CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING MYSELF
"Nineteen to-day, is he!" said my uncle Jervas, viewing me languidlythrough his quizzing-glass. "How confoundedly the years flit!Nineteen--and on me soul, our poor youth looks as if he hadn't asingle gentlemanly vice to bless himself with!"
"Not one, Jervas, my boy," quoth my uncle George, shaking his comelyhead at me. "Not one, begad, and that's the dooce of it! It seems hedon't swear, he don't drink, he don't gamble, he don't make love, hedon't even--"
"Don't, George," exclaimed my aunt Julia in her sternest tone, herhandsome face flushed, her stately back very rigid.
"Don't what, Julia?"
"Fill our nephew's mind with your own base masculine ideas--I forbid."
"But damme--no, Julia, no--I mean, bless us! What's to become of aman--what's a man to do who don't--"
"Cease, George!"
"But he's almost a man, ain't he?"
"Certainly not; Peregrine is--my nephew--"
"And ours, Julia. We are his legal guardians besides--"
"And set him in my care until he comes of age!" retorted my auntdefiantly.
"And there, happy youth, is his misfortune!" sighed my uncle Jervas.
"Misfortune?" echoed my aunt in whisper so awful that I, for one,nearly trembled. "Misfortune!" she repeated. "Hush! Silence! Not aword! I must think this over! Misfortune!"
In the dreadful pause ensuing, I glanced half-furtively from one toother of my three guardians; at my uncle Jervas, lounging gracefullyin his chair, an exquisite work of art from glossy curls to polishedHessians; at my uncle George, standing broad back to the mantel, agraceful, stalwart figure in tight-fitting riding-coat, buckskins andspurred boots; at my wonderful aunt, her dark and statuesque beauty asshe sat, her noble form posed like an offended Juno, dimpled chin ondimpled fist, dark brows bent above long-lashed eyes, ruddy lipsclose-set and arched foot tapping softly beneath the folds of herample robe.
"His misfortune!" she repeated for the fourth time, softly and as toherself. "And ever have I striven to be to him the tender mother henever knew, to stand in place of the father he never saw!"
"I'm sure of it, Julia!" said my uncle George, fidgeting with hisstock.
"His misfortune! And I have watched over him with care unfailing--"
"Er--of course, yes--not a doubt of it, Julia," said uncle George,fiddling with a coat button.
"His upbringing has been the passion of my life--"
"I'm sure of it, Julia, your sweet and--er--womanly nature--"
"George, have the goodness not to interrupt!" sighed my aunt, with alittle gesture of her hand. "I have furthermore kept him segregatedfrom all that could in any way vitiate or vulgarise; he has had theablest tutors and been my constant companion, and to-day--I amtold--all this is but his misfortune. Now and therefore. Sir JervasVereker, pray explain yourself."
"Briefly and with joy, m'dear Julia," answered my uncle Jervas,smiling sleepily into my aunt's fierce black eyes. "I simply mean thatyour meticulous care of our nephew has turned what should have been anordinary and humanly promising, raucous and impish hobbledehoy into avery precise, something superior, charmingly prim and modest, ladylikeyoung fellow--"
"Ladyli--!" My stately aunt came as near gasping as was possible insuch a woman, then her stately form grew more rigidly statuesque, hermouth and chin took on that indomitable look I knew so well, and sheswept the speaker with the blasting fire of her fine black eyes. "SirJervas Vereker!" she exclaimed at last, and in tones of such chillinghaughtiness that I, for one, felt very like shivering. There fellanother awful silence, aunt Julia sitting very upright, hands clenchedon the arms of her chair, dark brows bent against my uncle Jervas, whomet her withering glance with all his wonted impassivity, while myuncle George, square face slightly flushed, glanced half-furtivelyfrom one to the other and clicked nervous heels together so that hisspurs jingled.
"George!" exclaimed my aunt suddenly. "In heaven's name, ceaserattling your spurs as if you were in your native stables."
"Certainly, m'dear Julia!" he mumbled, and stood motionless andabashed.
"'Pon me life, Julia," sighed my uncle Jervas, "I swear the years butlend you new graces; time makes you but the handsomer--"
"Begad, but that's the very naked truth, Julia!" cried uncle George."You grow handsomer than ever."
"Tush!" exclaimed my aunt, yet her long lashes drooped suddenly.
"Your hair is--" said uncle Jervas.
"Wonderful!" quoth uncle George. "Always was, begad!"
"Tchah!" exclaimed my aunt.
"Your hair is as silky," pursued my uncle Jervas, "as abundant and asblack as--"
"As night!" added uncle George.
"A fiddlestick!" exclaimed my aunt.
"A raven's wing!" pursued my uncle Jervas. "Time hath not changed thewonder of it--"
"Phoh!" exclaimed my aunt.
"Devil a white hair to be seen, Julia!" added uncle George.
"While as for myself, Julia," sighed my uncle Jervas, "my fellowdiscovered no fewer than four white hairs above my right ear thismorning, alas! And look at poor George--as infernally grey as abadger."
"I think," said my aunt, leaning back in her chair, "I think we werediscussing my nephew Peregrine--"
"Our mutual ward--precisely, Julia."
"Aye," quoth uncle George, "we are legal guardians of the lad and--"
"Fie, George!" cried aunt Julia. "A vulgar word, an unseemly word!"
"Eh? Word, Julia? What word?"
"'Lad'!" exclaimed my aunt, frowning. "A most obnoxious word,applicable only to beings with pitchforks and persons in sleevedwaistcoats who chew straws and attend to horses. Lads pertain only toyour world! Peregrine never was, will, or could be such a thing!"
"Good God!" exclaimed my uncle George feebly, and groped for hisshort, crisp-curling whisker with fumbling fingers.
"Peregrine never was, will, or could be such a thing!" repeated myaunt in a tone of finality.
"Then what the dev--"
"George!"
"I should say then--pray, Julia, what the--hum--ha--is he?"
"Being my nephew, he is a young gentleman, of course!"
"Ha!" quoth my uncle George.
"Hum!" sighed my uncle Jervas. "A gentleman is usually a better manfor having been a lad! As to our nephew--"
"Pray, Jervas," said aunt Julia, lifting white imperious hand, "sufferme one word, at least; in justice to myself I can sit mute nolonger--"
"Mute?" exclaimed uncle George, grasping whisker again. "Mute, wereyou, Julia; oh, begad, why then--"
"George--silence--I plead!" said my aunt, and folding her white handsdemurely on her knee gazed down at them wistfully beneath droopinglashes.
"Proceed, Julia," quoth my uncle Jervas, "your voice is music to mysoul--"
"Mine too!" added uncle George, "mine too, dooce take me if 't isn't!"
MY AUNT (her voice soft and plaintively sad). For nineteen happy yearsI have devoted myself to caring for my nephew Peregrine, body andmind. My every thought has been of him or for him, my love has beenhis shield against discomforts, bodily ailments and ills of the mind--
MY UNCLE JERVAS. And precisely there, Julia, lies his happymisfortune. You have thought for him so effectively he has had smallscope to think for himself; cared for him so sedulously that he shallhardly know how to take care of himself; sheltered him so rigorouslythat, once removed from the sphere of your strong personality, hewould be pitifully lost and helpless. In short, he is suffering of asurfeit of love, determined tenderness and pertinacious care--in aword, Julia, he is over-Juliaized!
MY UNCLE GEORGE (a little diffidently, and jingling his spurs). B'gad,and there ye have it, sweet soul--d'ye see--
MY AUNT (smiting him speechless with flashing eye). I--am--not yoursweet soul. And as for poor dear Peregrine--
MY UNCLE JERVAS. The poor youth is become altogether toopreternaturally dignified, too confounded sober, solemn and sedate forthis mundane sphere; he nee
ds more--
UNCLE GEORGE. Brimstone and the devil!
MY AUNT (freezingly). George Vereker!
UNCLE JERVAS. Wholesome ungentleness.
UNCLE GEORGE (hazarding the suggestion). An occasional blackeye--bloody nose, d'ye see, Julia, healthy bruise or so--
MY AUNT. Mr. Vereker!
UNCLE GEORGE (groping for whisker). What I mean to say is, Julia,a--ha--hum! (Subsides.)
UNCLE JERVAS. George is exactly right, Julia. Our nephew is wellenough in many ways, I'll admit, but corporeally he is no Vereker; hefills the eye but meanly--
MY AUNT (in tones of icy gloom). Sir Jervas--explain!
UNCLE JERVAS. Well, my dear Julia, scan him, I beg; regard him with anobservant eye, the eye not of a doting woman but a dispassionatecritic--examine him!
(Here I sank lower in my great chair.)
MY AUNT. If Peregrine is not so--large as your robust self or so burlyas--monstrous George, am I to blame?
MY UNCLE JERVAS. The adjective robust as applied to myself is, Ithink, a trifle misplaced. I suggest the word "elegant" instead.
MY AUNT (patient and sighful). What have you to remark, GeorgeVereker?
UNCLE GEORGE (measuring me with knowing eye). I should say he wouldstrip devilish--I mean--uncommonly light--
MY AUNT (in murmurous horror). Strip? An odious suggestion! Onlyostlers, pugilists, and such as yourself, George, would stoop to dosuch a thing! Oh, monstrous!
UNCLE GEORGE (pathetically). No, no, Julia m'dear, you mistake; to"strip" is a term o' the "fancy"--milling, d'ye see--fibbing is avery gentlemanly art, assure you; I went three rounds with the"Camberwell Chicken" before I--
My AUNT (scornfully). Have done with your chickens, sir--
UNCLE GEORGE (ruefully). B'gad, he nearly did for me--naked mauleys,you'll understand. In--
MY AUNT (covers ears). Horrors! this ribaldry, George Vereker!
UNCLE GEORGE. O Lord! (Sinks into chair and gloomy silence.)
MY UNCLE JERVAS (rising gracefully, taking aunt Julia's indignanthands and kissing them gallantly). George is perfectly right, dearsoul. Our Peregrine requires a naked mauley (clenches Aunt Julia'swhite hand into a fist)--something like this, only bigger andharder--applied to his torso--
UNCLE GEORGE. Of course, above the belt, you'll understand, Julia! Nowthe Camberwell Chicken--
MY UNCLE JERVAS. Applied, I say, with sufficient force to awake him tothe stern--shall we say the harsh realities of life.
AUNT JULIA. Life can be real without sordid brutality.
UNCLE JERVAS. Not unless one is blind and deaf, or runs away and hidesfrom his fellows like a coward; for brutality, alas, is a very humanattribute and slumbers more or less in each one of us, let us deny ithow we will.
UNCLE GEORGE. True enough, Jervas, and as you'll remember when Ifought the "Camberwell Chicken," my right ogle being closed and claretflowing pretty freely, the crowd afraid of their money--
MY AUNT (coldly determined). Enough! My nephew shall never experiencesuch horrors or consort with such brutish ruffians.
UNCLE GEORGE. Then he'll never be a man, Julia.
MY AUNT. Nature made him that. I intend him for a poet.
Here my uncle George rose up, sat down and rose again, striving forspeech, while uncle Jervas smiled and dangled his eyeglass.
MY UNCLE GEORGE (breathing heavily). That's done it, Jervas, that'sone in the wind. A poet! Poor, poor lad.
MY AUNT (triumphantly). He has written some charming sonnets, and anode to a throstle that has been much admired.
UNCLE GEORGE (faintly). Ode! B'gad! Throstle!
MY UNCLE JERVAS. He trifles with paints and brushes, too, I believe?
MY AUNT. Charmingly! He may dazzle the world with a noble picture yet;who knows?
MY UNCLE JERVAS. Oh, my dear Julia, who indeed! He has a pronouncedaversion for most manly sports, I believe: horses, for instance--
MY AUNT. He rides with me occasionally, but as for your inhumanhunting and racing--certainly not!
UNCLE GEORGE. And before we were his age, I had broken my collarboneand you had won the county steeplechase from me by a head, Jervas. Ha,that was a race, lad, never enjoyed anything more unless it was whenthe "Camberwell Chicken" went down and couldn't come up to time andthe crowd--
AUNT JULIA. You were both so terribly wild and reckless!
UNCLE JERVAS. No, my sweet woman, just ordinary healthy young animals.
AUNT JULIA. My nephew is a young gentleman.
UNCLE GEORGE. Ha!
UNCLE JERVAS. H'm! A gentleman should know how to use his fists--thereis Sir Peter Vibart, for instance.
UNCLE GEORGE. And to shoot straight, Julia.
UNCLE JERVAS. And comport himself in the society of the Sex. Yet youkeep Peregrine as secluded as a young nun.
MY AUNT. He prefers solitude. Love will come later.
UNCLE JERVAS. Most unnatural! Before I was Peregrine's age I had beenhead over ears in and out of love with at least--
MY AUNT. Reprobate!
UNCLE GEORGE. So had I, Julia. There was Mary--or was it Ann--at leastif it wasn't Ann it was Betty or Bessie; anyhow, I know she was--
AUNT JULIA. Rake!
UNCLE JERVAS. Remember, we were very young and had never beenprivileged to behold the Lady Julia Conroy--
UNCLE GEORGE. Begad, Julia--and there y'have it!
MY AUNT. We were discussing my nephew, I think!
MY UNCLE JERVAS. True, Julia, and I was about to remark that since yourefuse to send him up to Oxford or Cambridge, the only chance I seefor him is to quit your apron strings and go out into the world tofind his manhood if he can.
My aunt turned upon the speaker, handsome head upflung, but, ere shecould speak, the grandfather clock in the corner rang the hour in itsmellow chime. Thereupon my aunt rose to her stately height and reachedout to me her slender, imperious hand.
"Peregrine, it is ten o'clock. Good night, dear boy!" said she andkissed me. Thereafter, having kissed the hand that clasped mine, Ibowed to my two uncles and went dutifully to bed.
Peregrine's Progress Page 3