“Oh, sir, I’m sorry,” said John, “I thought it was all quite respectable. Surely it’s just like Poppy Day. Pay your money, and you get your badge, and everyone knows you have done your bit. And that’s true comfort, to know that everyone knows you’re all right.”
The paper dropped again, and its owner said, with mild firmness, “Look here, young man! You mustn’t believe everything you’re told, specially when it’s libellous. I know you don’t mean harm yourself, but—be more critical of what you hear.”
“I’m frightfully sorry,” said John, looking pained and abashed. “It’s so hard to know what one may say and what not.”
“Yes, of course,” said Magnate amiably. “Perhaps I had better explain things a bit. Any one who finds himself in a position like mine, if he’s worth his salt, has to make the best possible use of his opportunities for serving the Empire. Now he can do this partly by running his business well, partly by personal influence. And if he is to have influence he must not only be, but also appear, a man of weight. He must spend a good deal on keeping up a certain style in his way of life. The public does attend more to a man who lives a bit expensively than to a man who doesn’t. Often it would be more comfortable not to live expensively. Just as it would be more comfortable for a judge in court on a hot day to do without his robe and wig. But he mustn’t. He must sacrifice comfort to dignity. At Christmas I bought my wife a rather good diamond necklace (South African—the money stayed in the Empire). Whenever we go to an important function, say a dinner at the Town Hall, she’s got to wear it. She doesn’t always want to. Says it’s heavy or hard, or something. But I say, ‘My dear, it’s a sign that you count. It’s a badge of office. Better wear it.’ And about the knighthood. If anyone says I want to buy one, it’s just a mean lie. I give what I can to my party because I know quite well, with my experience, that it’s the party of common sense and loyalty. No other party cares seriously for British prosperity and power. No other cares about our great Empire and its mission to lead the world. Well, clearly I must support that party in any way open to me. If they saw fit to give me a knighthood, I’d be proud. I’m not one of those prigs who turn up their noses at it. I’d be glad, partly because it would mean that the people who really count were sure I was really serving the Empire, partly because the knighthood would give me more weight to go on serving the Empire with.”
Mr. Magnate glanced at his fellow passengers. We all nodded approval. “Thank you, sir,” said John, with solemn, respectful eyes. “And it all depends on money, doesn’t it? If I’m going to do anything big, I must get money, somehow. I have a friend who keeps saying, ‘Money’s power.’ He has a wife who’s always tired and cross, and five children, ugly dull things. He’s out of a job. Had to sell his push-bike the other day. He says it’s not fair that he should be where he is and— you where you are. But it’s all his own fault really. If he had been as wide awake as you, he’d be as rich as you. Your being rich doesn’t make anyone else poor, does it? If all the slum people were as wide awake as you, they’d all have big houses and Rollses and diamonds. They’d all be some use to the Empire, instead of being just a nuisance.”
The man opposite me tittered. Mr. Magnate looked at him with the sidelong glance of a shy horse, then pulled himself together and laughed.
“My lad,” he said, “you’re too young to understand these things. I don’t think we shall do much good by talking any more about them.”
“I’m sorry,” John replied, seemingly crushed. “I thought I did understand.” Then after a pause he continued: “Do you mind if we go on just a little bit longer? I want to ask you something else.”
“Oh, very well, what is it?”
“What do you think about?”
“What do I think about? Good heavens, boy! All sorts of things. My business, my home, my wife and children, and—about the state of the country.”
“The state of the country? What about it?”
“Well,” said Mr. Magnate, “that’s much too long a story. I think about how England is to recover her foreign trade—so that more money may come into the country, and people may live happier, fuller lives. I think about how we can strengthen the hands of the Government against the foolish people who want to stir up trouble, and those who talk wildly against the Empire. I think —”
Here John interrupted. “What makes life full and happy?”
“You are a box of questions! I should say that for happiness people need plenty of work to keep them out of mischief, and some amusement to keep them fresh.”
“And, of course,” John interposed, “enough money to buy their amusements with.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Magnate. “But not too much. Most of them would only waste it or damage themselves with it. And if they had a lot, they wouldn’t work to get more.”
“But you have a lot, and you work.”
“Yes, but I don’t work for money exactly. I work because my business is a fascinating game, and because it is necessary to the country. I regard myself as a sort of public servant.”
“But,” said John, “aren’t they public servants too? Isn’t their work necessary too?”
“Yes, boy. But they don’t as a rule look at it that way. They won’t work unless they’re driven.”
“Oh, I see!” John said. “They’re a different sort from you. It must be wonderful to be you. I wonder whether I shall turn out like you or like them.”
“Oh, I’m not really different,” said Mr. Magnate generously. “Or if I am, it’s just circumstances that have made me so. As for you, young man, I expect you’ll go a long way.”
“I want to, terribly,” said John. “But I don’t know which way yet. Evidently whatever I do I must have money. But tell me, why do you bother about the country, and about other people?”
“I suppose,” said Mr. Magnate, laughing, “I bother about other people because when I see them unhappy I feel unhappy myself. And also,” he added more solemnly, “because the Bible tells us to love our neighbours. And I suppose I bother about the country partly because I must have something big to be interested in, something bigger than myself.”
“But you are big, yourself,” said John, with hero-worship in his eyes, and not a twinkle.
Mr. Magnate said hastily, “No, no, only a humble instrument in the service of a very big thing.”
“What thing do you mean?” asked John.
“Our great Empire, of course, boy.”
We were arriving at our destination. Mr. Magnate rose and took his hat from the rack. “Well, young man,” he said, “we have had an interesting talk. Come along on Saturday afternoon about 2.30, and we’ll get the chauffeur to give you a quarter of an hour’s spin in the Rolls.”
“Thank you, sir!” said John. “And may I see Mrs. Magnate’s necklace? I love jewels.”
“Certainly you shall,” Mr. Magnate answered.
When I had met John again outside the station, his only comment on the journey was his characteristic laugh.
CHAPTER V
THOUGHT AND ACTION
DURING the six months which followed this incident, John became increasingly independent of his elders. The parents knew that he was well able to look after himself, so they left him almost entirely to his own devices. They seldom questioned him about his doings, for anything like prying was repugnant to them both; and there seemed to be no mystery about John’s movements. He was continuing his study of man and man’s world. Sometimes he would volunteer an account of some incident in his day’s adventure; sometimes he would draw upon his store of data to illus trate a point in discussion.