Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope (e reading malayalam books TXT) 📕

“I don’t see why clergymen’s sons should pay their debts more than other young men,” said Charlotte.

“He’s had as much from me since he left school as is held sufficient for the eldest son of many a nobleman,” said the angry father.

“Well, sir,” said Charlotte, “give him another chance.”

“What!” said the doctor, “do you mean that I am to pay that Jew?”

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t pay him, he must take his chance; and if the worst comes to the worst, Bertie must go abroad. But I want you to be civil to Bertie and let him remain here as long as we stop. He has a plan in his head that may put him on his feet after all.”

“Has he any plan for following up his profession?”

“Oh, he’ll do that too; but that must follow. He’s thinking of getting married.”

Just at that moment the door opened, and Bertie came in whistling. The doctor immediately devoted himself to his egg and allowed Bertie to whistle himself round to his sister’s side without noticing him.

Charlotte gave a sign to him with her eye, first glancing at her father, and then at the letter, the corner of which peeped out from under the tea-tray. Bertie saw and understood, and with the quiet motion of a cat he abstracted the letter and made himself acquainted with its contents. The doctor, however, had seen him, deep as he appeared to be mersed in his eggshell, and said in his harshest voice, “Well, sir, do you know that gentleman?”

“Yes, sir,” said Bertie. “I have a sort of acquaintance with him, but none that can justify him in troubling you. If you will allow me, sir, I will answer this.”

“At any rate I shan’t,” said the father, and then he added, after a pause, “Is it true, sir, that you owe the man £700?”

“Well,” said Bertie, “I think I should be inclined to dispute the amount, if I were in a condition to pay him such of it as I really do owe him.”

“Has he your bill for £700?” said the father, speaking very loudly and very angrily.

“Well, I believe he has,” said Bertie, “but all the money I ever got from him was £150.”

“And what became of the £550?”

“Why, sir, the commission was £100 or so, and I took the remainder in paving-stones and rocking-horses.”

“Paving-stones and rocking-horses!” said the doctor. “Where are they?”

“Oh, sir, I suppose they are in London somewhere⁠—but I’ll inquire if you wish for them.”

“He’s an idiot,” said the doctor, “and it’s sheer folly to waste more money on him. Nothing can save him from ruin,” and so saying, the unhappy father walked out of the room.

“Would the governor like to have the paving-stones?” said Bertie to his sister.

“I’ll tell you what,” said she. “If you don’t take care, you will find yourself loose upon the world without even a house over your head; you don’t know him as well as I do. He’s very angry.”

Bertie stroked his big beard, sipped his tea, chatted over his misfortunes in a half-comic, half-serious tone, and ended by promising his sister that he would do his very best to make himself agreeable to the Widow Bold. Then Charlotte followed her father to his own room, softened down his wrath, and persuaded him to say nothing more about the Jew bill discounter, at any rate for a few weeks. He even went so far as to say he would pay the £700, or at any rate settle the bill, if he saw a certainty of his son’s securing for himself anything like a decent provision in life. Nothing was said openly between them about poor Eleanor, but the father and the daughter understood each other.

They all met together in the drawing-room at nine o’clock, in perfect good humour with each other, and about that hour Mrs. Bold was announced. She had never been in the house before, though she had of course called, and now she felt it strange to find herself there in her usual evening dress, entering the drawing-room of these strangers in this friendly, unceremonious way, as though she had known them all her life. But in three minutes they made her at home. Charlotte tripped downstairs and took her bonnet from her, and Bertie came to relieve her from her shawl, and the signora smiled on her as she could smile when she chose to be gracious, and the old doctor shook hands with her in a kind benedictory manner that went to her heart at once and made her feel that he must be a good man.

She had not been seated for above five minutes when the door again opened and Mr. Slope was announced. She felt rather surprised, because she was told that nobody was to be there, and it was very evident from the manner of some of them that Mr. Slope was not unexpected. But still there was not much in it. In such invitations a bachelor or two more or less are always spoken of as nobodies, and there was no reason why Mr. Slope should not drink tea at Dr. Stanhope’s as well as Eleanor herself. He, however, was very much surprised and not very much gratified at finding that his own embryo spouse made one of the party. He had come there to gratify himself by gazing on Madame Neroni’s beauty and listening to and returning her flattery: and though he had not owned as much to himself, he still felt that if he spent the evening as he had intended to do, he might probably not thereby advance his suit with Mrs. Bold.

The signora, who had no idea of a rival, received Mr. Slope with her usual marks of distinction. As he took her hand, she made some confidential communication to him in a low voice, declaring that she had a plan to communicate to him after tea, and was evidently prepared to go on with her work of reducing the chaplain to