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Guess I’d fill this old shop the Pamment mansion choke full of wimmen! If I was only he! Shouldn’t I like to fetch one of them waiter chaps a swop on the nose, like _he_ did! Oh, my! Oh, Tommy!” And Nobbs very nearly wept at the happy vision of being “he. ” Why, Raleigh was not only a Hero, he was a Demi-god to his valet! Not only Nobbs, but the footmen, and the grooms, and the whole race of servants everywhere who had caught a glimpse of Raleigh looked upon him as the Ideal Man. So did the whole race of “cads” in the bars and at the races, and all over town and country, all of that sort who knew anything of Raleigh sighed to be like “he. ” The fellow who said that “No man is a hero to his valet” seemed to suppose that the world worships good and divine qualities only. Nothing of the sort; it is not the heroic, it is the low and coarse and blackguard part the mass of people regard with such deep admiration. If only Nobbs could have been “he,” no doubt whatever he would have “done it” very big indeed. But he would have left out of his copy that part of Raleigh’s nature which, in spite of the whiskey and the cutty, and the rest of it, made him still a perfect gentleman at heart. Nobbs didn’t want to be a perfect gentleman. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XVII. GLANCING up from his betting-book, Raleigh caught sight of someone on the lawn, and went to the window to see who it was. It was then that Grandfather Iden raised his great grey hat, and brought it with so lowly a sweep down to the very ground before this demi-god of his. “Hullo! Fred, I say! Come, quick!” dragging him off the sofa. “Here’s the Behemoth. ” “The Behemoth–the Deluge!” said Fred, incoherently, still half asleep. “Before that,” said Raleigh. “I told you I’d show him to you some day. That’s the Behemoth. ” Some grand folk keep a hump-backed cow, or white wild cattle, or strange creatures of that sort, in their parks as curiosities. The particular preserve of the Pamments was Grandfather Iden–antediluvian Iden–in short, the Behemoth. It is not everybody who has got a Behemoth on show. “There’s a girl with him,” said Fred. “Have her in,” said Raleigh. “Wake us up,” ringing the bell. And he ordered the butler to fetch old Iden in. How thoroughly in character with Human Life it was that a man like Grandfather Iden–aged, experienced, clever, learned, a man of wise old books, should lower his ancient head, and do homage to Raleigh Pamment! “Wherefore come ye not to court? Skelton swears ’tis glorious sport. Chattering fools and wise men listening. ” Accordingly the butler went out bare-headed–his head was as bare as Mont Blanc–and, with many a gracious smile, conveyed his master’s wishes. The Behemoth, mopping and mowing, wiping his slobbery old mouth in the excess of his glorification, takes Amaryllis by the arm, and proceeds to draw her towards the mansion. “But, grandpa–grandpa–really I’d rather not go. Please, don’t make me go. No–no–I can’t,” she cried, in a terror of disgust. She would not willingly have set foot on the Pamment threshold, no, not for a crown of gold, as the old song says unctuously. “Don’t be afraid,” said Iden. “Nothing to be afraid of”–mistaking her hesitation for awe. “Afraid!” repeated Amaryllis, in utter bewilderment. “Afraid! I don’t want to go. ” “There’s nothing to be afraid of, I’m sure,” said the butler in his most insidious tones.

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