Moonfleet by John Meade Falkner (best novels for teenagers .txt) 📕

Just as the last bid was given, Elzevir half-rose from his chair, and for a moment I expected to see him spring like a wild beast on Maskew; but he said nothing, and sat down again with the same stolid look on his face. And, indeed, it was perhaps well that he thus thought better of it, for Maskew stuck his hand into his bosom as the other rose; and though he withdrew it again when Elzevir got back to his chair, yet the front of his waistcoat was a little bulged, and, looking sideways, I saw the silver-shod butt of a pistol nestling far down against his white shirt. The bailiff was vexed, I think, that he had been betrayed into such strong words; for he tried at once to put on as indifferent an air as might be, saying in dry tones, “Well, gentlemen, there seems to be here some personal matter into which I shall not attempt to spy. Two hundred pounds more or less is but a flea-bite to the Duchy; and if you, sir,” turning to Maskew, “wish later on to change your mind, and be quit of the bargain, I shall not be the man to stand in your way. In any case, I imagine ’twill be time enough to seal the lease if I send it from London.”

I knew he said this, and hinted at delay as wishing to do Elzevir a good turn; for his clerk had the lease already made out pat, and it only wanted the name and rent filled in to be sealed and signed. But, “No,” says Maskew, “business is business, Mr. Bailiff, and the post uncertain to parts so distant from the capital as these; so I’ll thank you to make out the lease to me now, and on May Day place me in possession.”

“So be it then,” said the bailiff a little testily, “but blame me not for driving hard bargains; for the Duchy, whose servant I am,” and he raised his hat, “is no daughter of the horseleech. Fill in the figures, Mr. Scrutton, and let us away.”

So Mr. Scrutton, for that was Mr. Clerk’s name, scratches a bit with his quill on the parchment sheet to fill in the money, and then Maskew scratches his name, and Mr. Bailiff scratches his name, and Mr. Clerk scratches again to witness Mr. Bailiff’s name, and then Mr. Bailiff takes from his mails a little shagreen case, and out from the case comes sealing-wax and the travelling seal of the Duchy.

There was my aunt’s best winter-candle still burning away in the daylight, for no one had taken any thought to put it out; and Mr. Bailiff melts the wax at it, till a drop of sealing-wax falls into the grease and makes a gutter down one side, and then there is a sweating of the parchment under the hot wax, and at last on goes the seal. “Signed, sealed, and delivered,” says Mr. Clerk, rolling up the sheet and handing it to Maskew; and Maskew takes and thrusts it into his bosom underneath his waistcoat front⁠—all cheek by jowl with that silver-hafted pistol, whose butt I had seen before.

The postchaise stood before the door, the horses were stamping on the cobblestones, and the harness jingled. Mr. Clerk had carried out his mails, but Mr. Bailiff stopped for a moment as he flung the travelling cloak about his shoulders to say to Elzevir, “Tut, man, take things not too hardly. Thou shalt have the Mermaid at 20 a year, which will be worth ten times as much to thee as this dreary place; and canst send thy son to Bryson’s school, where they will make a scholar of him, for he is a brave lad”; and he touched my shoulder, and gave me a kindly look as he passed.

“I thank your worship,” said Elzevir, “for all your goodness; but when I quit this place, I shall not set up my staff again at any inn door.”

Mr. Bailiff seemed nettled to see his offer made so little of, and left the room with a stiff, “Then I wish you good day.”

Maskew had slipped out before him, and the children’s noses left the windowpane as the great man walked down the steps. There was a little group to see the start, but it quickly melted; and before the clatter of hoofs died away, the report spread through the village that Maskew had turned Elzevir out of the Why Not?

For a long time after all had gone, Elzevir sat at the table with his head between his hands, and I kept quiet also, both because I was myself sorry that we were to be sent adrift, and because I wished to show Elzevir that I felt for him in his troubles. But the young cannot enter fully into their elders’ sorrows, however much they may wish to, and after a time the silence palled upon me. It was getting dusk, and the candle which bore itself so bravely through auction and lease-sealing burnt low in the socket. A minute later the light gave some flickering flashes, failings, and sputters, and then the wick tottered, and out popped the flame, leaving us with the chilly grey of a March evening creeping up in the corners of the room. I could bear the gloom no longer, but made up the fire till the light danced ruddy across pewter and porcelain on the dresser. “Come, Master Block,” I said, “there is time enough before May Day to think what we shall do, so let us take a cup of tea, and after that I will play you a game of backgammon.” But he still remained cast down, and would say nothing; and as chance would have it, though I wished to let him win at backgammon, that so, perhaps, he might get cheered, yet do what I would that night I could not lose. So as his luck grew worse his moodiness increased, and at last he shut