Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/237

224 “There you are, thawed in a minute!” said Mr. Andrew. “What’s an eccentric? a child grown grey. It isn’t mine. I read it somewhere. Ah, here’s the Port!—good, I’ll warrant.”

Jonathan deferentially uncorked, excessive composure on his visage. He arranged the table-cloth to a nicety, fixed the bottle with exactness, and was only sent scudding by the old gentleman’s muttering of: “Eavesdropping pie!” followed by a short, “Go!” and even then he must delay to sweep off a particular crumb.

“Good it is!” said Mr. Andrew, rolling the flavour on his lips, as he put down his glass. “I follow you in Port, Tom. Elder brother!”

The old gentleman also drank, and was mollified enough to reply: “Shan’t follow you in parliament.”

“Haven’t forgiven that yet, Tom?”

“No great harm done, when you’re silent.”

“Ha! ha! Well, I don’t do much mischief, then.”

“No. Thank your want of capacity!”

Mr. Andrew laughed good-humouredly. “Capital place to let off gas in, Tom.”

“Thought so. I shouldn’t be safe there.”

“Eh? Why not?”

Mr. Andrew expected the grim joke, and encouraged it.

“I do carry some light about,” the old gentleman emphasised, and Mr. Andrew called him too bad; and the old gentleman almost consented to smile.

’Gad, you blow us up out of the House. What would you do in? Smithereens, I think!”

The old gentleman looked mild promise of Smithereens, in that contingency, adding: “No danger.”

“Capital Port!” said Mr. Andrew, replenishing the glasses. “I ought to have inquired where they kept the best Port. I might have known you’d stick by it. By the way, talking of Parliament, there’s talk of a new election for Fallowfield. You have a vote there. Will you give it to Jocelyn? There’s talk of his standing.”

“If he’ll wear petticoats, I’ll give him my vote.”

“There you go, Tom!”

“I hate masquerades. You’re penny trumpets of the women. That tattle comes from the bed-curtains. When a petticoat steps forward I give it my vote, or else I button it up in my pocket.”

This was probably the longest speech he had ever delivered at the Aurora. There was extra Port in it. Jonathan, who from his place of observation noted the length of time it occupied, though he was unable to gather the context, glanced at Mr. Andrew with a mixture of awe and sly satisfaction. Mr. Andrew, laughing, signalled for another pint.

“So you’ve come here for my vote, have you?” said the old gentleman.

“Why, no; not exactly that, Tom,” Mr. Andrew answered, blinking and passing it by.

Jonathan brought the fresh pint, and the old gentleman filled for himself, drank, and said emphatically, and with a confounding voice:

“Your women have been setting you on me, sir!”

Mr. Andrew protested that he was entirely mistaken.

“You’re the puppet of your women!”

“Well, Tom, not in this instance. Here’s to the bachelors, and brother Tom at their head!”

It seemed to be Mr. Andrew’s object to help his companion to carry a certain quantity of Port, as if he knew a virtue it had to subdue him, and to have fixed on a particular measure that he should hold before he addressed him specially. Arrived at this, he said:

“Look here, Tom. I know your ways. I shouldn’t have bothered you here; I never have before; but we couldn’t very well talk it over in business hours; and, besides, you’re never at the brewery till Monday, and the matter’s rather urgent.”

“Why don’t you speak like that in Parliament?” the old gentleman interposed.

“Because Parliament isn’t my brother,” replied Mr Andrew. “You know, Tom, you never quite took to my wife’s family.”

“I’m not a match for fine ladies, Nan.”

“Well, Harriet would have taken to you, Tom, and will now, if you’ll let her. Of course, it’s a pity if she’s ashamed of hem! You found it out about the Lymport people, Tom, and you’ve kept the secret and respected her feelings, and I thank you for it. Women are odd in those things, you know. She musn’t imagine I’ve heard a whisper. I believe it would kill her.”

The old gentleman shook silently.

“Do you want me to travel over the kingdom, hawking her for the daughter of a marquis?”

“Now, don’t joke, Tom. I’m serious. Are you not a Radical at heart? Why do you make such a set against the poor women? What do we spring from?”

“I take off my hat, Nan, when I see a cobbler’s stall.”

“And I, Tom, don’t care a rush who knows it. Homo—something; but we never had much schooling. We’ve thriven, and should help those as can. We’ve got on in the world "

“Wife come back from Lymport?” sneered the old gentleman.

Mr. Andrew hurriedly, and with some confusion, explained that she had not been able to go, on account of the child.

“Account of the child!” his brother repeated, working his chin contemptuously. “Sisters gone?”

“They’re stopping with us,” said Mr. Andrew, reddening.

“So the tailor was left to the kites and the crows. Ah! hum,” and Tom chuckled.

“You’re angry with me, Tom, for coming here,” said Mr. Andrew. “I see what it is. Thought how it would be! You’re offended, old Tom.”

“Come where you like,” returned Tom, “the place is open. It’s a fool that hopes for peace anywhere. They sent a woman here to wait on me, this day month.”

“That’s a shame!” said Mr. Andrew, propitiatingly. “Well, never mind, Tom: the women are sometimes in the way.—Evan went down to bury his father. He’s there now. You wouldn’t see him when he was at the brewery,