Ralph the Heir Part 31

"Perhaps not," said the Squire's son, not knowing what to say.

"As to bargaining, and asking so much more, and all the rest of it, that's out of the question. Somebody fixed a price, and I suppose he knew what he was at."

"That was a minimum price."

"I understand. It was all fair, I don't doubt. It didn't seem a great deal; but your father might live for thirty years."

"I hope he will," said the Squire's son.

"As for standing off for more money, I never dreamed of such a thing.

If your father thinks that, he has wronged me. But I believe he always does wrong me. And about the building, and the trees, and the leases, and the house, he might do just as he pleased for me. I have never said a word, and never shall. I must say I sometimes think he has been hard upon me. In fourteen years he has never asked me to set my foot upon the estate, that I might see the place which must one day be mine."

This was an accusation which the Squire's son found it very difficult to answer. It could not be answered without a reference to his own birth, and it was almost impossible that he should explain his father's feelings on the subject. "If this were settled, we should be glad that you would come," he said.

"Yes," said Ralph the heir; "yes,--if I consented to give up everything that is mine by right. Do you think that a fellow can bring himself to abandon all that so easily? It's like tearing a fellow's heart out of him. If I'll do that, my uncle will let me come and see what it is that I have lost! That which would induce him to welcome me would make it impossible that I should go there. It may be that I shall sell it. I suppose I shall. But I will never look at it afterwards." As it came to this point, the tears were streaming down his cheeks, and the eyes of the other Ralph were not dry.

"I wish it could be made pleasant for us all," said the Squire's son.

The wish was well enough, but the expression of it was hardly needed, because it must be so general.

"But all this is rot and nonsense," said Ralph the heir, brushing the tears away from his eyes, "and I am only making an a.s.s of myself.

Your father wants to know whether I will sell the reversion to Newton Priory. I will. I find I must. I don't know whether I wouldn't sooner cut my throat; but unless I cut my throat I must sell it. I had a means of escape, but that has gone by. When I wrote that letter there was a means of escape. Now there's none."

"Ralph," said the other.

"Well; speak on. I've about said all I've got to say. Only don't think I want to ballyrag about the money. That's right enough, no doubt. If there's more to come, the people that have to look to it will say so. I'm not going to be a Jew about it."

"Ralph; I wouldn't do anything in a hurry. I won't take your answer in a hurry like this."

"It's no good, my dear fellow, I must do it. I must have 5,000 at once."

"You can get that from an insurance office."

"And then I should have nothing to live on. I must do it. I have no way out of it,--except cutting my throat."

The Squire's son paused a moment, thinking. "I was told by my father," said he, "to offer you more money."

"If it's worth more the people will say so," said Ralph the heir, impetuously; "I do not want to sell it for more than it's worth. Ask them to settle it immediately. There are people I must pay money to at once."

And so the Squire's son had done the Squire's errand. When he reported his success to Mr. Carey, that gentleman asked him whether he had the heir's consent in writing. At this the successful buyer was almost disposed to be angry; but Mr. Carey softened him by an acknowledgment that he had done more than could have been expected.

"I'll see his lawyer to-morrow," said Mr. Carey, "and then, unless he changes his mind again, we'll soon have it settled." After that the triumphant negotiator sent a telegram home to his father, "It is settled, and the purchase is made."

CHAPTER XXV.

"MR. GRIFFENBOTTOM."

On Monday, the 16th of October, Sir Thomas Underwood went down to Percycross, and the first information given him was that Mr.

Westmacott and Ontario Moggs had arrived on the Sat.u.r.day, and were already at work. Mr. Griffenbottom was expected early on the Tuesday.

"They've stolen a march on us, then," said Sir Thomas to Mr. Trigger.

"Give 'em rope enough, and they'll hang themselves," replied the managing agent. "There was Moggs spouting to them on his own hook on Sat.u.r.day night, and Westmacott's chaps are ready to eat him. And he wanted to be doing it yesterday, Sunday; only some of them got a hold of him and wouldn't let him loose. Moggs is a great card for us, Sir Thomas. There's nothing like one of them spouting fellows to overset the coach."

"Mr. Westmacott is fond of that too," said Sir Thomas.

"He understands. He's used to it. He does it in the proper place.

Westmacott wasn't a bad member for the place;--wasn't perhaps quite free enough with his money, but Westmacott was very decent." Sir Thomas could not help feeling that Trigger spoke of it as though he wished that the two old members might be returned. Ah, well! had it been possible, Mr. Trigger would have wished it. Mr. Trigger understood the borough, knew well the rocks before them, and would have wished it,--although he had been so imperative with Mr.

Griffenbottom as to the second conservative candidate. And now Mr.

Griffenbottom had sent them a man who would throw all the fat in the fire by talking of purity of election! "And Moggs has been making a fool of himself in another direction," said Trigger, thinking that no opportunity for giving a valuable hint should be lost. "He's been telling the working men already that they'll be scoundrels and knaves if they take so much as a gla.s.s of beer without paying for it."

"Scoundrel is a strong word," said Sir Thomas, "but I like him for that."

"Percycross won't like him. Men would rather have all that left to their own feelings. They who want beer or money certainly won't thank him; and they who don't want it don't like to be suspected."

"Every one will take it as addressed to his neighbour and not to himself."

"We are very fond of our neighbours here, Sir Thomas, and that kind of thing won't go down." This was on the evening of the candidate's arrival, and the conversation was going on absolutely while Sir Thomas was eating his dinner. He had asked Mr. Trigger to join him, and Mr. Trigger had faintly alleged that he had dined at three; but he soon so far changed his mind as to be able to express an opinion that he could "pick a bit," and he did pick a bit. After which he drank the best part of a bottle of port,--having a.s.sured Sir Thomas that the port at the Percy Standard was a sort of wine that one didn't get every day. And as he drank his port, he continued to pour in lessons of wisdom. Sir Thomas employed his mind the while in wondering when Mr. Trigger would go away, and forecasting whether Mr. Trigger would desire to drink port wine at the Percy Standard every evening during the process of canva.s.sing. About nine o'clock the waiter announced that a few gentlemen below desired to see Sir Thomas. "Our friends," said Mr. Trigger. "Just put chairs, and bring a couple of bottles of port, John. I'm glad they're come, Sir Thomas, because it shows that they mean to take to you." Up they were shown, Messrs. Spiveycomb, Spicer, Pile, Roodylands,--the bootmaker who has not yet been named,--Pabsby, and seven or eight others. Sir Thomas shook hands with them all. He observed that Mr. Trigger was especially cordial in his treatment of Spicer, the mustard-maker,--as to whose defection he had been so fearful in consequence of certain power which Mr. Westmacott might have in the wholesale disposal of mustard. "I hope you find yourself better," said Mr. Pile, opening the conversation. Sir Thomas a.s.sured his new friend that he was pretty well. "'Cause you seemed rayther down on your luck when you was here before," said Mr. Pile.

"No need for that," said Spicer, the man of mustard. "Is there, Trigger?" Trigger sat a little apart, with one bottle of port wine at his elbow, and took no part in the conversation. He was aware that his opportunities were so great that the outside supporters ought to have their time. "Any objection to this, Sir Thomas?" he said, taking a cigar-case out of his pocket. Sir Thomas, who hated tobacco, of course gave permission. Trigger rang the bell, ordered cigars for the party, and then sat apart with his port wine. In ten minutes Sir Thomas hardly knew where he was, so dense was the cloud of smoke.

"Sir Thomas," began Mr. Pabsby,--"if I could only clearly see my way--"

"You'll see it clear enough before nomination-day," said Mr. Pile.

"Any ways, after election," said a conservative grocer. Both these gentlemen belonged to the Established Church and delighted in snubbing Mr. Pabsby. Indeed, Mr. Pabsby had no business at this meeting, and so he had been told very plainly by one or two as he had joined them in the street. He explained, however, that his friend Sir Thomas had come to him the very first person in Percycross, and he carried his point in joining the party. But he was a mild man, and when he was interrupted he merely bided another opportunity.

"I hope, Sir Thomas, your mind is made up to do something for our trade," said Mr. Roodylands.

"What's the matter with your trade?" said Spiveycomb, the paper-maker.

"Well;--we ain't got no jobs in it;--that's the matter," said Mr.

Pile.

"As for jobs, what's the odds?" said a big and burly loud-mouthed tanner. "All on us likes a good thing when it comes in our way. Stow that, and don't let's be told about jobs. Sir Thomas, here's your health, and I wish you at the top of the poll,--that is, next to Mr. Griffenbottom." Then they all drank to Sir Thomas's health, Mr.

Pabsby filling himself a b.u.mper for the occasion.

It was eleven before they went away, at which time Mr. Pabsby had three times got as far as a declaration of his wish to see things clearly. Further than this he could not get; but still he went away in perfect good humour. He would have another opportunity, as he took occasion to whisper when he shook hands with the candidate. Trigger stayed even yet for half-an-hour. "Don't waste your time on that fellow, Pabsby," he said. "No, I won't," said Sir Thomas. "And be very civil to old Pile." "He doesn't seem disposed to return the compliment," said Sir Thomas. "But he doesn't want your interest in the borough," said Trigger, with the air of a man who had great truths to teach. "In electioneering, Sir Thomas, it's mostly the same as in other matters. Nothing's to be had for nothing. If you were a retail seller of boots from Manchester old Pile would be civil enough to you. You may snub Spicer as much as you please, because he'll expect to get something out of you." "He'll be very much deceived,"

said Sir Thomas. "I'm not so sure of that," said Trigger;--"Spicer knows what he's about pretty well." Then, at last, Mr. Trigger went, a.s.suring Sir Thomas most enthusiastically that he would be with him before nine the next morning.

Many distressing thoughts took possession of Sir Thomas as he lay in bed. He had made up his mind that he would in no way break the law, and he didn't know whether he had not broken it already by giving these people tobacco and wine. And yet it would have been impossible for him to have refused Mr. Trigger permission to order the supply.

Even for the sake of the seat,--even for the sake of his reputation, which was so much dearer to him than the seat,--he could not have bidden guests, who had come to him in his own room, to go elsewhere if they required wine. It was a thing not to be done, and yet, for aught he knew, Mr. Trigger might continue to order food and wine, and beer and tobacco, to be supplied ad libitum, and whenever he chose.

How was he to put an end to it, otherwise than by throwing up the game, and going back to London? That now would be gross ill-usage to the Conservatives of Percycross, who by such a step would be left in the lurch without a candidate. And then was it to be expected that he should live for a week with Mr. Trigger, with no other relief than that which would be afforded by Messrs. Pile, Spiveycomb, and Co.

Everything about him was reeking of tobacco. And then, when he sat down to breakfast at nine o'clock there would be Mr. Trigger!

The next morning he was out of bed at seven, and ordered his breakfast at eight sharp. He would steal a march on Trigger. He went out into the sitting-room, and there was Trigger already seated in the arm-chair, studying the list of the voters of Percycross!

Heavens, what a man! "I thought I'd look in early, and they told me you were coming out or I'd have just stepped into your room." Into his very bed-room! Sir Thomas shuddered as he heard the proposition.

"We've a telegram from Griffenbottom," continued Trigger, "and he won't be here till noon. We can't begin till he comes."