Charles Lever - Barrington. Volume 2

“You have been rather hard upon them, Major,” said Barrington, as they strolled about on the greensward after dinner to enjoy their coffee and a cigar. “Don’t you think you have been a shade too severe?”

“It will do them good. They wanted to turn me out like a bagged fox, and show the ladies some sport; but I taught them a thing or two.”

“No, no, M’Cormick, you wrong them there; they had no such intentions, believe me.”

“I know that you did n’t see it,” said he, with emphasis, “but your sister did, and liked it well, besides; ay, and the young one joined in the fun. And, after all, I don’t see that they got much by the victory, for Withering was not pleased at my little hit about the days when he used to be a Whig and spout liberal politics; and the other liked just as little my remark about the fellows in the Company’s service, and how nobody knew who they were or where they came from. He was in the Madras army himself, but I pretended not to know it; but I found his name written on the leaf of an old book he gave me, and the regiment he was in: and did you see how he looked when I touched on it? But here he comes now.”

“Make your peace with him, M’Cormick, make your peace!” said Barrington, as he moved away, not sorry, as he went, to mark the easy familiarity with which Stapylton drew his arm within the other’s, and walked along at his side.

“Wasn’t that a wonderful dinner we had to-day, from a man that hasn’t a cross in his pocket?” croaked out M’Cormick to Stapylton.

“Is it possible?”

“Sherry and Madeira after your soup, then Sauterne, – a thing I don’t care for any more than the oyster patties it came with; champagne next, and in tumblers too! Do you ever see it better done at your mess? Or where did you ever taste a finer glass of claret?”

“It was all admirable.”

“There was only one thing forgotten, – not that it signifies to me.”

“And what might that be?”

“It was n’t paid for! No, nor will it ever be!”

“You amaze me, Major. My impression was that our friend here was, without being rich, in very comfortable circumstances; able to live handsomely, while he carried on a somewhat costly suit.”

“That ‘s the greatest folly of all,” broke out M’Cormick; “and it’s to get money for that now that he’s going to mortgage this place here, – ay, the very ground under our feet!” And this he said with a sort of tremulous indignation, as though the atrocity bore especially hard upon them . “Kinshela, the attorney from Kilkenny, was up with me about it yesterday. ‘It’s an elegant investment, Major,’ says he, ‘and you ‘re very likely to get the place into your hands for all the chance old Peter has of paying off the charge. His heart is in that suit, and he ‘ll not stop as long as he has a guinea to go on with it.’

“I said, ‘I ‘d think of it: I ‘d turn it over in my mind;’ for there’s various ways of looking at it.”

“I fancy I apprehend one of them,” said Stapylton, with a half-jocular glance at his companion. “You have been reflecting over another investment, eh? Am I not right? I remarked you at dinner. I saw how the young brunette had struck you, and I said to myself, ‘She has made a conquest already!’”

“Not a bit of it; nothing of the kind,” said M’Cormick, awkwardly. “I ‘m too ‘cute to be caught that way.”

“Yes, but remember it might be a very good catch. I don’t speak of the suit, because I agree with you, the chances in that direction are very small, indeed, and I cannot understand the hopeful feeling with which he prosecutes it; but she is a fine, handsome girl, very attractive in manner, and equal to any station.”

“And what’s the good of all that to me? Wouldn’t it be better if she could make a pease-pudding, like Polly Dill, or know how to fatten a turkey, or salt down a side of bacon?”

“I don’t think so; I declare, I don’t think so,” said Stapylton, as he lighted a fresh cigar. “These are household cares, and to be bought with money, and not expensively, either. What a man like you or I wants is one who should give a sort of tone, – impart a degree of elegance to his daily life. We old bachelors grow into self-indulgence, which is only another name for barbarism. With a mistaken idea of comfort we neglect scores of little observances which constitute the small currency of civilization, and without which all intercourse is unpleasing and ungraceful.”

“I’m not quite sure that I understand you aright, but there’s one thing I know, I ‘d think twice of it before I ‘d ask that young woman to be Mrs. M’Cormick. And, besides,” added he, with a sly side-look, “if it’s so good a thing, why don’t you think of it for yourself?”

“I need not tell an old soldier like you that full pay and a wife are incompatible. Every wise man’s experience shows it; and when a fellow goes to the bishop for a license, he should send in his papers to the Horse Guards. Now, I ‘m too poor to give up my career. I have not, like you, a charming cottage on a river’s bank, and a swelling lawn dotted over with my own sheep before my door. I cannot put off the harness.”

“Who talks of putting off the harness?” cried Withering, gayly, as he joined them. “Who ever dreamed of doing anything so ill-judging and so mistaken? Why, if it were only to hide the spots where the collar has galled you, you ought to wear the trappings to the last. No man ever knew how to idle, who had n’t passed all his life at it! Some go so far as to say that for real success a man’s father and grandfather should have been idlers before him. But have you seen Barrington? He has been looking for you all over the grounds.”

“No,” said Stapylton; “my old brother-officer and myself got into pipeclay and barrack talk, and strolled away down here unconsciously.”

“Well, we ‘d better not be late for tea,” broke in the Major, “or we ‘ll hear of it from Miss Dinah!” And there was something so comic in the seriousness of his tone, that they laughed heartily as they turned towards the house.

How pleasantly did the next day break on the “Home”! Polly Dill arrived in the best of possible spirits. A few lines from Tom had just reached them. They were written at sea; but the poor fellow’s notions of latitude and longitude were so confused that it was not easy to say from whence. They were cheery, however, he was in good health, his comrades were kind-hearted creatures, and evidently recognized in him one of a station above their own. He said that he could have been appointed hospital sergeant-if he liked, but that whatever reminded him of his old calling was so distasteful that he preferred remaining as he was, the rather as he was given to believe he should soon be a corporal.

“Not that I mean to stop there, Polly; and now that I have n’t got to study for it, I feel a courage as to the future I never knew before. Give my love to Mr. Conyers, and say that I ‘m never tired of thinking over the last night I saw him, and of all his good nature to me, and that I hope I ‘ll see his father some day or other to thank him. I suppose father does n’t miss me? I ‘m sure mother does n’t; and it ‘s only yourself, Polly, will ever feel a heavy heart for the poor castaway! But cheer up! for as sure as my name is Tom, I ‘ll not bring discredit on you, and you ‘ll not be ashamed to take my arm down the main street when we meet. I must close now, for the boat is going.

“P. S. I dreamed last night you rode Sid Davis’s brown mare over the Millrace at Graigue. Would n’t it be strange if it came true? I wish I could know it.”