“You dream of the future,” she said to her brother. “I want to help the people now. A rich man—especially if he were a good business man—could lay the foundations of a new world here in Millsborough tomorrow. He wouldn’t have to wait for other people. He could build healthy pleasant houses for the workers. I’m not thinking of charity. That’s why I want the business man who would go to work sensibly and economically; turn them out at rents that the people could afford. I know it can be done. I’ve gone into it. He could build them clubs to take the place of the public-houses where they could meet each other, read and talk, play games, have concerts and dances. Why shouldn’t there be a theatre? Look at the money they spend on drink. It’s just to get away from their wretched homes. Offer them something worth having—something they’d really like and enjoy, and they’d spend their money on that. I wouldn’t have anything started that couldn’t be made to pay its own way in the long run. If it can’t do that it isn’t real. It isn’t going to last. He could open shops, sell food and clothes to the people at fair prices; could start factories that would pay decent wages and where the hands would share in the profits. It’s no use kind, well-meaning people attempting these things that don’t understand business. They make a muddle of it; and then everybody points to it and says, ‘See what a failure it was!’ It isn’t the dreamers—the theorists—that will change the world. Life’s a business; it wants the business man to put it right. He hasn’t got to wait for revolutions, nor even for Parliaments. He can take the world as it is, shape it to fine ends with the tools that are already in his hands. One day one of them will rise up and show the way. It just wants a big man to set it going, that’s all.”
They had reached the outskirts of the town, where their ways parted. Anthony had promised his mother to be home to tea. The Tetteridges were away; and she was giving a party in the drawing-room to some poor folks who had been her neighbours in Snelling’s Row. Edward was a few steps ahead. Betty held out her hand. She was trembling and seemed as if she would fall. Anthony put an arm round her and held her up.
“How strong you are,” she said.
The office of Mowbray and Cousins occupied a high, square, red brick house in the centre of the town facing the church. Anthony was given a desk in the vestibule leading to Mr. Mowbray’s private room on the first floor, with its three high, dome-topped windows. It seemed that Mr. Mowbray intended to employ him rather as a private secretary than a clerk. He kept Mr. Mowbray’s papers in order, reminded him of his appointments, wrote such letters as Mr. Mowbray chose to answer himself. Mr. Mowbray had never taken kindly to dictating; he was too impatient. Anthony, with the help of the letter book, soon learned the trick of elaborating his brief instructions into proper form. It was always Anthony that Mr. Mowbray selected to accompany him on outside business; to see that the bag contained all necessary documents; to look up trains; arrange things generally. Mr. Mowbray himself had a distaste for detail. It was plain to Anthony, notwithstanding his inexperience, that his position was unique. He was prepared for jealousy; but for some reason that at first he did not grasp Mr. Mowbray’s favouritism was regarded throughout the office as in the natural order of things. Even old Abraham Johnson, the head clerk, who had the reputation of being somewhat of a tyrant, was friendly to him from the beginning. It was assumed as a matter of course that he was studying for the law and would later on take out his articles.
“I meant to do so when I first entered the office,” old Mr. Johnson said to him one day. They were walking home together. Mr. Johnson also resided in Bruton Square. He was a bachelor and lived with an unmarried sister. “Forty-three years ago that was, in the first Mr. Mowbray’s time. But office hours were longer then; and when I got home I was pretty tired. And what with one thing and another—— Besides, I hadn’t your incentive.”
He laughed, and seemed to expect Anthony to understand the joke.
“Come to me,” he added, “if you get tied up at any time. I expect I’ll be able to help you.”
They were all quite right. He was studying for the law. But it surprised him they should all assume it as a matter of course.
He had intended telling Edward himself and asking his help. But Edward anticipated him.
“I’m glad you’re with the Gov’nor,” he said. It was a day or two before his return to Oxford. He had come to the office with messages from his father, who was in bed with a headache. “I should have suggested it myself if I’d known you were looking at it that way. And Betty’s pleased,” he added. “She thinks it is good for the dad, that you will steady him.” He laughed. “And now that you have begun I want you to peg away and take out your articles. I’ll write out all you’ve got to do and leave it with Betty if I don’t see you again. And if there are any books you want that you can’t find in the office, let me know, and I’ll send them to you.”