Chapter 2 Section 1-5 of the first part

Get up early, work hard...find oil fields. Jean Paul Getty Whitcomb Hall, Hampshire, 23rd August 1893 start? Let the hell begin.The beginning is just an excuse, an excuse for failure.If things went badly—and they always did—it was all because of the way the three young men had chosen to behave, and had nothing to do with the way things started. On the other hand, we are all mortal.Once the ball starts rolling it's very difficult to get it to stop.Beginnings are beginnings, and in this story, beginnings aren't just bad. It's terrible. ＊＊＊ Here's how it happened. A little boy of seven was standing in the kitchen.He was making himself a blackberry pudding, a pudding the size of his head.Beside him, the cook, whose face was flushed by the fire, lifted the boiling kettle on the stove, and a pot of freshly brewed coffee was steaming.The whole picture is full of warmth, leisure and happiness.

The boy's mother, Pamela Montagu, was upstairs delivering her fourth child.Of the first three children, only one - Guy, who was munching on pudding - survived the first few weeks, so this time around she and her husband Sir Adam were very nervous, but everything went well, Doctors and midwives were by her side. So far, nothing has happened. Not born.no death.no hate.Most importantly: no start. But, a second later, everything changed. Suddenly there was a heavy knock on the door, the latch shook for a while, and a gust of cold wind blew head-on.A thin girl was swept in like a gust of wind.A shower of rain fell behind her, washing the steps.

"Please, miss, please, sir, help me," the girl bowed her knees anxiously. "My mother is sick. She is having a baby, but she is having a difficult labor. She says she can't give birth. Her face is as white as a ghost. My father told me to come to the main house as soon as possible. Please, please, Miss, please, lady, please, lady." Mrs. White, the cook, led the girl to the light. "Honey, you're Jack Cleary's daughter, aren't you?" "Please, miss. Yes, miss. Sally Cleary. Sally Cleary, my mother is having a baby and—" "Oh, my dear, it's a leaky house and it's raining all night. Get yourself together, I'll go and see Sir Adam. If you want, you can—"

Guy cut her off. His movements are not large, but decisive.He raised his hand like a man stopping a horse. "No need, cook. Let me tell her myself." He held up his pudding and coffee for his father, and turned to the little girl. "You go back, and he can go to you when there is no need for a doctor here." There. For the present he must remain here." He went up the stairs, muttering to himself, "Oh, and it costs five guineas to go, and by the way, he has to have his horses looked after." After going upstairs, he put down the spoils in his hand.Coffee for my father, blackberry pudding for myself.He didn't say a word about Sally Cleary.He didn't say a word about the little girl's mother.Throughout his seven years of life, Guy Montagu knew that there were two kinds of people in the world: those who could afford a doctor and those who couldn't.This is very simple common sense, the most obvious thing in the world.

He ate his pudding, burped, and went to bed. ＊＊＊ That night, after 12 grueling hours, Pamela Montagu gave birth to a robust boy, a crying little thing with amazing lung capacity.The production process is very simple.Nothing complicated, nothing difficult. That same night, in a cottage where the laborers lived on the estate, a young man named Jack Cleary watched his wife scream for a night, helped only by two inexperienced girls from the village. .At last Cleary himself ran to the main house, and begged to see Sir Adam.Sir Adam sent the doctor and the midwife to the cottage as soon as he had finished.

too late.A simple breech delivery, something any doctor or midwife could have easily resolved, drained the mother and made the situation more difficult to manage.Doctors quickly cut open her abdomen and removed the baby by Caesarean section.A robust baby boy was born crying in a cot inside the house. Strong, but motherless. Poor Betsy Cleary, just 26 years old, was exhausted before the surgery even started.She bled profusely and never regained consciousness.At dawn on the 24th, the little boy's mother died. That's the way it is. Two people were born. One person died. A selfish act with serious consequences.

a start. Jack Cleary couldn't raise his son on his own, that was obvious. He is just a worker, and already has a young daughter who needs his care.In the short term, there are local women who are more than happy to help, but in the long run he feels the best solution is to ask his sister - who now lives 90 miles away in Devon - to bring his daughter and The sons were taken away.His sister would certainly say yes, but for Jack, a trip to Devon to see the two children was a trip to the end of the world.This made him feel the pain of losing three relatives at the same time. But help came sooner than he thought.

In the main house, Sir Adam and Lady Pamela were worried about their children.Their new baby Ellen started coughing.Not serious.In fact, a very mild cough.The midwife said coughing was normal, the doctor thought so too, and so did Sir Adam.But it's a cough.Pamela already had two children who hadn't lived past six weeks and she was terrified of losing a third. Sir Adam had spent the whole day thinking everything over carefully before making his proposal.His wife immediately agreed with his proposal, and Sir Adam went to Jack Cleary.His advice is this. Jack Cleary's baby -- who was christened Thomas after his grandfather -- was raised by the Montagues.He and Allen Jr. will grow up together like brothers.They'll share rooms, toys, education—everything.In the words of Sir Adam, Baby Tom "will grow up like our own child. He will always be our son Ellen's brother. You, of course, will still be his father. He will call you daddy, yell My uncle. You can see him whenever you want, just say a word."

For Jack Cleary, the offer was impossible to refuse.This means that his son will grow up in front of his father.It gave the poor man a glimmer of hope amidst the sudden disaster of his life.He said yes. For the Montagues, the arrangement can only bring benefits.Of course, they are guilty.Guy's behavior is unforgivable - he's already been beaten for it.On a more practical level, they could at least provide Tom with a home. But there's more to it than that.Pamela loved children, and this one made up for the two she had lost in a way.What's more, Tom's arrival seems to be a kind of magic to baby Ellen.From the moment Tom's crib arrived in the main house, the uncanny closeness between the two children was evident.During infancy, their cribs were placed in the same bedroom.If one of the beds was moved for any reason, the other would wake up right away, crying.During his toddler years, Tom was regularly taken to his father Jack's cabin.At first it was thought that Tom would prefer to go alone, but as soon as he did, he looked very unhappy and clenched his fists until Ellen was allowed to go with him.

By the end of the century, both children were six and a half years old.They are all strong, happy, and healthy. Alan is a little taller and Tom is a little bit stronger.Allen's hair is white, and his eyebrows are so light that they are almost invisible.And Tom was already quite handsome: smooth, curly black hair, blue eyes.The two children are inseparable and inseparable wherever they go.Their communication is so intimate that one side can often guess what the other is thinking. Manor guests often mistook them for twins (not identical twins, of course), and the Montagues didn't bother to correct them after a while.Two children are twins.Born on the same night, raised in adjacent cribs and fed by the same wet nurse.They are twins.The only difference was that one called Sir Adam "Father" and the other "Uncle."It's a tiny difference, even insignificant.But that's not the problem.

Even the smallest things can get out of hand. New Year's Day 1901. Horses and hunters circled impatiently in the newly sanded stables.Frost shone on the clock tower.The hound scratched the ground with its four paws, eager to start. Seven-and-a-half-year-old Tom Cleary wasn't old enough to hunt, so he was annoyed.He and Allen had been wandering in the stable for half an hour.The hunters were passing each other sherry, and the two boys tried to get a drink from them.They stole hot treats from the kitchen to feed the dogs.But Tom was still annoyed.He wanted to ride a horse and he wanted to go hunting. "I'm going back," he announced. On the way back, he passed Guy's gray mare.The horse bristled for some reason, backed up a few steps, and bumped into Tom. Guy turned in the saddle. "Are you—" he corrected himself as soon as he saw who it was, "be careful, little brat." He swung his horsewhip so that Tom could feel the air pumping above his head. Tom glared at him.There was no affection whatsoever between the two children.Guy likes to bully the weak, and Tom is his target.But Tom was a fighter, a fighter with an eye for an eye.This time Tom avoided the whip and brayed.This braying is a deliberate insult.When he was young, Guy had a fear of horses, so he learned to ride on the back of a donkey.And Tom was as fearless on horseback as he was for the most part, and was already expected to join Sir Adam's sixteen hunters. "You stable boy!" But Guy's insulting words only met Tom's back.Tom is going to find new fun. He made a trip to the kitchen first: usually there was warm food and interesting chatter.But today his luck was not so good.He was seen stealing snacks, so he's not popular now.Tom considered whether to ask Ellen to go to his father's place with him.Jack Cleary had taught the boys how to hunt: how to catch trout with their hands, how to trap rabbits, how to move quietly in the dark.Tom had just made up his mind when he heard voices from the library.He is confused.Sir Adam was out hunting too.If not him, who would be in the library?Tom pushed the door open. The man hunched over Sir Adam's table was not much to look at.He was round and plump, with a walrus beard and a chalky complexion.He was standing hunched over the telephone in the corner, shouting into the receiver, which was pressed close to his ear. He was yelling - yelling about money.Business, money, buying rights, company mergers.Tom's irritability disappeared in an instant.He stood there with his feet rooted, eager to hear more. why?the reason is simple.In his 7 years of life, he has never heard a rich man talk about money.He had heard it from his father, he had heard it from the servants.But to Sir Adam and people of that class, money seemed an untouchable subject.It seems that to these already wealthy people, money is like air: something that exists around you, something that you don't need to think about.And Tom already knew he wasn't like that.He knew Guy would one day inherit the Whitcomb estate and the surrounding fields and farmstead.He knew Alan was in an equal position: not as lucky as Guy, but not bad.And what about Tom?he does not know.He and Allen wear the same clothes, eat the same meals, study the same textbooks, and play the same games.But Ellen's father was a gentleman.Tom's dad is not. Seven-and-a-half-year-old Tom couldn't understand his situation. ＊＊ Tom had seen enough, but not heard enough.He knocked loudly on the open door and walked in.The man looked up. "Oh, Hello!" "Hello." "I guess you must be Little Ellen." Tom shook his head, "My name is Tom." "Oh, Tom! Good morning, boy." "Who are you?" "My name is Knox Darcy. Robert Knox Darcy." Tom frowned: the name meant nothing to him.Spread out on the table in front of Darcy was a map, a map drawn in thick brown and red lines, with some place names scattered on it, which looked like place names in "The Arabian Nights".Tom looked at them curiously. "Where is that?" "Persia. Western Persia and eastern Mesopotamia, to be precise." The man answered Tom's blunt interrogation with a smile. "Why? Are you going there?" "No. I'm looking for something." "what?" "Oil." Tom was silent for a moment. "what?" "Oil." Tom frowned again.This time his confusion went a step further. "If you need oil, there's plenty in the kitchen." "Walrus Beard" laughed. "Not that kind of oil. It's the kind that motor vehicles use." Tom was about to point out his mistake and tell him the village porter would be happy to send a few barrels of gasoline, but the man went on. "Not because I need something like gas, but because I want to make money." "money?" "Walrus Beard" nodded. "Money, young man. I want to buy oil exploration rights in Persia. If I can find oil, I will ship it back to England in batches. When the oil gets to England, I can sell it to whoever owns the machine." Anyone who moves a car—anyone with a motor, to be exact." Tom's eyes were as big as brass bells.He could not say why, but he felt that he was hearing a truth of great importance.He sat down and stared at the map. "Persia?" he asked. "Is there oil in Persia?" "I hope so." "Where in Persia?" "Underground, maybe even a mile underground." "Like a coal mine?" "Yes, a bit like a coal mine." "What about money? If you can dig oil, you can make money?" "That's what I want, young man." "A lot? A lot of money?" "Walrus Beard" did something that - just might - change Tom's life forever.He lifted the little guy to the table, then squatted down and looked at him. "Young man, do you want to know a secret?" Tom nodded. "Yes, please tell me." "Walrus Beard" paused for a moment, his expression very serious. "Oil is the future," he said. "Oil is the fuel of the new century. Cars need it, ships need it, factories need it. Anyone who can find oil will get rich. Not just rich—they will Be the king of the world." ＊＊ That evening Tom had a conversation with Sir Adam. "Uncle, who is that man? That friend of yours, his name is Knox or something." "Knox Darcy?" Sir Adam chuckled. "He told me you two had a chat. Darcy is a friend of mine, a businessman." "Is he good at business?" "I'll admit it. He was just an ordinary guy living in Australia, and then he met two miners who told him they could find gold." "and then?" "They really did. Darcy helped them build a business out of that, a very, very good business. He became one of the richest men in England. One of the richest men in the world." Tom's eyes widened. "Uncle, he says the best way to get rich is to find oil. Is he right?" Sir Adam laughed again. "If Mr Darcy says so, Mr Darcy is almost certainly correct." Right or wrong, Mr. Darcy made his bet.After amassing a fortune in gold mining, he eagerly invested much of it in oil exploration in Persia. But things are not that simple. First, oil has never been found in Persia.Or put it this way: Geologically there is oil everywhere, but no one has ever put a drill down to get it out.Not in Persia, not in Mesopotamia.Not in the whole Arabian peninsula. There is a second problem.The kingdom of Persia itself.This is a poor country, oppressed by British India on the one hand, and by Russia, the mother country, on the other.The two great powers vie for control.So getting drilling rights is not just a business issue, it's a political one. Now it was Sir Adam's turn. Sir Adam worked as a diplomat before settling in the UK, where he served as the British ambassador to Tehran.He knew the king of Persia.He knows the politics of this country.He knows who has weight and who doesn't. That's why Darcy came to see Sir Adam on New Year's Day.He had a proposal, which read as follows: Sir Adam helped him win the oil rights, which gave him the right to drill.In return, Sir Adam will receive a large commission.Sir Adam was intrigued by the venture, and readily agreed.He made a trip to Tehran and negotiated deftly, bribing high-level officials with gold and low-level ones with paper money.He even bribed the eunuch who brought the king his morning coffee. Sir Adam did all that was necessary. On May 28, 1901, he got what he wanted.He got the contract. two months later.The family is having breakfast.Tom and Alan poke sullenly at the porridge piled high in front of them. Then the valet delivered the mail.Under normal circumstances, the mail should be sent to Sir Adam's study for his review, but today Sir Adam was going into town, so he couldn't wait.He read several letters in silence.Tom and Alan were fiddling with porridge.Guy - who was past the age at which he was forced to eat the stuff - purposely filled his plate with kippers and scrambled eggs to annoy Tom.Pamela had breakfasted in bed as usual, and came down to have a cup of tea and see her husband off.They exchanged a few words now and then.The wind outside the window made the shutters creak. Suddenly, Sir Adam broke the silence. "Oh, dear!" he threw down the letter. "Darcy is so generous! How generous!" He was desperate for questions, and Pamela was the first to ask. "Darcy? My dear? How does he—" "Land rights. He gave us a large portion." He picked up the letter again. "'It's a pleasure to do a good job of yours. . . . Wait, wait . Drilling rights in areas south of the line from Dhram Port to Persepolis. 'Oh my God!'” But, though Sir Adam was astonished, his astonishment was nothing compared with Tom's.Tom sat up straight, his lips were white, and his eyes were wide. "You mean we can drill there? Ourselves? Without asking anyone else?" Sir Adam laughed. "Yes, Tom. We have the right to drill. We don't have to ask anyone else." "Anywhere south of Persepolis? Anywhere we want to go?" "That's right." "Mountains," he said, "we own those mountains." He was right.Tom had been an oil fanatic and a Persian maniac since he met Darcy - and he was even more so after Sir Adam got involved in the Persian oil business.He learned all he could about the geography, climate, geology, tribes, and politics of Persia in Sir Adam's library. "Yeah, the Zagros Mountains. Shiraz and the wilderness around the Rukhna Gorge. Finding oil there, I suppose, would be hard work." Tom shook his head and paused a bit resentfully. "There's not much opportunity there. The best place is up north." "Oh, you can't expect the guy to hand us his scepter. After all—" "But there are still some." "what?" "There's still some chance. I'm not saying there's no chance." The boy's frenzy made Sir Adam laugh. "My God, Tom! I'm sure Darcy's pocketbook is unfathomable, but I still don't think he's ready to pay for drilling. And I don't think we—" "Can you give it to me then?" "What did you say?" The silence around the dinner table suddenly became hollow.The five of them dined alone as if sitting in St. Paul's Cathedral. "Can you give it to me? Land rights? If you don't want it." Sir Adam smiled.Maybe he was trying to encourage Tom to temper his bluntness in his request, maybe he was trying to ease a sense of crisis that had suddenly arisen for no apparent reason.Anyway he smiled. What he did was wrong.There was a twinkle in Tom's blue eyes.He points to Guy. "He'll own the house and all the land. Alan's going to get—I don't know—the money? The farm or something?" Tom was almost eight years old, and he gradually pieced together the facts from the bits and pieces he heard from the servants' gossip.But he was right. Sir Adam's expression became severe. "Alan will get some money. Yes, he also owns a small estate outside Marlborough. That will bring in some income." "And then? What about me? What will I get?" Sir Adam licked his lips.Tom's directness can often come across as brusque.What's more, it's pretty uneducated for anyone to discuss it so bluntly at breakfast—let alone an 8-year-old.However, just as he was about to deliver a harsh criticism, Pamela interrupted him. "How about it?" The word she said was close to a whisper, almost like opening her mouth and breathing out the word.But Sir Adam heard it anyway.He and his wife exchanged glances.The issues Tom was referring to were ones the two of them talked about a lot in private.Pamela wanted Tom and Alan to have exactly the same share of the estate.Sir Adam knew that his assets were limited.For every penny given to Tom, Alan or Guy would inherit one less penny.In his view, he had to be fair to his son.In his heart, he didn't think that his adopted son should have the same rights as his own flesh and blood. "How?" Pamela repeated. "Or are you going to drill there?" Tom stared at him as if the most important thing in the world had entered the room, something he could lose forever if his attention was distracted for even a second. "Tom, you want to be an oilman, don't you?" "Yes, uncle." "This kind of business is not easy to do." "That's right, uncle." "You know, a little land isn't enough. You need money, men, machines, and—" "I know, Uncle, I know." Ser Adam drank his tea and stood up.He ruffles Tom's hair. "Oilman, huh?" "I hope so." "Well, it suits you, Tom. You've got a nice piece of land to start with." Tom got the right to use the land. Not legally, of course—the kid is only 8 years old, after all—but the land is his.For the first time in his life, he felt that he had something equal to what Guy, Alan and Sir Adam had. And not just peers.is better. Because, although Tom is still young, he has a kind of cognition from the beginning.He couldn't express this realization in words, but he just knew it.And his cognition is correct. Because oil is not just oil, not just cabbage like cabbage, not just steel like steel.Oil is more than just a liquid.It is more important than any other daily necessities.Oil is also not as valuable as gold, because gold shines like gold when worn around a lady's neck, which is truly beautiful. Oil makes the world go round.Although this is only the beginning of the twentieth century, its enormous role has become increasingly apparent.Cars need it, ships need it, factories need it.Whether on land or sea, the whole world has become an oil madman.The Navy started switching to oil.The Army's guns are filled with ammunition made from petroleum by-products.Chemists discover new uses for oil every day; speed records are broken because of it; people dream of flying with it. But that's not why oil is so important. The reason is this.Humans cannot make oil; only God can.If you have a lot of land and enough savings, you can build your own car factory.You don't like cars?Then buy a bigger piece of land and build yourself an aircraft factory.Or set up an airline.Open a store.open a bank. Oil is not like that.Not everyone can make a fortune from the oil business.To be in the oil business, you have to own a piece of land that sits on top of an oil field.It doesn't matter how rich you are if you don't have drilling rights.That's why. Oil is more than fuel, although it is the best fuel in the world. Oil is more than money, although it is the second most valuable thing in the world. Oil is power because everyone wants it and there's only so much of it. ＊＊ "Talibus orabat dictis arasque tenebat," read the male teacher, "cum sic orsa loqui vates." He paced the classroom at Whitcomb Manor, tapping the rhyme of the Latin poem with his hands.Tom and Alan sat side by side, with the books side by side in front of them.Originally, they could look out of the window, but the classroom windows were deliberately high, and they couldn't see anything except a large square of sky.Tom yawned. "Sate sanguine divum, Tros Anchisiade, facilis descendsus Averno," the male teacher continued, "Clearly, please translate, please?" silence. The male teacher frowned. "Montague, please translate." Alan, too, sat upright like a rock, staring down at his desk.He is different from Tom, who really enjoys such moments, but Alan finds it difficult to do so-although it is difficult, it is very necessary at this time. "If I understand correctly, did you both not prepare for today's lesson? Cleary? Montagu?" Then Tom spoke. "Please, sir, we would prefer to learn Persian." Six minutes later, both children stood in front of Sir Adam.On the table in front of them was a yellow pointer.This tool is rarely used, but that doesn't mean it won't be used now.Tom and Alan stared at it sullenly. "You don't want to learn Latin?" asked Sir Adam. Tom shook his head, slightly but firmly. Allen repeated the twins' actions, but added, "We don't mind learning Latin, Dad, but we think it would be better to learn something else useful." "Farsi, for instance? You find it useful, don't you?" The two children exchanged glances.Their relationship is so close that they can read each other's thoughts almost without speaking.This is an unchangeable fact that adults must get used to.Allen nodded slightly to Tom, as if confirming some invisible agreement. "Look, it's for oil," Allen said reasonably. "We're going to have to use this language." Sir Adam put his hand over his mouth.The two children looked at each other, and then looked at the pointer together. "If you want to learn Persian, I think I can arrange that," said Sir Adam. "What I don't like is that you have no preparation for Latin. It can't be done anyway." "Oh, but we're ready," Allen said. "Ready? But—" "Of course we are, Dad," Allen interrupted, quickly translating the morning lesson, "We say that because otherwise no one will take us seriously." Sir Adam frowned. "You can tell me. If you tell—" "I said," interrupted Tom, "twice in total. Once at breakfast two weeks ago. And again last week." There was a hint of decided stubbornness in his tone; Be prepared for trouble. "You always say maybe." "Okay then. Persian, I'll take the first few lessons until I find a teacher to take over." "Thank you, Dad." It was Ellen who spoke, but to both of them it didn't matter who said it: one could always say what the other was thinking. "Very well. Go back to Latin then. At least I think so, unless you have something else to tell me." His tone was full of sarcasm, but sarcasm doesn't do much for eight-year-olds.The two children looked at each other again, and it was Tom who spoke this time. "Thank you, Uncle, we think it's time to study geology too." Tom's expression looked very innocent, but Sir Adam knew that there was a will of steel behind it.Sir Adam was irritated, but he was also proud.Proud and loving.He stroked the heads of the two children. "And geology, eh, Tom? Well, then, geology." For two years, drillers drilled non-stop. Both 1902 and 1903 passed.Knox Darcy, now a friend of the Montagues, would keep Sir Adam informed of his progress in Persia.Sir Adam went to inform Alan and Tom again.The conditions there were simply unbearable.Heat, dust, insects, equipment failure, and disease make oil prospecting a nightmarish chore.Expenses spiraled sharply upwards.Even a rich man like Darcy was beginning to worry about what it was doing to his wallet. But the worst is yet to come. Worst of all: So far, despite the investment of two years and hundreds of thousands of pounds, no oil has been found. Regardless, Tom remained enthusiastic, though every disappointment felt like a setback.The two children insisted on learning Persian, but when Sir Adam suggested that the lessons should be reduced from three times a week to once a week, neither of them objected.Their geology course persisted for a while, and then the teacher went abroad, and the course was abandoned.Sir Adam did not look for a new teacher.Nor did the children make pleas. Then everything changed. In 1904, both children were 10 years old.On a fine day in January, Knox Darcy sent a telegram from London. "Extremely good news," he telegraphed, "oil has been found at last." Tom was completely insane. When he saw the telegram, he let out a cry of excitement, so loud that the hounds far away in the stable barked loudly.He took Ellen and ran happily out of the house, across the yard, to his father, and back again.Tom's cheerful mood lasted the whole day. At supper that evening, while Sir Guy Conville was working on Sir's new shotgun room, Tom nodded and said, "Yes, uncle, you've done a good job. I'll do the same at my estate, wait for me After having a manor." It was Guy who broke out first. There was something in Tom's newborn self-confidence that he couldn't stand.The old feud between the two men, and the new one that had recently been brewing, finally erupted on a weekend in early February, when the garden was full of guests - including an earl's beautiful daughter, 18-year-old Guy. Bow down under her pomegranate skirt. "Go get my horse, stable boy!" said Guy, as he passed Tom in the corridor, tapping his ear now and then. Tom stopped suddenly. "Your horse?" "You heard me, stable boy. I want to ride today." Tom turned pale.Although the two of them are seven years apart, Tom never backed down when it came time to confront.He looked Guy up and down, from head to foot, and from foot to head.His eyes seemed to be really looking at Guy for the first time in his life.Then he lowered his eyes, shrugged and said, "Whatever you want, I don't care. I'll go right away." He walked away slowly. Guy couldn't believe Tom was so obedient, but he didn't mind waiting to see Tom show up.A group of guests came out of the living room and Guy walked them to the front of the house.He stood there in his riding attire, chatting with his guests.The count's daughter stood there too.Guy (a little chubby, but charmingly handsome enough to make up for that) stood there whizzing his horsewhip, trying to get her attention.She often laughed heartily and blushed slightly when she met his gaze. Then Tom showed up. He followed Guy's orders exactly—or nearly so.He went to the stable, brought a horse, and led the bridle to the place Guy designated. But what he brought was not Guy's gray horse, but the donkey that Guy had ridden when he was learning how to ride a horse more than ten years ago.Guy's saddle and stirrups dangle ridiculously from the donkey's back.这头驴子已经老了，走动的时候总是滑稽地点着脑袋，就像是故意惹人发笑。而汤姆则夸张地表现出一种高级男仆的不可冒犯。更荒谬的是，他甚至找出一双白手套和一顶仆从戴的旧帽子。 “你的马，先生。” 客人们放声大笑，并纷纷鼓掌。这看起来就像是一出无伤大雅的闹剧，值得为之鼓掌。可汤姆还没表现完呢。他把马牵到盖伊和那姑娘面前，然后跟那姑娘悄悄耳语了一番。 “请原谅我牵来这驴子，女士。他就是在驴子上学会骑马的，你知道，小家伙有一点胆小。” 盖伊的脸气得发白，可周围全是观众，他只好装出若无其事的样子。他和其他人一起大笑鼓掌，然后牵过驴子，往马房的方向走去。汤姆接受完大家的恭喜之后，赶到他的身后。 “我会杀了你的，你个小兔崽子。”盖伊说道，连头都没有回。 “你是说，就像杀死我母亲那样？”汤姆问他。很早以前他就从佣人们各种版本的蜚短流长中知道了自己出生时的故事。 他们已经走进了马房。几个马夫看着他们，低声地吃吃作笑。盖伊停下脚步，用马鞭指着马房和远处的主屋。 “你知道，这一切都不是你的。现在不是，永远都不会是。明白了吗，臭小子？” ＊＊ 有那么一阵子事情好像就这么过去了，但盖伊没有原谅，没有忘记。 4天后，盖伊和亚当爵士单独呆在台球室里。亚当爵士刚刚收到诺克斯·达西传来的消息。波斯的油井一天只产一百二十桶石油，但很有希望将产量提高到更加盈利的程度。达西很有希望找到商业投资者与其分担风险和利润。 “我们那一小部分用地权的价值肯定也上涨了。” “对，我想应该是的。我想，只要他们找到哪怕一丁点儿石油，就很有可能会找到更多的石油。” 盖伊是个不错的台球手，他将3颗球轻轻抛到桌上，然后开始用球杆推动它们。亚当爵士看着他打球，但他自己这些天来几乎不再动手，而是满足于品着白兰地看他儿子玩。 “你打算怎么处理那些用地权？”盖伊问道，“我觉得，如果你想出售的话，现在正是时候。” 亚当爵士惊讶地抬起头。“啊，这个问题问得太不地道了！那不是我说卖就能卖的。小汤姆可是把它当成了宝贝。” 盖伊击球的同时发出一声嗤笑。桌布上的三颗球打着旋儿。盖伊站直身子，擦了擦球杆。 “小汤姆确实有可能把你的东西当成了宝贝，可是，如果从商业角度来说现在正是出售的大好时机，我敢说你会这么做的。” “我也敢这么说，可那是汤姆的用地权。” “合法的吗，爸爸？真是让人吃惊。” “不，不，不，当然不是合法的。但从道义上来说是的。我告诉过他他可以拥有用地权。” “你有说过吗？真的吗？我记得，你是跟他说那是一片不错的土地。这两者可不是一个意思。” “哦，拜托，盖伊！我当时的意思就是说他可以拥有用地权。他也知道我是这个意思。这东西已经迷住了那孩子。”亚当爵士尖锐地说。盖伊是他的大儿子，也是他的继承人，可有些时候他的行为很不得当，有些时候亚当爵士一点都不喜欢他自己的儿子。 “没错，爸爸，”盖伊说，“可是，你没说到关键。你把那片地给他是因为你确定那片地毫无价值。如果你确定那片地有一定价值的话，你是绝对不会这么轻而易举把它让给别人的。” 亚当爵士皱了皱眉，挥了挥白兰地酒杯，像是想把儿子的观点拂到一边去。 “嗯？你会吗？”盖伊坚持问道。 “不，我想我不会。可那不是——” “爸爸，我能直言不讳地说两句吗？” “看上去你很擅于此道。” “用地权是你的。从法律上来说是你的。你之所以让一个八岁的孩子梦想着来管理它，是因为他很显然地喜欢做梦，而你也看不出有什么理由要制止他。可现在，从各个方面看来，用地权都有可能真的具有一定的价值。先生，请假设一下，伦敦的某个投资财团正准备花钱收购这见鬼的玩意儿。比如说，十万英镑。如果是那样呢？你为艾伦所准备的一切跟这比起来都是微不足道的。在这件事上我考虑的不是我自己，但是，如果你的大儿子和继承人比你从下人房里救回来的孩子要具有更远大的前程的话，这样看起来比较好，我想这应该是不容忽视的事实。”盖伊野蛮地击打着桌上的球。球杆一次又一次地将红球打入球袋。象牙与木头撞击时发出了刺耳的声音，红球也随之消失。“我想你对小汤姆已经够慷慨的了，爸爸。我不敢说你对艾伦足够重视。” 从那一刻起，事情开始朝着可怕的、可以预测的方向发展。 亚当爵士无法将盖伊的话置之脑后，因此他决定悄悄地给他在伦敦的股票经纪人写封信，请他——谨慎地——估量一下波斯的用地权有没有任何价值。亚当爵士告诉盖伊他已经做了这些事。盖伊等了几天，然后告诉了汤姆。 汤姆有生以来从来没有这么生气过，他马上闯到亚当爵士那儿。 “叔叔？” “汤姆！你好啊！” “用地权是怎么回事？” 亚当爵士喜欢而且赞赏汤姆。这孩子有勇气，有决心，有天份，还有激情。可是在他愤怒的时候，他会变得非常无礼，甚至是极端无礼。亚当爵士皱起眉头。 “什么是怎么回事？”亚当爵士的语气中透出警告之意，可汤姆已经不顾一切了。 “你对我的用地权做了什么？” “那不是你的用地权，汤姆。它在我的名下，我是你的监护人。” "what have you done?" “是什么让你觉得我做了什么？” “盖伊。” 亚当爵士慢慢地回答着，试图保持冷静。他点了点头说，“在盖伊的建议下，那是个不错的建议，我正在采取步骤评估一下用地权是否具有出售价值。在距我们的土地不远处，达西先生即将有重大发现，从这一点看来，它非常具有出售价值。” “我的土地。我的用地权。” 亚当爵士开始动怒。汤姆的无礼太过火了。 “那不是你的用地权，汤姆，没有东西是你的，除非等到我把它给你。” “你已经把它给我了。你说过。” “我说那是一片不错的土地，希望你在梦想的过程中能够得到乐趣。它可能会成为你的——有一天它可能会成为你的——这种想法的出现是因为我当时认为它没有价值。” 汤姆踉跄着退了一步。他撞上了一个桃木餐柜。 “你把它给我是因为你觉得它毫无价值？”汤姆轻笑了一声，“而现在你要把它收回去，因为盖伊建议你这么做？”他眨了眨眼，垂下眼帘看着餐柜，餐柜上放着一只花瓶，旁边的相框里放着一张全家福：亚当爵士、帕梅拉、盖伊、汤姆和艾伦。“谢谢你，叔叔。我懂了。” 他点了点头，好像是在向自己确认某件事，然后他将手挥过餐柜，将相片拂到地上。同时他也几乎是在无意之间将花瓶碰倒。随着一声巨响，蓝白相间的瓷器砸到地上，摔得满地都是碎片。 汤姆面无表情地看着这一团混乱，然后快步走了出去。