Can You Forgive Her?

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XVI.

  The Roebury Club.

  It has been said that George Vavasor had a little establishment atRoebury, down in Oxfordshire, and thither he betook himself aboutthe middle of November. He had been long known in this county, andwhether or no men spoke well of him as a man of business in London,men spoke well of him down there, as one who knew how to ride tohounds. Not that Vavasor was popular among fellow-sportsmen. It wasquite otherwise. He was not a man that made himself really popularin any social meetings of men. He did not himself care for the looselittle talkings, half flat and half sharp, of men when they meettogether in idleness. He was not open enough in his nature for suchpopularity. Some men were afraid of him, and some suspected him.There were others who made up to him, seeking his intimacy, but thesehe usually snubbed, and always kept at a distance. Though he hadindulged in all the ordinary pleasures of young men, he had neverbeen a jovial man. In his conversations with men he always seemed tothink that he should use his time towards serving some purpose ofbusiness. With women he was quite the reverse. With women he could behappy. With women he could really associate. A woman he could reallylove;--but I doubt whether for all that he could treat a woman well.

  But he was known in the Oxfordshire country as a man who knew what hewas about, and such men are always welcome. It is the man who doesnot know how to ride that is made uncomfortable in the hunting fieldby cold looks or expressed censure. And yet it is very rarely thatsuch men do any real harm. Such a one may now and then get amongthe hounds or override the hunt, but it is not often so. Many suchcomplaints are made; but in truth the too forward man, who pressesthe dogs, is generally one who can ride, but is too eager or tooselfish to keep in his proper place. The bad rider, like the badwhist player, pays highly for what he does not enjoy, and should bethanked. But at both games he gets cruelly snubbed. At both gamesGeorge Vavasor was great and he never got snubbed.

  There were men who lived together at Roebury in a kind of club,--fouror five of them, who came thither from London, running backwards andforwards as hunting arrangements enabled them to do so,--a brewer ortwo and a banker, with a would-be fast attorney, a sporting literarygentleman, and a young unmarried Member of Parliament who had noparticular home of his own in the country. These men formed theRoebury Club, and a jolly life they had of it. They had their ownwine closet at the King's Head,--or Roebury Inn as the house had cometo be popularly called,--and supplied their own game. The landlordfound everything else; and as they were not very particular abouttheir bills, they were allowed to do pretty much as they liked inthe house. They were rather imperious, very late in their hours,sometimes, though not often, noisy, and once there had been a hastyquarrel which had made the landlord in his anger say that the clubshould be turned out of his house. But they paid well, chaffed theservants much oftener than they bullied them, and on the whole werevery popular.

  To this club Vavasor did not belong, alleging that he could notafford to live at their pace, and alleging, also, that his stays atRoebury were not long enough to make him a desirable member. Theinvitation to him was not repeated and he lodged elsewhere in thelittle town. But he occasionally went in of an evening, and wouldmake up with the members a table at whist.

  He had come down to Roebury by mail train, ready for hunting the nextmorning, and walked into the club-room just at midnight. There hefound Maxwell the banker, Grindley the would-be fast attorney, andCalder Jones the Member of Parliament, playing dummy. Neither of thebrewers were there, nor was the sporting literary gentleman.

  "Here's Vavasor," said Maxwell, "and now we won't play thisblackguard game any longer. Somebody told me, Vavasor, that you weregone away."

  "Gone away;--what, like a fox?"

  "I don't know what it was; that something had happened to you sincelast season that you were married, or dead, or gone abroad. ByGeorge, I've lost the trick after all! I hate dummy like the devil.I never hold a card in dummy's hand. Yes, I know; that's seven pointson each side. Vavasor, come and cut. Upon my word if any one hadasked me, I should have said you were dead."

  "But you see, nobody ever does think of asking you anything."

  "What you probably mean," said Grindley, "is that Vavasor was notreturned for Chelsea last February; but you've seen him since that.Are you going to try it again, Vavasor?"

  "If you'll lend me the money I will."

  "I don't see what on earth a man gains by going into the house," saidCalder Jones. "I couldn't help myself as it happened, but, upon myword it's a deuce of a bore. A fellow thinks he can do as he likesabout going,--but he can't. It wouldn't do for me to give it up,because--"

  "Oh no, of course not; where should we all be?" said Vavasor.

  "It's you and me, Grindems," said Maxwell. "D---- parliament, and nowlet's have a rubber."

  They played till three and Mr. Calder Jones lost a good deal ofmoney,--a good deal of money in a little way, for they never playedabove ten-shilling points, and no bet was made for more than a poundor two. But Vavasor was the winner, and when he left the room hebecame the subject of some ill-natured remarks.

  "I wonder he likes coming in here," said Grindley, who had himselfbeen the man to invite him to belong to the club, and who had at onetime indulged the ambition of an intimacy with George Vavasor.

  "I can't understand it," said Calder Jones, who was a little bitterabout his money. "Last year he seemed to walk in just when he liked,as though he were one of us."

  "He's a bad sort of fellow," said Grindley; "he's so uncommonly dark.I don't know where on earth he gets his money from, He was heir tosome small property in the north, but he lost every shilling of thatwhen he was in the wine trade."

  "You're wrong there, Grindems," said Maxwell,--making use of aplayful nickname which he had invented for his friend. "He made a potof money at the wine business, and had he stuck to it he would havebeen a rich man."

  "He's lost it all since then, and that place in the north into thebargain."

  "Wrong again, Grindems, my boy. If old Vavasor were to die to-morrow,Vavasor Hall would go just as he might choose to leave it. George maybe a ruined man for aught I know--"

  "There's no doubt about that, I believe," said Grindley.

  "Perhaps not, Grindems; but he can't have lost Vavasor Hall becausehe has never as yet had an interest in it. He's the natural heir, andwill probably get it some day."

  "All the same," said Calder Jones, "isn't it rather odd he shouldcome in here?"

  "We've asked him often enough," said Maxwell; "not because we likehim, but because we want him so often to make up a rubber. I don'tlike George Vavasor, and I don't know who does; but I like himbetter than dummy. And I'd sooner play whist with men I don't like,Grindems, than I'd not play at all." A bystander might have thoughtfrom the tone of Mr. Maxwell's voice that he was alluding to Mr.Grindley himself, but Mr. Grindley didn't seem to take it in thatlight.

  "That's true, of course," said he. "We can't pick men just as weplease. But I certainly didn't think that he'd make it out foranother season."

  The club breakfasted the next morning at nine o'clock, in order thatthey might start at half-past for the meet at Edgehill. Edgehill istwelve miles from Roebury, and the hacks would do it in an hour anda half,--or perhaps a little less. "Does anybody know anything aboutthat brown horse of Vavasor's?" said Maxwell. "I saw him coming intothe yard yesterday with that old groom of his."

  "He had a brown horse last season," said Grindley;--"a little thingthat went very fast, but wasn't quite sound on the road."

  "That was a mare," said Maxwell, "and he sold her to Cinquebars."*

  [*Ah, my friend, from whom I have borrowed this scion of the nobility! Had he been left with us he would have forgiven me my little theft, and now that he has gone I will not change the name.]

  "For a hundred and fifty," said Calder Jones, "and she wasn't worththe odd fifty."

  "He won seventy with her at Leamington," said Maxwell, "and I doubtwhether he'd take his money now."

 
"Is Cinquebars coming down here this year?"

  "I don't know," said Maxwell. "I hope not. He's the best fellow inthe world, but he can't ride, and he don't care for hunting, and hemakes more row than any fellow I ever met. I wish some fellow couldtell me something about that fellow's brown horse."

  "I'd never buy a horse of Vavasor's if I were you," said Grindley."He never has anything that's all right all round."

  "And who has?" said Maxwell, as he took into his plate a secondmutton chop, which had just been brought up hot into the roomespecially for him. "That's the mistake men make about horses, andthat's why there's so much cheating. I never ask for a warranty witha horse, and don't very often have a horse examined. Yet I do aswell as others. You can't have perfect horses any more than you canperfect men, or perfect women. You put up with red hair, or badteeth, or big feet,--or sometimes with the devil of a voice. But aman when he wants a horse won't put up with anything! Therefore thosewho've got horses to sell must lie. When I go into the market withthree hundred pounds I expect a perfect animal. As I never do thatnow I never expect a perfect animal. I like 'em to see; I like 'em tohave four legs; and I like 'em to have a little wind. I don't muchmind anything else."

  "By Jove you're about right," said Calder Jones. The reader willtherefore readily see that Mr. Maxwell the banker reigned as king inthat club.

  Vavasor had sent two horses on in charge of Bat Smithers, andfollowed on a pony about fourteen hands high, which he had ridden asa cover hack for the last four years. He did not start till near ten,but he was able to catch Bat with his two horses about a mile and ahalf on that side of Edgehill. "Have you managed to come along prettyclean?" the master asked as he came up with his servant.

  "They be the most beastly roads in all England," said Bat, who alwaysfound fault with any county in which he happened to be located. "ButI'll warrant I'm cleaner than most on 'em. What for any county shouldmake such roads as them I never could tell."

  "The roads about there are bad, certainly;--very bad. But I supposethey would have been better had Providence sent better materials. Andwhat do you think of the brown horse, Bat?"

  "Well, sir." He said no more, and that he said with a drawl.

  "He's as fine an animal to look at as ever I put my eye on," saidGeorge.

  "He's all that," said Bat.

  "He's got lots of pace too."

  "I'm sure he has, sir."

  "And they tell me you can't beat him at jumping."

  "They can mostly do that, sir, if they're well handled."

  "You see he's a deal over my weight."

  "Yes, he is, Mr. Vavasor. He is a fourteen stoner."

  "Or fifteen," said Vavasor.

  "Perhaps he may, sir. There's no knowing what a 'orse can carry tillhe's tried."

  George asked his groom no more questions, but felt sure that he hadbetter sell his brown horse if he could. Now I here protest thatthere was nothing specially amiss with the brown horse. Towards theend of the preceding season he had overreached himself and had beenlame, and had been sold by some owner with more money than brains whohad not cared to wait for a cure. Then there had gone with him a badcharacter, and a vague suspicion had attached itself to him, as theredoes to hundreds of horses which are very good animals in their way.He had come thus to Tattersall's, and Vavasor had bought him cheap,thinking that he might make money of him, from his form and action.He had found nothing amiss with him,--nor, indeed, had Bat Smithers.But his character went with him, and therefore Bat Smithers thoughtit well to be knowing. George Vavasor knew as much of horses as mostmen can,--as, perhaps, as any man can who is not a dealer, or aveterinary surgeon but he, like all men, doubted his own knowledge,though on that subject he would never admit that he doubted it.Therefore he took Bat's word and felt sure that the horse was wrong.

  "We shall have a run from the big wood," said George.

  "If they make un break, you will, sir," said Bat.

  "At any rate I'll ride the brown horse," said George. Then, as soonas that was settled between them, the Roebury Club overtook them.

  There was now a rush of horses on the road altogether, and they werewithin a quarter of a mile of Edgehill church, close to which was themeet. Bat with his two hunters fell a little behind, and the otherstrotted on together. The other grooms with their animals were on inadvance, and were by this time employed in combing out forelocks, andrubbing stirrup leathers and horses' legs free from the dirt of theroads;--but Bat Smithers was like his master, and did not congregatemuch with other men, and Vavasor was sure to give orders to hisservant different from the orders given by others.

  "Are you well mounted this year?" Maxwell asked of George Vavasor.

  "No, indeed; I never was what I call well mounted yet. I generallyhave one horse and three or four cripples. That brown horse behindthere is pretty good, I believe."

  "I see your man has got the old chestnut mare with him."

  "She's one of the cripples,--not but what she's as sound as a bell,and as good a hunter as ever I wish to ride; but she makes a littlenoise when she's going."

  "So that you can hear her three fields off," said Grindley.

  "Five if the fields are small enough and your ears are sharp enough,"said Vavasor. "All the same I wouldn't change her for the best horseI ever saw under you."

  "Had you there, Grindems," said Maxwell.

  "No, he didn't," said Grindley. "He didn't have me at all."

  "Your horses, Grindley, are always up to all the work they have todo," said George; "and I don't know what any man wants more thanthat."

  "Had you again, Grindems," said Maxwell.

  "I can ride against him any day," said Grindley.

  "Yes; or against a brick wall either, if your horse didn't know anybetter," said George.

  "Had you again, Grindems," said Maxwell. Whereupon Mr. Grindleytrotted on, round the corner by the church, and into the field inwhich the hounds were assembled. The fire had become too hot for him,and he thought it best to escape. Had it been Vavasor alone he wouldhave turned upon him and snarled, but he could not afford to exhibitany ill temper to the king of the club. Mr. Grindley was not popular,and were Maxwell to turn openly against him his sporting life down atRoebury would decidedly be a failure.

  The lives of such men as Mr. Grindley,--men who are tolerated in thedaily society of others who are accounted their superiors, do notseem to have many attractions. And yet how many such men does one seein almost every set? Why Mr. Grindley should have been inferior to Mr.Maxwell the banker, or to Stone, or to Prettyman who were brewers, oreven to Mr. Pollock the heavy-weight literary gentleman, I can hardlysay. An attorney by his trade is at any rate as good as a brewer, andthere are many attorneys who hold their heads high anywhere. Grindleywas a rich man,--or at any rate rich enough for the life he led.I don't know much about his birth, but I believe it was as good asMaxwell's. He was not ignorant, or a fool;--whereas I rather thinkMaxwell was a fool. Grindley had made his own way in the world, butMaxwell would certainly not have made himself a banker if his fatherhad not been a banker before him; nor could the bank have gone onand prospered had there not been partners there who were better menof business than our friend. Grindley knew that he had a betterintellect than Maxwell; and yet he allowed Maxwell to snub him, andhe toadied Maxwell in return. It was not on the score of riding thatMaxwell claimed and held his superiority, for Grindley did not wantpluck, and every one knew that Maxwell had lived freely and that hisnerves were not what they had been. I think it had come from theoutward look of the men, from the form of each, from the gait andvisage which in one was good and in the other insignificant. Thenature of such dominion of man over man is very singular, but this iscertain that when once obtained in manhood it may be easily held.

  Among boys at school the same thing is even more conspicuous, becauseboys have less of conscience than men, are more addicted to tyranny,and when weak are less prone to feel the misery and disgrace ofsuccumbing. Who has been through a large school and does not rememberthe
Maxwells and Grindleys,--the tyrants and the slaves,--those whodomineered and those who submitted? Nor was it, even then, personalstrength, nor always superior courage, that gave the power ofcommand. Nor was it intellect, or thoughtfulness, nor by any meanssuch qualities as make men and boys lovable. It is said by manywho have had to deal with boys, that certain among them claim andobtain ascendancy by the spirit within them; but I doubt whether theascendancy is not rather thrust on them than claimed by them. Hereagain I think the outward gait of the boy goes far towards obtainingfor him the submission of his fellows.

  But the tyrant boy does not become the tyrant man, or the slave boythe slave man, because the outward visage, that has been noble ormean in the one, changes and becomes so often mean or noble in theother.

  "By George, there's Pollock!" said Maxwell, as he rode into thefield by the church. "I'll bet half a crown that he's come down fromLondon this morning, that he was up all night last night, and that hetells us so three times before the hounds go out of the paddock." Mr.Pollock was the heavy-weight sporting literary gentleman.