There was a peculiar emphasis on the last two words, suggestive that the result of the former conversation had not been satisfactory. Wrentham was, or very cleverly affected to be, unconscious of the suggestion.
‘I am glad of that—real glad, as Americans say. And yet I have more than once had a notion of going to you and asking you to try to bring the young man to reason. I am supposed to be his manager and adviser. My management consists in doing the work of a message-boy—that is, strictly carrying out his instructions: my advice is nowhere.’
‘I have no desire to interfere with him in his present course.’
‘So I supposed, and that is what has kept me from going to you. I had no idea, until after accepting this agreement with him, that he was such an obstinate beggar—you know that I am speaking of him as my friend. He has got this mania—I have told him that I consider it a mania—and he sticks to it. Unfortunately, his uncle approves of it; but you know that this is not business—he will never get anything out of it.’
‘Not in your sense, Mr Wrentham; but there are some profits which cannot be reckoned by the figures in our ledgers—and some losses too.’
‘Undoubtedly, sir, undoubtedly; at the same time, you cannot blame me for taking the commonplace view of things, and regretting that a young man with such a splendid opportunity should deliberately chuck it into the gutter. Why, with his capital, I can see a magnificent future, if he would only consent to follow the dictates of common-sense.’
‘You mean those dictates which lead to the making of money. His notion is to make people happy. Well, as you are aware, I have had some experience in obeying common-sense, as you understand it; and I am curious to see the result of Philip’s experiment. I have no desire and no right to interfere with him.’
‘The result will be ruin—absolute ruin. In less than twelve months he will not have a penny of the whole capital now at his disposal. However, as you say, we have nothing to do with it. At the same time, I trust you will, for my sake, remember by-and-by that I have entered my protest against the course he is pursuing.’
‘I shall remember,’ said Mr Hadleigh, inclining his head gravely. ‘What I called to ask you was, do you know anything about Mr Beecham, who seems to have taken permanent quarters at the King’s Head?’
‘Beecham!’ exclaimed Wrentham gleefully, as if intensely relieved by an agreeable change of subject. ‘I should think so. I believe that it was my privilege to be the first amongst his acquaintances in Kingshope. I don’t think he would object to my saying that he is a friend of mine. A capital fellow—simple as a child, and yet wise as a philosopher ever can be.’