There, said Evan, I shall walk. Good night. And he flung his cloak to step forward.
Stop a bit, sir! arrested him.
The postillion rallied up sideways, with an assumption of genial respect. I didnt calclate myself in that there amount.
Were these words, think you, of a character to strike a young man hard on the breast, send the blood to his head, and set up in his heart a derisive chorus? My gentleman could pay his money, and keep his footing gallantly; but to be asked for a penny beyond what he possessed; to be seen beggared, and to be claimed a debtor-aleck! Pride was the one developed faculty of Evans nature. The Fates who mould us, always work from the main-spring. I will not say that the postillion stripped off the mask for him, at that instant completely; but he gave him the first true glimpse of his condition. From the vague sense of being an impostor, Evan awoke to the clear fact that he was likewise a fool.
It was impossible for him to deny the mans claim, and he would not have done it, if he could. Acceding tacitly, he squeezed the ends of his purse in his pocket, and with a Let me see, tried his waistcoat. Not too impetuously; for he was careful of betraying the horrid emptiness till he was certain that the powers who wait on gentlemen had utterly forsaken him. They had not. He discovered a small coin, under ordinary circumstances not contemptible; but he did not stay to reflect, and was guilty of the error of offering it to the postillion.
The latter peered at it in the centre of his palm; gazed queerly in the gentlemans face, and then lifting the spit of silver for the disdain of his mistress, the moon, he drew a long breath of regret at the original mistake he had committed, and said:
Thats what youre goin to give me for my nights work?
The powers who wait on gentlemen had only helped the pretending youth to try him. A rejection of the demand would have been infinitely wiser and better than this paltry compromise. The postillion would have fought it: he would not have despised his fare.
How much it cost the poor pretender to reply, It s the last farthing I have, my man, the postillion could not know.
A scabby sixpence? The postillion continued his question.
You heard what I said, Evan remarked.
The postillion drew another deep breath, and holding out the coin at arms length:
Well, sir! he observed, as one whom mental conflict has brought to the philosophy of the case, now, was we to change places, I couldnt a done it! I couldnt a done it! he reiterated, pausing emphatically.
Take it, sir! he magnanimously resumed; take it! You rides when you can, and you walks when you must. Lord forbid I should rob such a gentleman as you!
One who feels a death, is for the hour lifted above the satire of postillions. A good genius prompted Evan to avoid the silly squabble that might have ensued and made him ridiculous. He took the money, quietly saying, Thank you.
Not to lose his vantage, the postillion, though a little staggered by the move, rejoined: Dont mention it.
Evan then said: Good night, my man. I wont wish, for your sake, that we changed places. You would have to walk fifty miles to be in time for your fathers funeral. Good night.
You are it to look at! was the postillions comment, seeing my gentleman depart with great strides. He did not speak offensively; rather, it seemed, to appease his conscience for the original mistake he had committed, for subsequently came, My oath on it, I dont get took in again by a squash hat in a hurry!
Unaware of the ban he had, by a sixpenny stamp, put upon an unoffending class, Evan went ahead, hearing the wheels of the chariot still dragging the road in his rear. The postillion was in a dissatisfied state of mind. He had asked and received more than his due. But in the matter of his sweet self, he had been choused, as he termed it. And my gentleman had baffled him, he could not quite tell how; but he had been got the better of; his sarcasms had not stuck, and returned to rankle in the bosom of their author. As a Jew, therefore, may eye an erewhile bondsman who has paid the bill, but stands out against excess of interest on legal grounds, the postillion regarded Evan, of whom he was now abreast, eager for a controversy.
Fine night, said the postillion, to begin, and was answered by a short assent. Lateish for a poor man to be outdont you think sir, eh?
I ought to think so, said Evan, mastering the shrewd unpleasantness he felt in the colloquy forced on him.
Oh, you! youre a gentleman! the postillion ejaculated.
You see I have no money.
Feel it, too, sir.
I am sorry you should be the victim.
Victim! the postillion seized on an objectionable word. I aint no victim, unless you was up to a joke with me, sir, just now. Was that the game?
Evan informed him that he never played jokes with money, or on men.
Cause it looks like it, sir, to go to offer a poor chap sixpence. The postillion laughed hollow from the end of his lungs. Sixpence for a nights work! It is a joke, if you dont mean it for one. Why, do you know, sir, I could gothere, I dont care where it is!I could go before any magistrate livin, and hed make ye pay. Its a charge, as custom is, and hed make ye pay. Or prhaps youre a goin on my generosity, and ll say, he gev back that sixpence! Well! I shouldnt a thought a gentlemand make that his defence before a magistrate. But there, my man! if it makes ye happy, keep it. But you take my advice, sir. When you hires a chariot, see youve got the shiners. And dont you go never again offerin a sixpence to a poor man for a nights work. They dont like it. It hurts their feelins. Dont you forget that, sir. Lay that up in your mind.
Now the postillion having thus relieved himself, jeeringly asked permission to smoke a pipe. To which Evan said, Pray, smoke, if it pleases you. And the postillion, hardly mollified, added, The baccys paid for, and smoked.
As will sometimes happen, the feelings of the man who had spoken out and behaved doubtfully, grew gentle and Christian, whereas those of the man whose bearing under the trial had been irreproachable were much the reverse. The postillion smokedhe was a lord on his horse; he beheld my gentleman trudging in the dust. Awhile he enjoyed the contrast, dividing his attention between the footfarer and moon. To have had the last word is always a great thing; and to have given my gentleman a lecture, because he shunned a dispute, also counts. And then there was the poor young fellow trudging to his fathers funeral! The postillion chose to remember that now. In reality, he allowed, he had not very much to complain of, and my gentlemans courteous avoidance of provocation (the apparent fact that he, the postillion, had humbled him and got the better of him, equally, it may be), acted on his fine English spirit. I should not like to leave out the tobacco in this good change that was wrought in him. However, he presently astonished Evan by pulling up his horses, and crying that he was on his way to Hillford to bait, and saw no reason why he should not take a lift that part of the road, at all events. Evan thanked him briefly, but declined, and paced on with his head bent.
It wont cost you nothing-not a sixpence! the postillion sang out, pursuing him. Come, sir! be a man! I aint a hintin at anythingjump in.
Evan again declined, and looked out for a side path to escape the fellow, whose bounty was worse to him than his abuse, and whose mention of the sixpence was unlucky.
It wont cost you nothing-not a sixpence! the postillion sang out, pursuing him. Come, sir! be a man! I aint a hintin at anythingjump in.
Evan again declined, and looked out for a side path to escape the fellow, whose bounty was worse to him than his abuse, and whose mention of the sixpence was unlucky.
Dash it! cried the postillion, youre going down to a funeralI think you said your fathers, siryou may as well try and get there respectableas far as I go. Its one to me whether youre in or out; the horses wont feel it, and I do wish youd take a lift and welcome. Its because youre too much of a gentleman to be beholden to a poor man, I suppose!
Evans young pride may have had a little of that base mixture in it, and certainly he would have preferred that the invitation had not been made to him; but he was capable of appreciating what the rejection of a piece of friendliness involved, and as he saw that the man was sincere, he did violence to himself, and said: Very well; then Ill jump in.
The postillion was off his horse in a twinkling, and trotted his bandy legs to undo the door, as to a gentleman who paid. This act of service Evan valued.
Suppose I were to ask you to take the sixpence now? he said, turning round, with one foot on the step.
Well, sir, the postillion sent his hat aside to answer. I dont want itId rather not have it; but there! Ill take itdash the sixpence! and well cry quits.
Evan, surprised and pleased with him, dropped the bit of money in his hand, saying: It will fill a pipe for you. While you re smoking it, think of me as in your debt. Youre the only man I ever owed a penny to.
The postillion put it in a side pocket apart, and observed: A sixpence kindly meant is worth any crown-piece thats grudgedthat it is! In you jump, sir. Its a jolly night!
Thus may one, not a conscious sage, play the right tune on this human nature of ours: by forbearance, put it in the wrong; and then, by not refusing the burden of an obligation, confer something better. The instrument is simpler than we are taught to fancy. But it was doubtless owing to a strong emotion in his soul, as well as to the stuff he was made of, that the youth behaved as he did. We are now and then above our own actions; seldom on a level with them. Evan, I dare say, was long in learning to draw any gratification from the fact that he had achieved without money the unparalleled conquest of a man. Perhaps he never knew what immediate influence on his fortune this episode effected.
At Hillford they went their different ways. The postillion wished him good speed, and Evan shook his hand. He did so rather abruptly, for the postillion was fumbling at his pocket, and evidently rounding about a proposal in his mind.
My gentleman has now the road to himself. Money is the clothing of a gentleman: he may wear it well or ill. Some, you will mark, carry great quantities of it gracefully: some, with a stinted supply, present a decent appearance: very few, I imagine, will bear inspection, who are absolutely stripped of it. All, save the shameless, are toiling to escape that trial. My gentleman, treading the white highway across the solitary heaths, that swell far and wide to the moon, is, by the postillion, who has seen him, pronounced no sham. Nor do I think the opinion of any man worthless, who has had the postillions authority for speaking. But it is, I am told, a finer test to embellish much gentleman-apparel, than to walk with dignity totally unadorned. This simply tries the soundness of our faculties: that tempts them in erratic directions. It is the difference between active and passive excellence. As there is hardly any situation, however, so interesting to reflect upon as that of a man without a penny in his pocket, and a gizzard full of pride, we will leave Mr. Evan Harrington to what fresh adventures may befall him, walking toward the funeral plumes of the firs, under the soft midsummer flush, westward, where his father lies.
CHAPTER VII. MOTHER AND SON
Rare as epic song is the man who is thorough in what he does. And happily so; for in life he subjugates us, and he makes us bondsmen to his ashes. It was in the order of things that the great Mel should be borne to his final resting-place by a troop of creditors. You have seen (since the occasion demands a pompous simile) clouds that all day cling about the sun, and, in seeking to obscure him, are compelled to blaze in his livery at fall of night they break from him illumined, hang mournfully above him, and wear his natural glories long after he is gone. Thus, then, these worthy fellows, faithful to him to the dust, fulfilled Mels triumphant passage amongst them, and closed his career.
To regale them when they returned, Mrs. Mel, whose mind was not intent on greatness, was occupied in spreading meat and wine. Mrs. Fiske assisted her, as well as she could, seeing that one hand was entirely engaged by her handkerchief. She had already stumbled, and dropped a glass, which had brought on her sharp condemnation from her aunt, who bade her sit down, or go upstairs to have her cry out, and then return to be serviceable.
Oh! I cant help it! sobbed Mrs. Fiske. That he should be carried away, and none of his children to see him the last time! I can understand Louisaand Harriet, too, perhaps? But why could not Caroline? And that they should be too fine ladies to let their brother come and bury his father. Oh! it does seem
Mrs. Fiske fell into a chair, and surrendered to grief.
Where is the cold tongue? said Mrs. Mel to Sally, the maid, in a brief under-voice.
Please mum, Jacko!
He must be whipped. You are a careless slut.
Please, I cant think of everybody and everything, and poor master
Sally plumped on a seat, and took sanctuary under her apron. Mrs. Mel glanced at the pair, continuing her labour.
Oh, aunt, aunt! cried Mrs. Fiske, why didnt you put it off for another day, to give Evan a chance?
Master d have kept another two days, he would! whimpered Sally.
Oh, aunt! to think! cried Mrs. Fiske.
And his coffin not bearin of his spurs! whimpered Sally.
Mrs. Mel interrupted them by commanding Sally to go to the drawing-room, and ask a lady there, of the name of Mrs. Wishaw, whether she would like to have some lunch sent up to her. Mrs. Fiske was requested to put towels in Evans bedroom.
Yes, aunt, if youre not infatuated! said Mrs. Fiske, as she prepared to obey; while Sally, seeing that her public exhibition of sorrow and sympathy could be indulged but an instant longer, unwound herself for a violent paroxysm, blurting between stops:
If hed onyve gone to his last bed comfortable! If hed ony ve been that decent as not for to go to his last bed with his clothes on! If hed onyve had a comfortable sheet! It makes a woman feel cold to think of him full dressed there, as if he was goin to be a soldier on the Day o Judgement!
To let people speak was a maxim of Mrs. Mels, and a wise one for any form of society when emotions are very much on the surface. She continued her arrangements quietly, and, having counted the number of plates and glasses, and told off the guests on her fingers, she, sat down to await them.
The first one who entered the room was her son.
You have come, said Mrs. Mel, flushing slightly, but otherwise outwardly calm.
You didnt suppose I should stay away from you, mother?
Evan kissed her cheek.
I knew you would not.
Mrs. Mel examined him with those eyes of hers that compassed objects in a single glance. She drew her finger on each side of her upper lip, and half smiled, saying: