UNRESTRAINED youngsters think and talk of getting on in the world. Young Buffin Burleybank, who came into the school as a day boy for one short term until there was a vacancy for him at Mottiscombe, lived in an acquisitive home atmosphere where making money was openly discussed and glorified. He had wonderful stories of “young Harmsworth” and “old Newnes.” Young Harmsworth had lived just round the corner, so to speak, in Camden Town, and his father was an unsuccessful barrister who used to speak in the Camden Town Mock Parliament. And the youngster had borrowed a bit of money somehow, started something called Answers, started something else called Comic Cuts, and now was worth a cool million. Still young and worth a cool million. And Newnes had been just a little obscure country chemist until he read a bit out of a paper and said to his wife, “I call that a regular Tit Bit.” And then came the great idea, why not have a magazine filled up entirely with Tit Bits, with unconsidered trifles picked up here there and everywhere? And he put a bit of capital into it and here he was ‘normously rich. ‘Normously rich. “Why! he owns pretty nearly every funicular in the world!”
“What’s a funicular?” asked Edward Albert.
“My father says he does, anyhow,” said Buffin, evading the question. “What I’m going to do is, go in for cars. Yes, cars. Put my shirt on them. These motor cars are going big. They cost a lot to make and they’re always going to cost a lot to make. You got to have skilled exact workmen, my father says, and those you can’t get cheap. Nohow. So if the demand grows the price will go up. See? They’ve got cars now about as cheap first-hand as ever they’re going to be, and what people like doctors and commercial travellers and middle — class people will get will be anything from shop-soiled to tenth-hand. Well, that’s a business for you. Eh? Growing and growing. You can buy ’em, do ’em up as good as new, sell ’em hire purchase, hire ’em out — In a few years only dukes and earls and millionaires will have the slick new cars. There won’t be one car in ten on the road new. Not one in ten.”
“You don’t think they might somehow make reely cheap cars?” speculated Edward Albert.
“They’ve tried it, in America. My father knows all about that. There’s a man named Henry Ford and his cars — why they’re a joke! They rattle. They’re ugly as sin. They fall to pieces. He makes jokes about ’em himself. Then there’s these steam cars they have. Kettles on wheels. They blow out in a high wind. My father saw one of them blown out the other day. No. The car for a man of ordinary means is going to be the second-hand, third-hand, fourth-hand, high grade car, done-up and carefully renewed. There’s lots of cars on the road now that will still be on the road in twenty-five years’ time. And that’s where little Buffin Burleybank means to come in. That’s where we open the oyster. You watch me. Go to Buffin Burleybank for a car. Get his advice. See his selection. His ‘normous selection. A Car for Everyman. There’s wonderful twists and turns in it. There’s such things as vintage years for cars, my father says. J’ever think of that?”
“What’s a vintage year?” asked Edward Albert.
“My father says they’ll buy ’em by their dates,” said Buffin, overriding the question. “It’s a great game. You got to watch out for everything. You got to keep your eyes skinned.”
And excited by this home-grown faith in his business ability, he actually started a scheme of his own for buying and selling bicycles right there in the school, that even impressed Mr Myame. If you bought a single bicycle you were the public and you had to pay full price; the dealer was bound by his contract with the wholesaler not to undersell. But suppose a few of you got together and made............