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Ralph the Heir

<h3>CHAPTER XXII.</h3> <h4>RALPH NEWTON'S DECISION.  </h4> Ontario Moggs was at Percycross when Ralph Newton was making his formal offer to Polly Neefit. Ralph when he had made his offer returned to London with mixed feelings. He had certainly been oppressed at times by the conviction that he must make the offer even though it went against the grain with him to do so;—and at these moments he had not failed to remind himself that he was about to make himself miserable for life because he had been weak enough to take pecuniary assistance in the hour of his temporary necessities from the hands of Polly's father. Now he had made his offer; it had not been accepted, and he was still free. He could see his way out of that dilemma without dishonour. But then that dilemma became very much smaller to his sight when it was surmounted,—as is the nature with all dilemmas; and the other dilemma, which would have been remedied had Polly accepted him, again loomed very large. And as he looked back at the matrimonial dilemma which he had escaped, and at Polly standing before him, comely, healthy, and honest, such a pleasant armful, and so womanly withal,—so pleasant a girl if only she was not to be judged and sentenced by others beside himself,—he almost thought that that dilemma was one which he could have borne without complaint. But Polly's suggestion that they should allow a year to run round in order that they might learn to know each other was one which he could not entertain. He had but three days in which to give an answer to his uncle, and up to this time two alternatives had been open to him,—the sale of his reversion and independence, or Polly and the future lordship of Newton. He had thought that there was nothing but to choose. It had not occurred to him that Polly would raise any objection. He had felt neither fear nor hope in that direction. It followed as a consequence now that the lordship must go. He would not, however, make up his mind that it should go till the last moment. On the following morning he was thinking that he might as well go to the shop in Conduit Street, feeling that he could encounter Neefit without any qualms of conscience, when Mr. Neefit came to him. This was certainly a better arrangement. It was easier to talk of his own affairs sitting at ease in his own arm-chair, than to carry on the discussion among the various sporting garments which adorned Mr. Neefit's little back room, subject to interruption from customers, and possibly within the hearing of Mr. Waddle and Herr Bawwah. Neefit, seated at the end of the sofa in Ralph's comfortable room, looking out of his saucer eyes with all his energy, was in a certain degree degrading,—but was not quite so degrading as Neefit at his own barn-door in Conduit Street. "I was just coming to you," he said, as he made the breeches-maker welcome. "Well;—yes; but I thought I'd catch you here, Captain. Them men of mine has such long ears! That German who lets on that he don't understand only just a word or two of English, hears everything through a twelve-inch brick wall. Polly told me as you'd been with her." "I suppose so, Mr. Neefit." "Oh, she ain't one as 'd keep anything from me. She's open and straightforward, anyways." "So I found her." "Now look here, Captain. I've just one word to say about her. Stick to her." Ralph was well aware that he must explain the exact circumstances in which he stood to the man who was to have been his father-in-law, but hardly knew how to begin his explanation. "She ain't nowise again you," continued Mr. Neefit. "She owned as much when I put her through her facings. I did put her through her facings pretty tightly. 'What is it that you want, Miss?' said I. 'D' you want to have a husband, or d' you want to be an old maid?' They don't like that word old maid;—not as used again themselves, don't any young woman." "Polly will never be an old maid," said Ralph. "She owned as she didn't want that. 'I suppose I'll have to take some of 'em some day,' she said. Lord, how pretty she did look as she said it;—just laughing and crying, smiling and pouting all at once. She ain't a bad 'un to look at, Captain?" "Indeed she is not." "Nor yet to go. Do you stick to her. Them's my words. 'D' you want to have that ugly bootmaker?' said I. 'He ain't ugly,' said she. 'D' you want to have him, Miss?' said I. 'No, I don't,' said she. 'Well!' said I. 'But I do know him,' said Polly, 'and I don't know Mr. Newton no more than Adam!' Them were her very words, Captain. Do you stick to her, Captain. I'll tell you what. Let's all go down to Margate together for a week." That was Mr. Neefit's plan of action. Then Ralph got up from his easy-chair and began his explanation. He couldn't very well go down to Margate, delightful as it would be to sit upon the sands with Polly. He was so situated that he must at once decide as to the sale of his property at Newton. Mr. Neefit put his hands in his pockets, and sat perfectly silent, listening to his young friend's explanation. If Polly would have accepted him at once, Ralph went on to explain, everything would have been straight; but, as she would not do so, he must take his uncle's offer. He had no other means of extricating himself from his embarrassments. "Why, Mr. Neefit, I could not look you in the face unless I were prepared to pay you your money," he said. "Drat that," replied Neefit, and then again he listened. Ralph went on. He could not go on long in his present condition. His bill for £500 to Mr. Horsball of the Moonbeam was coming round. He literally had not £20 in his possession to carry on the war. His uncle's offer would be withdrawn if it were not accepted the day after to-morrow. Nobody else would give half so much. The thing must be done, and then;—why, then he would have nothing to offer to Polly worthy of her acceptance. "Bother," said Mr. Neefit, who had not once taken his eyes off Ralph's face. Ralph said that that might be all very well, but such were the facts. "You ain't that soft that you're going to let 'em rob you of the estate?" said the breeches-maker in a tone of horror. Ralph raised his hands and his eyebrows together. Yes;—that was what he intended to do. "There shan't be nothing of the kind," said the breeches-maker. "What! £7,000 a year, ain't it? All in land, ain't it? And it must be your own, let 'em do what they will; mustn't it?" He paused a moment, and Ralph nodded his head. "What you have to do is to get a wife,—and a son before any of 'em can say Jack Robinson. Lord bless you! Just spit at 'em if they talks of buying it. S'pose the old gent was to go off all along of apperplexy the next day, how'd you feel then? Like cutting your throat;—wouldn't you, Captain?" "But my uncle's life is very good." "He ain't got no receipt against kingdom come, I dare say." Ralph was surprised by his tradesman's eloquence and wit. "You have a chick of your own, and then you'll know as it'll be yours some way or other. If I'd the chance I'd sooner beg, borrow, starve, or die, before I'd sell it;—let alone working, Captain." There was satire too as well as eloquence in the breeches-maker. "No;—you must run your chance, somehow." "I don't see my way," said Ralph. "You have got something, Captain;—something of your own?" "Well;—just enough to pay my debts, if all were sold, and buy myself a rope to hang myself." "I'll pay your debts, Captain." "I couldn't hear of it, Mr. Neefit." "As for not hearing of it,—that's bother. You do hear of it now. And how much more do you want to keep you? You shall have what you want. You meant honest along of Polly yesterday, and you mean honest now." Ralph winced, but he did not deny what Neefit said, nor aught that was implied in the saying. "We'll bring you and Polly together, and I tell you she'll come round." Ralph shook his head. "Anyways you shall have the money;—there now. We'll have a bit of a paper, and if this marriage don't come off there'll be the money to come back, and five per cent. when the old gent dies." "But I might die first." "We'll insure your life, Captain. Only we must be upon the square." "Oh, yes," said Ralph. "I'd rather a'most lose it all than think such a chance should be missed. £7,000 a year, and all in land? When one knows how hard it is to get, to think of selling it!" Ralph made no positive promise, but when Mr. Neefit left him, there was,—so at least thought Mr. Neefit,—an implied understanding that "the Captain" would at once put an end to this transaction between him and his uncle. And yet Ralph didn't feel quite certain. The breeches-maker had been generous,—very generous, and very trusting; but he hated the man's generosity and confidence. The breeches-maker had got such a hold of him that he seemed to have lost all power of thinking and acting for himself. And then such a man as he was, with his staring round eyes, and heavy face, and dirty hands, and ugly bald head! There is a baldness that is handsome and noble, and a baldness that is peculiarly mean and despicable. Neefit's baldness was certainly of the latter order. Now Moggs senior, who was grey and not bald, was not bad looking,—at a little distance. His face when closely inspected was poor and greedy, but the general effect at a passing glance was not contemptible. Moggs might have been a banker, or an officer in the Commissariat, or a clerk in the Treasury. A son-in-law would have had hopes of Moggs. But nothing of the kind was possible with Neefit. One would be forced to explain that he was a respectable tradesman in Conduit Street in order that he might not be taken for a dealer in potatoes from Whitechapel. He was hopeless. And yet he had taken upon himself the absolute management of all Ralph Newton's affairs! Ralph was very unhappy, and in his misery he went to Sir Thomas's chambers. This was about four o'clock in the day, at which hour Sir Thomas was almost always in his rooms. But Stemm with much difficulty succeeded in making him believe that the lawyer was not at home. Stemm at this time was much disturbed by his master's terrible resolution to try the world again, to stand for a seat in Parliament, and to put himself once more in the way of work and possible promotion. Stemm had condemned the project,—but, nevertheless, took glory in it. What if his master should become,—should become anything great and magnificent. Stemm had often groaned in silence,—had groaned unconsciously, that his master should be nothing. He loved his master thoroughly,—loving no one else in the whole world,—and sympathised with him acutely. Still he had condemned the project. "There's so many of them, Sir Thomas, as is only wanting to put their fingers into somebody's eyes." "No doubt, Stemm, no doubt," said Sir Thomas; "and as well into mine as another's." "That's it, Sir Thomas." "But I'll just run down and see, Stemm." And so it had been settled. Stemm, who had always hated Ralph Newton, and who now regarded his master's time as more precious than ever, would hardly give any answer at all to Ralph's enquiries. His master might be at home at Fulham,—probably was. Where should a gentleman so likely be as at home,—that is, when he wasn't in chambers? "Anyways, he's not here," said Stemm, bobbing his head, and holding the door ready to close it. Ralph was convinced, then dined at his club, and afterwards went down to Fulham. He had heard nothing from Stemm, or elsewhere, of the intended candidature. Sir Thomas was not at Fulham, nor did the girls know aught of his whereabouts. But the great story was soon told. Papa was going to stand for Percycross. "We are so glad," said Mary Bonner, bursting out into enthusiasm. "We walk about the garden making speeches to the electors all day. Oh dear, I do wish we could do something." "Glad is no word," said Clarissa. "But if he loses it!" "The very trying for it is good," said Patience. "It is just the proper thing for papa." "I shall feel so proud when uncle is in Parliament again," said Mary Bonner. "A woman's pride is always vicarious;—but still it is pride." Ralph also was surprised,—so much surprised that for a few minutes his own affairs were turned out of his head. He, too, had thought that Sir Thomas would never again do anything in the world,—unless that book should be written of which he had so often heard hints,—though never yet, with any accuracy, its name or subject. Sir Thomas, he was told, had been at Percycross, but was not supposed to be there now. "Of course he was in his chambers," said Clarissa. "Old Stemm does know how to tell lies so well!" It was, however, acknowledged that, having on his hands a piece of business so very weighty, Sir Thomas might be almost anywhere without any fault on his part. A gentleman in the throes of an election for Parliament could not be expected to be at home. Even Patience did not feel called upon to regret his absence. Before he went back to town Ralph found himself alone with Mary for a few minutes. "Mr. Newton," she said, "why don't you stand for Parliament?" "I have not the means." "You have great prospects. I should have thought you were just the man who ought to make it the work of your life to get into Parliament." Ralph began to ask himself what had been the work of his life. "They say that to be of real use a man ought to begin young." "Nobody ought to go into the House without money," said Ralph. "That means, I suppose, that men shouldn't go in who want their time to earn their bread. But you haven't that to do. If I were a man such as you are I would always try to be something. I am sure Parliament was meant for men having estates such as you will have." "When I've got it, I'll think about Parliament, Miss Bonner." "Perhaps it will be too late then. Don't you know that song of 'Excelsior,' Mr. Newton? You ought to learn to sing it." Yes;—he was learning to sing it after a fine fashion;—borrowing his tradesman's money, and promising to marry his tradesman's daughter! He was half inclined to be angry with this interference from Mary Bonner;—and yet he liked her for it. Could it be that she herself felt an interest in what concerned him? "Ah me,"—he said to himself,—"how much better would it have been to have learned something, to have fitted myself for some high work; and to have been able to choose some such woman as this for my wife!" And all that had been sacrificed to horses at the Moonbeam, and little dinners with Captain Fooks and Lieutenant Cox! Every now and again during his life Ph&oelig;bus had touched his trembling ears, and had given him to know that to sport with the tangles of Naæra's hair was not satisfactory as the work of a man's life. But, alas, the god had intervened but to little purpose. The horses at the Moonbeam, which had been two, became four, and then six; and now he was pledged to marry Polly Neefit,—if only he could induce Polly Neefit to have him. It was too late in the day for him to think now of Parliament and Mary Bonner. And then, before he left them, poor Clary whispered a word into his ear,—a cousinly, brotherly word, such as their circumstances authorised her to make. "Is it settled about the property, Ralph?" For she, too, had heard that this question of a sale was going forward. "Not quite, Clary." "You won't sell it; will you?" "I don't think I shall." "Oh, don't;—pray don't. Anything will be better than that. It is so good to wait." She was thinking only of Ralph, and of his interests, but she could not forget the lesson which she was daily teaching to herself. "If I can help it, I shall not sell it." "Papa will help you;—will he not? If I were you they should drag me in pieces before I would part with my birthright;—and such a birthright!" It had occurred to her once that Ralph might feel that, after what had passed between them one night on the lawn, he was bound not to wait, that it was his duty so to settle his affairs that he might at once go to her father and say,—"Though I shall never be Mr. Newton of Newton, I have still such and such means of supporting your daughter." Ah! if he would only be open with her, and tell her everything, he would soon know how unnecessary it was to make a sacrifice for her. He pressed her hand as he left her, and said a word that was a word of comfort. "Clary, I cannot speak with certainty, but I do not think that it will be sold." "I am so glad!" she said. "Oh, Ralph, never, never part with it." And then she blushed, as she thought of what she had said. Could it be that he would think that she was speaking for her own sake;—because she looked forward to reigning some day as mistress of Newton Priory? Ah, no, Ralph would never misinterpret her thoughts in a manner so unmanly as that! The day came, and it was absolutely necessary that the answer should be given. Neefit came to prompt him again, and seemed to sit on the sofa with more feeling of being at home than he had displayed before. He brought his cheque-book with him, and laid it rather ostentatiously upon the table. He had good news, too, from Polly. "If Mr. Newton would come down to Margate, she would be ever so glad." That was the message as given by Mr. Neefit, but the reader will probably doubt that it came exactly in those words from Polly's lips. Ralph was angry, and shook his head in wrath. "Well, Captain, how's it to be?" asked Mr. Neefit. "I shall let my uncle know that I intend to keep my property," said Ralph, with as much dignity as he knew how to assume. The breeches-maker jumped up and crowed,—actually crowed, as might have crowed a cock. It was an art that he had learned in his youth. "That's my lad of wax," he said, slapping Ralph on the shoulder. "And now tell us how much it's to be," said he, opening the cheque-book. But Ralph declined to take money at the present moment, endeavouring to awe the breeches-maker back into sobriety by his manner. Neefit did put up his cheque-book, but was not awed back into perfect sobriety. "Come to me, when you want it, and you shall have it, Captain. Don't let that chap as 'as the 'orses be any way disagreeable. You tell him he can have it all when he wants it. And he can;—be blowed if he can't. We'll see it through, Captain. And now, Captain, when'll you come out and see Polly?" Ralph would give no definite answer to this,—on account of business, but was induced at last to send his love to Miss Neefit. "That man will drive me into a lunatic asylum at last," he said to himself, as he threw himself into his arm-chair when Neefit had departed. Nevertheless, he wrote his letter to his uncle's lawyer, Mr. Carey, as follows:—   <blockquote> —— Club, 20 Sept., 186—. Dear Sir,— After mature consideration I have resolved upon declining the offer made to me by my uncle respecting the Newton property. Faithfully yours, Ralph Newton. Richard Carey, Esq.   </blockquote> It was very short, but it seemed to him to contain all that there was to be said. He might, indeed, have expressed regret that so much trouble had been occasioned;—but the trouble had been taken not for his sake, and he was not bound to denude himself of his property because his uncle had taken trouble. When the letter was put into the Squire's hands in Mr. Carey's private room, the Squire was nearly mad with rage. In spite of all that his son had told him, in disregard of all his own solicitor's cautions, in the teeth of his nephew Gregory's certainty, he had felt sure that the thing would be done. The young man was penniless, and must sell; and he could sell nowhere else with circumstances so favourable. And now the young man wrote a letter as though he were declining to deal about a horse! "It's some sham, some falsehood," said the Squire. "Some low attorney is putting him up to thinking that he can get more out of me." "It's possible," said Mr. Carey; "but there's nothing more to be done." The Squire when last in London had asserted most positively that he would not increase his bid. "But he's penniless," said the Squire. "There are those about him that will put him in the way of raising money," said the lawyer. "And so the property will go to the hammer,—and I can do nothing to help it!" Mr. Carey did not tell his client that a gentleman had no right to complain because he could not deal with effects which were not his own; but that was the line which his thoughts took. The Squire walked about the room, lashing himself in his rage. He could not bear to be beaten. "How much more would do it?" he said at last. It would be terribly bitter to him to be made to give way, to be driven to increase the price; but even that would be less bitter than failure. "I should say nothing,—just at present, if I were you," said Mr. Carey. The Squire still walked about the room. "If he raises money on the estate we shall hear of it. And so much of his rights as pass from him we can purchase. It will be more prudent for us to wait." "Would another £5,000 do it at once?" said the Squire. "At any rate I would not offer it," said Mr. Carey. "Ah;—you don't understand. You don't feel what it is that I want. What would you say if a man told you to wait while your hand was in the fire?" "But you are in possession, Mr. Newton." "No;—I'm not. I'm not in possession. I'm only a lodger in the place. I can do nothing. I cannot even build a farm-house for a tenant." "Surely you can, Mr. Gregory." "What;—for him! You think that would be one of the delights of possession? Put my money into the ground like seed, in order that the fruit may be gathered by him! I'm not a good enough Christian, Mr. Carey, to take much delight in that. I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Carey. The place is a hell upon earth to me, till I can call it my own." At last he left his lawyer, and went back to Newton Priory, having given instructions that the transaction should be re-opened between the two lawyers, and that additional money, to the extent of £5,000, should by degrees be offered. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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