supposed to be?"
"Don't tell me," said Jim, "you don't have Social Security numbers here?"
"Blind me if I ever heard of any such thing!" Jim clicked his tongue sympathetically. "No wonder you thought it odd of me, not understanding the offer of your Companionship," he said. "Why, where I come from nothing can happen unless a gentleman's Social Security number is known. Naturally, I thought you were withholding yours for good reasons of your own. That's why it didn't dawn on me that you were offering me Companionship."
"But I haven't got one to withhold, dammit!" protested Sir Brian.
"Haven't got one?"
"By St. Giles, no!"
Jim clicked his tongue again.
"That's the trouble with living out in the provinces, here," Sir Brian said in an aggrieved tone. "They've probably been using these what-do-you-call-it numbers for a twelvemonth now at Court; and none of us out here have ever heard of them."
They went on a little farther in silence.
" You've got one, I suppose?" Brian said.
"Whyâyes," Jim answered. Hastily, he delved into his memory. "469-69-9921."
"Damned fine figure."
"Wellâ¦" Jim decided he might as well pick up some credit while the opportunity existed. "I am Baron of Riveroak, after all."
"Oh, of course."
They rode on a little farther.
"I say," said Brian.
"Yes, Sir Brian?"
Brian cleared his throat.
"If I was to have a something-number of my own, what would you venture to say it might be?"
"Well, I don't knowâ¦"
"Well, well, I shouldn't ask it, I suppose. Puts me at a disadvantage, though." Brian turned a troubled face to Jim. "Here you tell me your number and I can't reciprocate."
"Think nothing of it," said Jim.
"I do think something of it, though."
"You shouldn't," Jim insisted. He was beginning to feel a little guilty in spite of himself. "I'm sure your number, if you had one, would be a very good one."
"No, no. Probably quite an ordinary figure. After all, what am I? Just an outlying knight bachelor, no chansons about me for the minstrels to sing, or anything like that."
"You underestimate yourself," said Jim, uneasily. The ploy was getting out of hand. "Of course, I wouldn't know what the official number would be; but in my country I'd guess you'd be at least a"âhe had to think rapidly to count the digits in his own Social Security numberâ"387-22-777."
The eyes Sir Brian turned on him were as round as dinner plates.
"Really? You think so, do you? All that?"
"At least that."
"Well, well. What was it again?"
Jim slowly repeated the number he had given Brian several times over until the knight had it by heart; and they went on cheerfully together, chatting like old friends. Like Companions, in fact, thought Jim.
Brian, having gotten over his stiffness of manner, turned out to be eager to talk. Specifically, his topic of conversation was the Lady Geronde, who was apparently not only the most beautiful of women, but a collection of all the other talents and virtues as well. Over and above Geronde, however, the knight was a repository of local gossip, both bloody and salacious. Jim had never considered himself to be someone easily shocked, but what he was now hearing was startling.
He was, in fact, learning fast. His mind had been translating the language and actions of Sir Brian into the fuzzy, quasi-Victorian image of a stage Englishman that most Americans carried around in that part of their mind reserved for stock characters. Now, a closer acquaintance with the knight was destroying that particular image rather thoroughly.
To begin with, Brian was entirely physical, pragmatic and human. "Earthy" might have been a better word. The taboo areas in his cosmos were restricted to those of religion and a handful of ideals and principles. Curiously, he seemed perfectly capable of highly idealizing something as an abstract idea, and at the same time ruthlessly being honest about it as a specific realityâall without seeing any particular conflict between these attitudes.
"Don't tell me," said Jim, "you don't have Social Security numbers here?"
"Blind me if I ever heard of any such thing!" Jim clicked his tongue sympathetically. "No wonder you thought it odd of me, not understanding the offer of your Companionship," he said. "Why, where I come from nothing can happen unless a gentleman's Social Security number is known. Naturally, I thought you were withholding yours for good reasons of your own. That's why it didn't dawn on me that you were offering me Companionship."
"But I haven't got one to withhold, dammit!" protested Sir Brian.
"Haven't got one?"
"By St. Giles, no!"
Jim clicked his tongue again.
"That's the trouble with living out in the provinces, here," Sir Brian said in an aggrieved tone. "They've probably been using these what-do-you-call-it numbers for a twelvemonth now at Court; and none of us out here have ever heard of them."
They went on a little farther in silence.
" You've got one, I suppose?" Brian said.
"Whyâyes," Jim answered. Hastily, he delved into his memory. "469-69-9921."
"Damned fine figure."
"Wellâ¦" Jim decided he might as well pick up some credit while the opportunity existed. "I am Baron of Riveroak, after all."
"Oh, of course."
They rode on a little farther.
"I say," said Brian.
"Yes, Sir Brian?"
Brian cleared his throat.
"If I was to have a something-number of my own, what would you venture to say it might be?"
"Well, I don't knowâ¦"
"Well, well, I shouldn't ask it, I suppose. Puts me at a disadvantage, though." Brian turned a troubled face to Jim. "Here you tell me your number and I can't reciprocate."
"Think nothing of it," said Jim.
"I do think something of it, though."
"You shouldn't," Jim insisted. He was beginning to feel a little guilty in spite of himself. "I'm sure your number, if you had one, would be a very good one."
"No, no. Probably quite an ordinary figure. After all, what am I? Just an outlying knight bachelor, no chansons about me for the minstrels to sing, or anything like that."
"You underestimate yourself," said Jim, uneasily. The ploy was getting out of hand. "Of course, I wouldn't know what the official number would be; but in my country I'd guess you'd be at least a"âhe had to think rapidly to count the digits in his own Social Security numberâ"387-22-777."
The eyes Sir Brian turned on him were as round as dinner plates.
"Really? You think so, do you? All that?"
"At least that."
"Well, well. What was it again?"
Jim slowly repeated the number he had given Brian several times over until the knight had it by heart; and they went on cheerfully together, chatting like old friends. Like Companions, in fact, thought Jim.
Brian, having gotten over his stiffness of manner, turned out to be eager to talk. Specifically, his topic of conversation was the Lady Geronde, who was apparently not only the most beautiful of women, but a collection of all the other talents and virtues as well. Over and above Geronde, however, the knight was a repository of local gossip, both bloody and salacious. Jim had never considered himself to be someone easily shocked, but what he was now hearing was startling.
He was, in fact, learning fast. His mind had been translating the language and actions of Sir Brian into the fuzzy, quasi-Victorian image of a stage Englishman that most Americans carried around in that part of their mind reserved for stock characters. Now, a closer acquaintance with the knight was destroying that particular image rather thoroughly.
To begin with, Brian was entirely physical, pragmatic and human. "Earthy" might have been a better word. The taboo areas in his cosmos were restricted to those of religion and a handful of ideals and principles. Curiously, he seemed perfectly capable of highly idealizing something as an abstract idea, and at the same time ruthlessly being honest about it as a specific realityâall without seeing any particular conflict between these attitudes.
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