“Oh! Foxcroft! I’m glad to see you, my good fellow. How did you manage to get leave? But you are too soon, now, by a month or two. There’s no great business doing yet,” said Mr. O’Donagough.
Mr. Foxcroft shook his head, and his face, naturally of rather lengthy proportions, grew longer still.
“Why, what the devil’s the matter?” resumed the master of the library; “you look as doleful as if you had been in the pillory.”
“It’s all up with me, O’Donagough!” replied the guest; “I have been sent to the right bout. But privately, observe. I was told that I had better sell out. So there are but two men in the regiment, Dashmore and Willis, of course, that know anything about it. This is better than if it was blown, but yet it is a cursed business, and I want you to give me your advice, as to what I had best do to help myself.”
“Upon my word, Mr. Foxcroft,” replied the prosperous Mr. O’Donagough, very gravely, “it is by no means in my power to say. I was in hopes you were come to settle your little account with me, which certainly would be convenient at this moment, from the immense sums I have had to pay for getting into this house, furnished as it is. You have been in the drawing-room, I believe; I need hardly tell you that it has sucked up a tolerable lot of ready money.”
“Of course it has,” replied the melancholy-looking exlieutenant, “and one great reason for my coming to you was, to consult what I could do in order to get the means of paying you. As a man of honour, O’Donagough, you must be aware that my debt to you is what lies heaviest upon my mind, and that, if you will give me a helping hand, the paying you will be my first object.”
“No doubt of it, no doubt of it,” replied Mr. O’Donagough, “because, of course, I need not tell you that if that is not attended to all’s up. You and I have lived long enough to understand that, you know. But as to coming to me, and asking me, in this way, what you are to do, I must say it looks rather wild and scrambling, Mr. Foxcroft, and not very promising for your debts of honour, certainly.”
“I am ready to do anything, O’Donagough! But Heaven knows at this moment I know not where to turn for a pound.”
“And upon my soul, sir, I don’t know where to send you for one. There must have been some great imprudence, Mr. Foxcroft — some extremely awkward management, I am afraid, to have produced so very sudden a catastrophe; not but what I always thought it would be better for you to leave the regiment. Excepting just your own set, the men about you were the last in the world for you to get amongst. The fact is, that, generally speaking, the English army is not a profession to be carried on with — with any other. But, then, I always reckoned upon your selling out, sir, in a way which would have put you in funds to settle with your friends — I can’t say that I had any idea you would manage matters so clumsily as you have done.”
“For pity’s sake, don’t reproach me, O’Donagough! And, upon my honour, I don’t deserve it, either; for it was a mere accident, and no blunder of mine whatever. It was a note that I sent by an orderly, and the rascal took it wrong.”
“A note! Why you are not such a fool as to write down at full length in the morning, what you have been doing overnight, I suppose?”
“Not exactly. But the note was to Dashmore, and the fool took it to Groves, who opened it, as he says, without looking at the direction; and as it was only signed with a flourish in the shape of the ace of clubs and contained a few sporting allusions, the busybody took it to the colonel, pretending that he thought it was some joke offensive to the honour of the regiment. Then, of course, Dashmore was dragged over the coals, and after shuffling a little, which made matters a thousand times worse, he confessed that he rather thought it was Lieutenant Foxcroft’s handwriting. So then I was closeted, and very politely advised to sell out.”
“A parcel of precious idiots you seem to have been as I ever happened to hear of,” observed Mr. O’Donagough, coolly; “and with-such sort of management, I cannot say that I think it very likely you would profit by any advice of mine. Not to mention that there would be a pretty strong probability of my being mixed up in the scrape, if I were to present myself to the public eye as your particular friend, Mr. Foxcroft.”
“The public can’t possibly get hold of it, O’Donagough,” replied the ex-lieutenant, eagerly, “for before I left Brighton, the regiment received orders to prepare for the West Indies.”
“A lucky dog you are then,” replied Mr. O’Donagough, with somewhat more of condescension in his manner. “In that case you have only to keep quiet till they are off, and then say you were obliged to sell out on account of your health.”
“That is exactly what I meant to say,” replied his comforted friend; “only I could not hide anything from you, O’Donagough, after your kindness in waiting about that piquet money. I promise you, I shall never know a happy moment till I have paid it, and anything you may happen to think of that may help me to start again, will be just that sum in your own pocket, you know.”
“That’s all very well, Foxcroft — but it’s a devilish deal easier to say what you’ll do with money when you get it, than to find out where it is to be had. I give you my honour and word that, just at this moment, I no more know what to set you at than if I had been born last week. When the season advances, perhaps, it is possible that I might find out some way or other in which you could be useful to me and make a little money into the bargain.”
“And upon my honour, O’Donagough, that is just what I should best like. You are a man of genius, first-rate genius. I’ve seen enough already to know that, and I am one that would not stop at anything for a friend whom I admire and look up to as I do you. I won’t play piquet with you again, because you are a devilish deal too good a player for me; but I’ll be ready to do anything else that you may ask, and I’d be as true to you as your own shadow.”
“But there’s nothing to be done for the next two months at the very least,” replied Mr. O’Donagough. “The Christmas holidays must be well over before there is a chance of getting a common whist party together, without dreaming of doing anything at the clubs — into the very best of which I expect to get by-and-by. And what are you to do in the meantime, Foxcroft? Bath or Cheltenham would serve your turn better than London, I should think.”
“I wish you could tell me, my dear friend,” said Mr. Foxcroft, abruptly, and with some little embarrassment, “whether, since you have been in town, you have found out anything at all certain and to be depended on respecting that Miss Perkins you know, that used to be so much at your house at Brighton? Should you judge from what you have seen, that she had anything independent worth thinking about?
“Upon my word, Foxcroft, I won’t stand godfather to her ways and means. They seem to be living very decently, in a drawing-room apartment at Brompton, and I should suppose that whatever they have must be their own, and independent. But that is a question which must, as I conceive, be asked officially, before any positive information can be obtained. The only objection to this sort of plain sailing is, the awkwardness of getting off, if the thing is not likely to answer. But in this case I should not suppose there would he much difficulty about that either; I am pretty sure there is no brother in the case, and leaving town suddenly for a week or two would be all that was necessary.”
“Well, then, my dear fellow,” returned Mr. Foxcroft, “while waiting for more important business, I see no objection whatever to my bestowing as much time upon this as may suffice to ascertain whether there is anything to be got worth having. And I do assure you, that one of my chief motives for the speculation will be, the hope of speedily discharging my debt to you. But I must look to the ladies of your family for the means of setting about it. Do you think that Mrs. O’Donagough would object to taking me with her to call upon the Miss Perkinses?”
“Upon my word, I don’t know, Mr. Foxcroft. Mrs. O’Donagough has no carriage at present, nor will the equipage I intend for her he ready till after Christmas. But I suppose the business may he set going, as well by your meeting h
ere, as by paying the lady a visit at her home. If you see your way clearly enough to go on, there will be no need of having Mrs. O’Donagough to escort you on your expeditions to Brompton.”
There was something of dignity and hauteur in this speech, which convinced the aspirant, lover that it would be necessary for him to be rather more cautious in tone and demeanour than formerly. But he was far from being discouraged by this; on the contrary it only served to convince him that if there should prove some little difficulty in reaching again the rank of familiar household friend, which he had held at Brighton, it would he more worth having when he did attain it, — a mode of reasoning often acted upon by persons of the ci-devant lieutenant’s class, with very excellent and satisfactory results.
As soon as Mr. O’Donagough had ceased speaking, Mr. Foxcroft rose from his chair, and drawing a card from his waistcoat pocket, laid it upon the table before his illustrious friend, saying, very respectfully, “For the present, my dear sir, I will detain you no more, either with my hopes or my misadventures. That is my address; and I feel confident that now I have put you in possession of my views, your kindness will induce you to give me the advantage of meeting the lady in question at your house, as soon as you can make it convenient to do so.” These words were accompanied by a very grave look, and a bow of much ceremony, which seemed to announce the speaker’s intention of immediately withdrawing, producing altogether on the mind of Mr. O’Donagough the comfortable conviction, that he should always be able to keep his inferiors at a distance, when he chose it; an idea which so greatly pleased him, that his manner instantly became as frank and familiar as in the days of his Brighton humility.
“No, no, Foxcroft! you must not go yet,” he said. “Sit down again; I have fifty questions to ask about the set we used to meet at the billiard-room. And besides, you must not go, till I have settled with Mrs. O’Donagough for what day we shall ask the Perkinses. I don’t think they are much engaged, so there will be no great difficulty about that. And — I say, Foxcroft, a small quantity of love-making at a time will do, won’t it? You must not wear out all your pretty speeches at once, you know — so I suppose you will have no objection to a rubber, if I can happen to get two good hands to help us?”
Smiling inwardly, to think how well he was able to take the measure of his superb friend’s greatness; and outwardly, to show how grateful he felt for all the kindness bestowed upon him, Mr. Foxcroft declared himself delighted at the idea of once more battling for the odd trick with so skilful an adversary; and reseating himself in the excellent arm-chair he had before occupied near the fire, determined to be as gossiping and agreeable as possible, in order to plant himself as firmly as heretofore in the good graces of the man whom he felt that fate had destined to be his patron.
Having indulged himself in the flight which has been recounted above, Mr. O’Donagough relaxed for the next hour into as familiar a strain of discourse as Mr. Foxcroft himself could have desired; and at length brought it to a conclusion, by saying, “Come along, my fine fellow! Let us mount to the drawing-room, and consult with Mrs. O’Donagough on this Perkins party.”
Mr. Foxcroft, nothing loath, prepared to follow him; and as they mounted the stairs together, his loud, bold laugh preceded them, which caused Mrs. O’Donagough to observe that “It was plain enough he had been well received, or he would not laugh in that free and easy style.”
“Well received?” repeated Miss Patty, sharply, “and why not, I should like to know? There are some people who admire him, I can tell you, whatever you may do, and though he has got gray hair and a big nose, that is no reason for you to be uncivil to him.”
“Hoity toity, Miss Patty! who is going to be uncivil, I wonder? You have no more idea of dignity, and the sort of consequence attached to a certain style of living, than a baby. I wouldn’t for the world be uncivil either to Foxcroft, or Dashmore, or Willis, or any old acquaintance whatever, and I am sure if the poor dear Sheepshanks were to come over, one and all, they would find me perfectly kind and condescending. But that need not prevent one’s showing now and then that one knows what’s what, and if you don’t, take my word for it you’ll — —”
“I have brought Foxcroft back to you, my dear,” said Mr.
O’Donagough, entering unceremoniously before his friend, “to fix a day for our asking him to dinner. You must come and dine with us, Foxcroft; if it is but once and away, for old acquaintance’ sake, for you must know I don’t mean to give regular dinners till the season begins. Mrs. O’Donagough will soon begin to receive company in an evening, once or twice a week perhaps. These are very good rooms for it, and I rather like a rubber you know. But I’m not fond of dinner company, except just in the season. It fatigues me, and, in short, I think it is a confounded bore. But we shall be often glad to see you of an evening, Foxcroft. However, this first time, as I said, you must come to dinner. What day shall it be, Mrs. O’D.? We’ll have the Perkinses the same day, I think.”
Mrs. O’Donagough was preparing her three chins, and her thick articulation of dignified words, in reply to this proposal, when she was abruptly checked by Patty’s favourite hand-clapping, and the joyous exclamation which accompanied it: “That’s right, papa! That will be capital fun, won’t it? Oh my! How pleased they will be! That is, I mean about coming to dine here, the first time, and all. Of course I don’t mean anything else. I’ll go myself, mamma, see if I don’t, to carry the invitation. Do you and papa fix the day, and I’ll take care you shall have the company.”
There was something so paralysing to hauteur and elegance in this jolly outbreak, that Mrs. O’Donagough Changed her hand, and checked her pride, as she answered, “Very well, dearest! You shall go yourself, if you wish it, and the page shall attend you. It is the same affectionate, warm heart as ever, you see, Captain Foxcroft! I do not believe that either the court or the city will ever change this dear child’s generous, unassuming character! Whatever day will best suit you, Captain Foxcroft, I shall be excessively happy to receive you.”
“Well, then, let’s say Monday next, at half-past five, perhaps that means six, you know; but it’s as well to say halfpast five, to make you punctual,” said Mr. O’Donagough.
The day and the hour were each welcomed by a bow of grateful acquiescence from the invited guest; who, after receiving one finger from Mr. O’Donagough, two from his lady, and a whole hand, accompanied by a broad grin, from Patty, departed, to meditate on the unexpected and rather puzzling grandeur of his friend and creditor, and to make up his mind as to the smallest sum for which he should agree to bind himself to Miss Matilda Perkins for life.
Hardly had the house-door closed upon him, than Patty, who, according to custom, had flown to the window that she might watch his progress down the street, turned sharply round, and setting her arms a-kimbo, said, resolutely, “Now then, I shall set off for Brompton.”
Mr. O’Donagough laughed, and drawing her upon his knee as he sat loungingly in an arm-chair near her, said, —
“Well done Patty! I like you for that, girl. I have a notion that you will not be carrying coals to Newcastle. You are a good-hearted girl, that I will say, and ready to do as you would be done by. And talking of that, Patty, I want you to tell me just exactly everything that Sir Henry Seymour did and said the day he came after you to Brompton. They tell me at his club that he is gone out of town, and that’s all very well, as far as it goes, for of course he may have his engagements like any other man, particularly as nobody of his sort of style and fashion ever does show themselves in town till after Christmas, yet still I can’t help wondering a little that we don’t hear from him.”
Patty grew exceedingly red during this speech, and having effectually struggled herself off her father’s knee, bounced to the end of the room, and seizing the handle of the lock that she might open the door and escape, turned about and said—” You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you ought, to ask a girl such questions. It will be pretty times for the young ones, if they are to repeat to the ol
d ones, all that they say to one another!”
“Fair and softly, my beauty, if you please,” said her father. “Walk back again, Miss Patty, or you may chance to be sorry you didn’t.”
The look and tone were of the kind that insured obedience, and the pouting Patty returned three steps into the room.
“Nearer, miss, if you please, nearer,” said the angry parent. Patty made three more steps towards him, and then, apparently to save trouble, he rolled himself forward by the aid of the excellent castors of his arm-chair, till he was pretty nearly face to face with her.
“Now then, Miss Patty O’Donagough, let us understand each other. When I see fit, like a kind and affectionate father as I am, to ask you a question of importance about a gentleman that you assure me is in love with you, I don’t choose to be told that I ought to be ashamed of myself. I believe your mamma will inform you, if you will ask her, that I am not much given to trouble myself about women’s gossipings, and that few ladies have been less troubled by the curiosity of a husband than herself. But in this business of Sir Henry Seymour there is a good deal more to he considered, I promise you, than merely your fancy in the choice of a sweetheart. He is, as I have ascertained, a man of immense fortune, and great consequence. I made his acquaintance on board ship, as well as you, Miss Patty, and I have renewed it too, under circumstances which render it extremely likely that he may be useful to me in one way or another. If he is really and truly your lover, and means to marry you, I am too good a father, notwithstanding all your impertinence, to think of anything whatever but your advantage, and all other use that I might make of him should he put aside and forgotten; but I want to know a little how the affair really stands between you. I certainly think that there was something very particular in his running after you to Brompton in that eager style, when, as I know well enough, he would have been exceedingly glad to have kept away from us altogether. This, as well as the manner in which I found you together, does make it really seem likely that those saucy eyes of yours have turned his head, and left him no choice but to make you my Lady Seymour. Now then, I have explained myself, and without being at all ashamed about the matter, as it seems to me, I may just take the liberty of asking the long and the short of what passed between you. Speak up, Patty! don’t be afraid. There’s nobody going to scold you for having a sweetheart. What was it the young man said to you? Did he out and out ask you to be his wife?
Collected Works of Frances Trollope Page 260