Kipps H. G. Wells (best thriller novels to read .txt) 📖

knew that he wanted refinement⁠—culture. It was all very well⁠—but he knew. But how was one to get it? He knew no one, knew no people⁠—. He rested on the broken sentence. The shop chaps were all very well, very good chaps and all that, but not what one wanted. “I feel be’ind,” said Kipps. “I feel out of it. And consequently I feel it’s no good. And then if temptation comes along⁠—”

“Exactly,” said Coote.

Kipps spoke of his respect for Miss Walshingham and her freckled friend. He contrived not to look too self-conscious. “You know, I’d like to talk to people like that, but I can’t. A chap’s afraid of giving himself away.”

“Of course,” said Coote, “of course.”

“I went to a middle-class school, you know. You mustn’t fancy I’m one of these here board-school chaps, but you know it reely wasn’t a first-class affair. Leastways he didn’t take pains with us. If you didn’t want to learn you needn’t⁠—I don’t believe it was much better than one of these here national schools. We wore mortarboards, o’ course. But what’s that?

“I’m a regular fish out of water with this money. When I got it⁠—it’s a week ago⁠—reely I thought I’d got everything I wanted. But I dunno what to do.”

His voice went up into a squeak. “Practically,” he said, “it’s no good shuttin’ my eyes to things⁠—I’m a gentleman.”

Coote indicated a serious assent.

“And there’s the responsibilities of a gentleman,” he remarked.

“That’s jest it,” said Kipps.

“There’s calling on people,” said Kipps. “If you want to go on knowing Someone you knew before like. People that’s refined.” He laughed nervously. “I’m a regular fish out of water,” he said, with expectant eyes on Coote.

But Coote only nodded for him to go on.

“This actor chap,” he meditated, “is a good sort of chap. But ’e isn’t what I call a gentleman. I got to ’old myself in with ’im. ’E’d make me go it wild in no time. ’E’s pretty near the on’y chap I know. Except the shop chaps. They’ve come round to ’ave supper once already and a bit of a sing song afterwards. I sang. I got a banjo, you know, and I vamp a bit. Vamping⁠—you know. Haven’t got far in the book⁠—’Ow to Vamp⁠—but still I’m getting on. Jolly, of course, in a way, but what does it lead to?⁠ ⁠… Besides that, there’s my Aunt and Uncle. They’re very good old people⁠—very⁠—jest a bit interfering p’r’aps and thinking one isn’t grown up, but Right enough. Only⁠—. It isn’t what I want. I feel I’ve got be’ind with everything. I want to make it up again. I want to get with educated people who know ’ow to do things⁠—in the regular, proper way.”

His beautiful modesty awakened nothing but benevolence in the mind of Chester Coote.

“If I had someone like you,” said Kipps, “that I knew regular like⁠—”

From that point their course ran swift and easy. “If I could be of any use to you,” said Coote.⁠ ⁠…

“But you’re so busy and all that.”

“Not too busy. You know, your case is a very interesting one. It was partly that made me speak to you and draw you out. Here you are with all this money and no experience, a spirited young chap⁠—”

“That’s jest it,” said Kipps.

“I thought I’d see what you were made of, and I must confess I’ve rarely talked to anyone that I’ve found quite so interesting as you have been⁠—”

“I seem able to say things to you like somehow,” said Kipps.

“I’m glad. I’m tremendously glad.”

“I want a Friend. That’s it⁠—straight.”

“My dear chap, if I⁠—”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“I want a Friend, too.”

“Reely?”

“Yes. You know, my dear Kipps⁠—if I may call you that.”

“Go on,” said Kipps.

“I’m rather a lonely dog myself. This tonight⁠—. I’ve not had anyone I’ve spoken to so freely of my Work for months.”

“No?”

“You. And, my dear chap, if I can do anything to guide or help you⁠—”

Coote displayed all his teeth in a kindly tremulous smile and his eyes were shiny. “Shake ’ands,” said Kipps, deeply moved, and he and Coote rose and clasped with mutual emotion.

“It’s reely too good of you,” said Kipps.

“Whatever I can do I will,” said Coote.

And so their compact was made. From that moment they were Friends, intimate, confidential, high-thinking, sotto voce friends. All the rest of their talk (and it inclined to be interminable) was an expansion of that. For that night Kipps wallowed in self-abandonment and Coote behaved as one who had received a great trust. That sinister passion for pedagoguery to which the Good Intentioned are so fatally liable, that passion of infinite presumption that permits one weak human being to arrogate the direction of another weak human being’s affairs, had Coote in its grip. He was to be a sort of lay confessor and director of Kipps, he was to help Kipps in a thousand ways, he was in fact to chaperon Kipps into the higher and better sort of English life. He was to tell him his faults, advise him about the right thing to do⁠—

“It’s all these things I don’t know,” said Kipps. “I don’t know, for instance, what’s the right sort of dress to wear⁠—I don’t even know if I’m dressed right now⁠—”

“All these things”⁠—Coote stuck out his lips and nodded rapidly to show he understood⁠—“Trust me for that,” he said, “trust me.”

As the evening wore on Coote’s manner changed, became more and more the manner of a proprietor. He began to take up his role, to survey Kipps with a new, with a critical affection. It was evident the thing fell in with his ideas. “It will be awfully interesting,” he said. “You know, Kipps, you’re really good stuff.” (Every sentence now he said “Kipps” or “my dear Kipps” with a curiously authoritative intonation.)

“I know,” said Kipps, “only there’s such a lot of things I don’t seem to be up to some’ow. That’s where the trouble comes in.”

They talked and talked, and now Kipps was talking freely. They rambled over all sorts of things. Among others