“Well, this is lucky,” exclaimed Brian, gripping his cousin’s hand. “I was just strolling up toward your place. I don’t think I’d have ventured to go in, after my recollections of our worthy aunt, but I thought I might get a glimpse of you. And so we flaunt it in hansoms, do we?” He laughed good-humouredly, and slipped his arm affectionately through Comethup’s. “In with you. I’ve nothing to claim me at the moment; I’ll go wherever you’re going, and you can drop me when I’m likely to be in the way. By Jove! you’re a lucky youngster; and yet I don’t think I’d change places with you. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to the bank,” said Comethup, hastily, standing up to give the direction to the driver. As he settled into his place beside Brian he added: “I’m awfully glad to see you; I’ve been thinking a great deal about you, and wondering what you were doing.”
“Boy, I’m living—that’s what I’m doing. To-day, perhaps with a few shillings in my pocket; to-morrow with nothing. No gilded luxury for me; I’ve taken Fate by the throat, and I’m going to choke something out of her. I’m only a boy—not nineteen yet—a boy, at least, in years; but I’ve read there have been glorious boys who started as I have done and took the world by storm. Oh, don’t think I’m boasting, don’t think I’m mad. The days in Sleepy Hollow are done with; I stayed there too long as it was. In London here—well, a man may starve, or walk with broken boots, but everything about him lives—lives, I say; every face of man or woman bears the stamp of a history; every sound, even if it be the sound of an oath, has life in it. I tell you, it’s glorious; one has only to gird up one’s loins, as it were, and join in the race, and the excitement keeps you going; it must.”
“But what are you doing?” asked Comethup.
“Doing? Everything that’s worth doing. Working, seeing people, dreaming. You’ve heard of Chatterton? He, poor devil, came from Bristol to this wonderful city when he was about as young as I am; he poisoned himself in a garret. I promise you I won’t do that; life’s too strong in me; and if it comes, as it will, to a rough and tumble with the world, the world goes down. But I’m working as he worked—writing. You’ll all be proud of me some day. I’ve met men already in these few days who have begun to encourage me and tell me what I can do and how to do it. I’ve been stringing rhymes for years—ever since I was a boy; now I’m stringing rhymes in good earnest. I’ve had introductions here, introductions there; this one has promised to take me up, that one to see that I’m not forgotten. There’s a trick in this as there is in everything else—the trick of making people believe in you, making people like you. You’ve got to show yourself a very fine fellow, and to declare that you are a very fine fellow; if you’re loud enough about it, people will believe you. Here’s your bank, you millionaire. Shall I wait for you, or come in?”
“Oh, come in, if you like,” said Comethup.
Brian Carlaw was close at his elbow when he presented the cheque; even laughed easily when Comethup hesitated a moment as to how he should take the money. “Take it how you will, so that you get it,” he suggested. And when the boy had folded the notes and thrust them into his pocket, his cousin linked arms with him again and drew him out of the bank.
“Where are you going?” asked Comethup, as they reached the pavement.
“Going?” said Brian laughingly. “Well, I’m going to keep you in sight, youngster; you have no right to be wandering at large in this dreadful city with all that money in your pockets. Frankly, I’m going to have lunch with you. My breakfast this morning was a small affair, and I was casting about in my mind as to how to obtain a lunch when I met you. Genius always has to do that kind of thing, you know; it’s one of its penalties. You shall give me the best lunch in town.”
Comethup could not well refuse; but he was torn between the thought of this reckless, penniless, hungry cousin of his, and the remembrance of a certain blind old woman, to whom he owed everything, sitting in her solitary dining room and lunching alone and anxiously awaiting his return. However, before he had time to think about the matter with any clearness Brian had thrust him into the waiting cab and had instructed the driver in a loud voice to drive them somewhere where they could lunch. “The best place in London,” he added, “and look sharp.”