 'you ought to be at school, instead of thinking about
money. Why aren't you?'</p>
<p>We told him that we should go to school again when Father could manage it,
but meantime we wanted to do something to restore the fallen fortunes of
the House of Bastable. And we said we thought the lucrative patent would
be a very good thing. He asked a lot of questions, and we told him
everything we didn't think Father would mind our telling, and at last he
said—</p>
<p>'You wish to borrow money. When will you repay it?'</p>
<p>'As soon as we've got it, of course,' Dicky said.</p>
<p>Then the G. B. said to Oswald, 'You seem the eldest,' but I explained to
him that it was Dicky's idea, so my being eldest didn't matter. Then he
said to Dicky—'You are a minor, I presume?'</p>
<p>Dicky said he wasn't yet, but he had thought of being a mining engineer
some day, and going to Klondike.</p>
<p>'Minor, not miner,' said the G. B. 'I mean you're not of age?'</p>
<p>'I shall be in ten years, though,' said Dicky. 'Then you might repudiate
the loan,' said the G. B., and Dicky said 'What?'</p>
<p>Of course he ought to have said 'I beg your pardon. I didn't quite catch
what you said'—that is what Oswald would have said. It is more
polite than 'What.'</p>
<p>'Repudiate the loan,' the G. B repeated. 'I mean you might say you would
not pay me back the money, and the law could not compel you to do so.'</p>
<p>'Oh, well, if you think we're such sneaks,' said Dicky, and he got up off
his chair. But the G. B. said, 'Sit down, sit down; I was only joking.'</p>
<p>Then he talked some more, and at last he said—'I don't advise you to
enter into that partnership. It's a swindle. Many advertisements are. And
I have not a hundred pounds by me to-day to lend you. But I will lend you
a pound, and you can spend it as you like. And when you are twenty-one you
shall pay me back.'</p>
<p>'I shall pay you back long before that,' said Dicky. 'Thanks, awfully! And
what about the note of hand?'</p>
<p>'Oh,' said the G. B., 'I'll trust to your honour. Between gentlemen, you
know—and ladies'—he made a beautiful bow to Alice—'a
word is as good as a bond.'</p>
<p>Then he took out a sovereign, and held it in his hand while he talked to
us. He gave us a lot of good advice about not going into business too
young, and about doing our lessons—just swatting a bit, on our own
hook, so as not to be put in a low form when we went back to school. And
all the time he was stroking the sovereign and looking at it as if he
thought it very beautiful. And so it was, for it was a new one. Then at
last he held it out to Dicky, and when Dicky put out his hand for it the
G. B. suddenly put the sovereign back in his pocket.</p>
<p>'No,' he said, 'I won't give you the sovereign. I'll give you fifteen
shillings, and this nice bottle of scent. It's worth far more than the
five shillings I'm charging you for it. And, when you can, you shall pay
me back the pound, and sixty per cent interest—sixty per cent, sixty
per cent.'</p>
<p>'What's that?' said H. O.</p>
<p>The G. B. said he'd tell us that when we paid back the sovereign, but
sixty per cent was nothing to be afraid of. He gave Dicky the money. And
the boy was made to call a cab, and the G. B. put us in and shook hands
with us all, and asked Alice to give him a kiss, so she did, and H. O.
would do it too, though his face was dirtier than ever. The G. B. paid the
cabman and told him what station to go to, and so we went home.</p>
<p>That evening Father had a letter by the seven-o'clock post. And when he
had read it he came up into the nursery. He did not look quite so unhappy
as usual, but he looked grave.</p>
<p>'You've been to Mr Rosenbaum's,' he said.</p>
<p>So we told him all about it. It took a long time, and Father sat in the
armchair. It was jolly. He doesn't often come and talk to us now. He has
to spend all his time thinking about his business. And when we'd told him
all about it he said—</p>
<p>'You haven't done any harm this time, children; rather good than harm,
indeed. Mr Rosenbaum has written me a very kind letter.'</p>
<p>'Is he a friend of yours, Father?' Oswald asked. 'He is an acquaintance,'
said my father, frowning a little, 'we have done some business together.
And this letter—' he stopped and then said: 'No; you didn't do any
harm to-day; but I want you for the future not to do anything so serious
as to try to buy a partnership without consulting me, that's all. I don't
want to interfere with your plays and pleasures; but you will consult me
about business matters, won't you?'</p>
<p>Of course we said we should be delighted, but then Alice, who was sitting
on his knee, said, 'We didn't like to bother you.'</p>
<p>Father said, 'I haven't much time to be with you, for my business takes
most of my time. It is an anxious business—but I can't bear to think
of your being left all alone like this.'</p>
<p>He looked so sad we all said we liked being alone. And then he looked
sadder than ever.</p>
<p>Then Alice said, 'We don't mean that exactly, Father. It is rather lonely
sometimes, since Mother died.'</p>
<p>Then we were all quiet a little while. Father stayed with us till we went
to bed, and when he said good night he looked quite cheerful. So we told
him so, and he said—</p>
<p>'Well, the fact is, that letter took a weight off my mind.' I can't think
what he meant—but I am sure the G. B. would be pleased if he could
know he had taken a weight off somebody's mind. He is that sort of man, I
think.</p>
<p>We gave the scent to Dora. It is not quite such good scent as we thought
it would be, but we had fifteen shillings—and they were all good, so
is the G. B.</p>
<p>And until those fifteen shillings were spent we felt almost as jolly as
though our fortunes had been properly restored. You do not notice your
general fortune so much, as long as you have money in your pocket. This is
why so many children with regular pocket-money have never felt it their
duty to seek for treasure. So, perhaps, our not having pocket-money was a
blessing in disguise. But the disguise was quite impenetrable, like the
villains' in the books; and it seemed still more so when the fifteen
shillings were all spent. Then at last the others agreed to let Oswald try
his way of seeking for treasure, but they were not at all keen about it,
and many a boy less firm than Oswald would have chucked the whole thing.
But Oswald knew that a hero must rely on himself alone. So he stuck to it,
and presently the others saw their duty, and backed him up.</p>
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