Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope (good books to read for young adults TXT) 📕

before his time, in order that he might have a few moments’ chat with his brother.

When Mark found himself in the private secretary’s room he was quite astonished to see the change in his brother’s appearance which the change in his official rank had produced. Jack Robarts had been a well-built, straight-legged, lissome young fellow, pleasant to the eye because of his natural advantages, but rather given to a harum-skarum style of gait, and occasionally careless, not to say slovenly, in his dress. But now he was the very pink of perfection. His jaunty frock-coat fitted him to perfection; not a hair of his head was out of place; his waistcoat and trousers were glossy and new, and his umbrella, which stood in the umbrella-stand in the corner, was tight, and neat, and small, and natty.

“Well, John, you’ve become quite a great man,” said his brother.

“I don’t know much about that,” said John; “but I find that I have an enormous deal of fagging to go through.”

“Do you mean work? I thought you had about the easiest berth in the whole Civil Service.”

“Ah! that’s just the mistake that people make. Because we don’t cover whole reams of foolscap paper at the rate of fifteen lines to a page, and five words to a line, people think that we private secretaries have got nothing to do. Look here,” and he tossed over scornfully a dozen or so of little notes. “I tell you what, Mark; it is no easy matter to manage the patronage of a cabinet minister. Now I am bound to write to every one of these fellows a letter that will please him; and yet I shall refuse to every one of them the request which he asks.”

“That must be difficult.”

“Difficult is no word for it. But, after all, it consists chiefly in the knack of the thing. One must have the wit ‘from such a sharp and waspish word as No to pluck the sting.’ I do it every day, and I really think that the people like it.”

“Perhaps your refusals are better than other people’s acquiescences.”

“I don’t mean that at all. We private secretaries have all to do the same thing. Now, would you believe it? I have used up three lifts of notepaper already in telling people that there is no vacancy for a lobby messenger in the Petty Bag office. Seven peeresses have asked for it for their favourite footmen. But there⁠—there’s the Lord Petty Bag!”

A bell rang and the private secretary, jumping up from his notepaper, tripped away quickly to the great man’s room.

“He’ll see you at once,” said he, returning. “Buggins, show the Reverend Mr. Robarts to the Lord Petty Bag.”

Buggins was the messenger for whose not vacant place all the peeresses were striving with so much animation. And then Mark, following Buggins for two steps, was ushered into the next room.

If a man be altered by becoming a private secretary, he is much more altered by being made a cabinet minister. Robarts, as he entered the room, could hardly believe that this was the same Harold Smith whom Mrs. Proudie bothered so cruelly in the lecture-room at Barchester. Then he was cross, and touchy, and uneasy, and insignificant. Now, as he stood smiling on the hearthrug of his official fireplace, it was quite pleasant to see the kind, patronizing smile which lighted up his features. He delighted to stand there, with his hands in his trousers’ pocket, the great man of the place, conscious of his lordship, and feeling himself every inch a minister. Sowerby had come with him, and was standing a little in the background, from which position he winked occasionally at the parson over the minister’s shoulder.

“Ah, Robarts, delighted to see you. How odd, by the by, that your brother should be my private secretary!” Mark said that it was a singular coincidence.

“A very smart young fellow, and, if he minds himself, he’ll do well.”

“I’m quite sure he’ll do well,” said Mark.

“Ah! well, yes; I think he will. And now, what can I do for you, Robarts?”

Hereupon Mr. Sowerby struck in, making it apparent by his explanation that Mr. Robarts himself by no means intended to ask for anything; but that, as his friends had thought that this stall at Barchester might be put into his hands with more fitness than in those of any other clergyman of the day, he was willing to accept the piece of preferment from a man whom he respected so much as he did the new Lord Petty Bag.

The minister did not quite like this, as it restricted him from much of his condescension, and robbed him of the incense of a petition which he had expected Mark Robarts would make to him. But, nevertheless, he was very gracious.

“He could not take upon himself to declare,” he said, “what might be Lord Brock’s pleasure with reference to the preferment at Barchester which was vacant. He had certainly already spoken to his lordship on the subject, and had perhaps some reason to believe that his own wishes would be consulted. No distinct promise had been made, but he might perhaps go so far as to say that he expected such result. If so, it would give him the greatest pleasure in the world to congratulate Mr. Robarts on the possession of the stall⁠—a stall which he was sure Mr. Robarts would fill with dignity, piety, and brotherly love.” And then, when he had finished, Mr. Sowerby gave a final wink, and said that he regarded the matter as settled.

“No, not settled, Nathaniel,” said the cautious minister.

“It’s the same thing,” rejoined Sowerby. “We all know what all that flummery means. Men in office, Mark, never do make a distinct promise⁠—not even to themselves of the leg of mutton which is roasting before their kitchen fires. It is so necessary in these days to be safe; is it not, Harold?”

“Most expedient,” said Harold Smith, shaking his head wisely. “Well, Robarts, who is it now?” This he said to his private secretary, who