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He asked if he might talk for a bit and smoke. He sat down in
a capacious chintz-covered easy chair beside Prothero, lit a
cigarette, and came to the point after only a trivial hesitation.
"Prothero," he said, "you know what my father is."
"I thought he ran a preparatory school."
There was the profoundest resentment in Prothero's voice.
"And, all the same, I'm going to be a rich man."
"I don't understand," said Prothero, without any shadow of
congratulation.
Benham told Prothero as much as his mother had conveyed to him of
the resources of his wealth. Her version had been adapted to his
tender years and the delicacies of her position. The departed Nolan
had become an eccentric godfather. Benham's manner was apologetic,
and he made it clear that only recently had these facts come to him.
He had never suspected that he had had this eccentric godfather. It
altered the outlook tremendously. It was one of the reasons that
made Benham glad to have Prothero there, one wanted a man of one's
own age, who understood things a little, to try over one's new
ideas.


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