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The Man Who Knew Too Much

3. The Soul Of The Schoolboy
A large map of London would be needed to display the wild and zigzag course of one
day's journey undertaken by an uncle and his nephew; or, to speak more truly, of a
nephew and his uncle. For the nephew, a schoolboy on a holiday, was in theory the god in
the car, or in the cab, tram, tube, and so on, while his uncle was at most a priest dancing
before him and offering sacrifices. To put it more soberly, the schoolboy had something
of the stolid air of a young duke doing the grand tour, while his elderly relative was
reduced to the position of a courier, who nevertheless had to pay for everything like a
patron. The schoolboy was officially known as Summers Minor, and in a more social
manner as Stinks, the only public tribute to his career as an amateur photographer and
electrician. The uncle was the Rev. Thomas Twyford, a lean and lively old gentleman
with a red, eager face and white hair. He was in the ordinary way a country clergyman,
but he was one of those who achieve the paradox of being famous in an obscure way,
because they are famous in an obscure world. In a small circle of ecclesiastical
archaeologists, who were the only people who could even understand one another's
discoveries, he occupied a recognized and respectable place. And a critic might have
found even in that day's journey at least as much of the uncle's hobby as of the nephew's
holiday.
His original purpose had been wholly paternal and festive. But, like many other
intelligent people, he was not above the weakness of playing with a toy to amuse himself,
on the theory that it would amuse a child. His toys were crowns and miters and croziers
and swords of state; and he had lingered over them, telling himself that the boy ought to
see all the sights of London. And at the end of the day, after a tremendous tea, he rather
gave the game away by winding up with a visit in which hardly any human boy could be
conceived as taking an interest--an underground chamber supposed to have been a
chapel, recently excavated on the north bank of the Thames, and containing literally
nothing whatever but one old silver coin. But the coin, to those who knew, was more
solitary and splendid than the Koh-i-noor. It was Roman, and was said to bear the head of
St. Paul; and round it raged the most vital controversies about the ancient British Church.
It could hardly be denied, however, that the controversies left Summers Minor
comparatively cold.
Indeed, the things that interested Summers Minor, and the things that did not interest him,
had mystified and amused his uncle for several hours. He exhibited the English
schoolboy's startling ignorance and startling knowledge--knowledge of some special
classification in which he can generally correct and confound his elders. He considered
himself entitled, at Hampton Court on a holiday, to forget the very names of Cardinal
Wolsey or William of Orange; but he could hardly be dragged from some details about
the arrangement of the electric bells in the neighboring hotel. He was solidly dazed by
Westminster Abbey, which is not so unnatural since that church became the lumber room
of the larger and less successful statuary of the eighteenth century. But he had a magic
and minute knowledge of the Westminster omnibuses, and indeed of the whole omnibus
system of London, the colors and numbers of which he knew as a herald knows heraldry.
 
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