Ralph the Heir Part 5

"Fifty thousand pounds!" said Ralph Newton to himself, as he walked into Bond Street and down to his club. When a man is really rich rumour always increases his money,--and rumour had doubled the fortune which Mr. Neefit had already ama.s.sed. "That means two thousand a year; and the girl herself is so pretty, that upon my honour I don't know which is the prettier,--she or Clary. But fancy old Neefit for one's father-in-law! Everybody is doing it now; but I don't think I'd do it for ten times the money. The fact is, one has got to get used to these things, and I am not used to it yet. I soon shall be,--or to something worse." Such was the nature of Ralph's thoughts as he walked away from Mr. Neefit's house to his club.

Mr. Neefit, as he went home, had his speculations also. In making breeches he was perfect, and in putting together money he had proved himself to be an adept. But as to the use of his money, he was quite as much at a loss as he would have been had he tried to wear the garments for which he measured his customers so successfully. He had almost realised the truth that from that money he himself could extract, for himself, but little delight beyond that which arose simply from the possession. Holidays destroyed him. Even a day at home at Hendon, other than Sunday, was almost more than he could endure. The fruition of life to him was in the completing of breeches, and its charm in a mutton-chop and a pipe of tobacco. He had tried idleness, and was wise enough to know almost at the first trial that idleness would not suit him. He had made one mistake in life which was irreparable. He had migrated from Conduit Street to a cold, comfortless box of a house at a place in which, in order that his respectability might be maintained, he was not allowed to show his face in a public-house. This was very bad, but he would not make bad worse by giving up so much of Conduit Street as was still left to him. He would stick to the shop. But what would he do with his money?

He had but one daughter. Thinking of this, day after day, month after month, year after year, he came slowly to the conclusion that it was his duty to make his daughter a lady. He must find some gentleman who would marry her, and then would give that gentleman all his money,--knowing as he did so that the gentleman would probably never speak to him again. And to this conclusion he came with no bitterness of feeling, with no sense of disappointment that to such an end must come the exertions of his laborious and successful life. There was nothing else for him to do. He could not be a gentleman himself. It seemed to be no more within his reach than it is for the gentleman to be an angel. He did not desire it. He would not have enjoyed it. He had that sort of sense which makes a man know so thoroughly his own limits that he has no regret at not pa.s.sing them. But yet in his eyes a gentleman was so grand a thing,--a being so infinitely superior to himself,--that, loving his daughter above anything else, he did think that he could die happy if he could see her married into a station so exalted. There was a humility in this as regarded himself and an affection for his child which were admirable.

The reader will think that he might at any rate have done better than to pitch upon such a one as Ralph Newton; but then the reader hardly knows Ralph Newton as yet, and cannot at all realise the difficulty which poor Mr. Neefit experienced in coming across any gentleman in such a fas.h.i.+on as to be able to commence his operations. It is hardly open to a tradesman to ask a young man home to his house when measuring him from the hip to the knee. Neefit had heard of many cases in which gentlemen of money had married the daughters of commercial men, and he knew that the thing was to be done. Money, which spent in other directions seemed to be nearly useless to him, might be used beneficially in this way. But how was he to set about it? Polly Neefit was as pretty a girl as you shall wish to see, and he knew that she was pretty. But, if he didn't take care, the good-looking young gasfitter, next door to him down at Hendon, would have his Polly before he knew where he was. Or, worse still, as he thought, there was that mad son of his old friend Moggs, the bootmaker, Ontario Moggs as he had been christened by a Canadian G.o.dfather, with whom Polly had condescended already to hold something of a flirtation. He could not advertise for a genteel lover. What could he do?

Then Ralph Newton made his way down to the Hendon villa,--asking for money. What should have induced Mr. Newton to come to him for money he could not guess;--but he did know that, of all the young men who came into his back shop to be measured, there was no one whose looks and manners and cheery voice had created so strong a feeling of pleasantness as had those of Mr. Ralph Newton. Mr. Neefit could not a.n.a.lyse it, but there was a kind of suns.h.i.+ne about the young man which would have made him very unwilling to press hard for payment, or to stop the supply of breeches. He had taken a liking to Ralph, and found himself thinking about the young man in his journeys between Hendon and Conduit Street. Was not this the sort of gentleman that would suit his daughter? Neefit wanted no one to tell him that Ralph Newton was a gentleman,--what he meant by a gentleman,--and that Wallop the stockbroker was not. Wallop the stockbroker spoke of himself as though he was a very fine fellow indeed; but to the thinking of Mr. Neefit, Ontario Moggs was more like a gentleman than Mr. Wallop. He had feared much as to his daughter, both in reference to the handsome gasfitter and to Ontario Moggs, but since that second tea-drinking he had hoped that his daughter's eyes were opened.

He had made inquiry about Ralph Newton, and had found that the young man was undoubtedly heir to a handsome estate in Hamps.h.i.+re,--a place called Newton Priory, with a parish of Newton Peele, and lodges, and a gamekeeper, and a park. He knew from of old that Ralph's uncle would have nothing to do with his nephew's debts; but he learned now as a certainty that the uncle could not disinherit his nephew. And the debts did not seem to be very high;--and Ralph had come into some property from his father. Upon the whole, though of course there must be a sacrifice of money at first, Neefit thought that he saw his way.

Mr. Newton, too, had been very civil to his girl,--not simply making to her foolish flattering little speeches, but treating her,--so thought Neefit,--exactly as a high-bred gentleman would treat the lady of his thoughts. It was a high ambition; but Neefit thought that there might possibly be a way to success.

Mrs. Neefit had been a good helpmate to her husband,--having worked hard for him when hard work on her part was needed,--but was not altogether so happy in her disposition as her lord. He desired to s.h.i.+ne only in his daughter,--and as a tradesman. She was troubled by the more difficult ambition of desiring to s.h.i.+ne in her own person. It was she who had insisted on migrating to Hendon, and who had demanded also the establishment of a one-horse carriage.

The one-horse carriage was no delight to Neefit, and hardly gave satisfaction to his wife after the first three months. To be driven along the same roads, day after day, at the rate of six miles an hour, though it may afford fresh air, is not an exciting amus.e.m.e.nt.

Mrs. Neefit was not given to reading, and was debarred by a sense of propriety from making those beef-steak puddings for which, within her own small household, she had once been so famous. Hendon she found dull; and, though Hendon had been her own choice, she could not keep herself from complaining of its dulness to her husband. But she always told him that the fault lay with him. He ought to content himself with going to town four times a week, and take a six weeks'

holiday in the autumn. That was the recognised mode of life with gentlemen who had made their fortunes in trade. Then she tried to make him believe that constant seclusion in Conduit Street was bad for his liver. But above all things he ought to give up measuring his own customers with his own hands. None of their genteel neighbours would call upon his wife and daughter as long as he did that. But Mr. Neefit was a man within whose bosom gallantry had its limits.

He had given his wife a house at Hendon, and was contented to take that odious journey backwards and forwards six days a week to oblige her. But when she told him not to measure his own customers, "he cut up rough" as Polly called it. "You be blowed," he said to the wife of his bosom. He had said it before, and she bore it with majestic equanimity.

Polly Neefit was, as we have said, as pretty a girl as you shall wish to see, in spite of a nose that was almost a pug nose, and a mouth that was a little large. I think, however, that she was perhaps prettier at seventeen, when she would run up and down Conduit Street on messages for her father,--who was not as yet aware that she had ceased to be a child,--than she became afterwards at Hendon, when she was twenty. In those early days her glossy black hair hung down her face in curls. Now, she had a thing on the back of her head, and her hair was manoeuvred after the usual fas.h.i.+on. But her laughing dark eyes were full of good-humour, and looked as though they could be filled also with feeling. Her complexion was perfect,--perfect at twenty, though from its nature it would be apt to be fixed, and perhaps rough and coa.r.s.e at thirty. But at twenty it was perfect. It was as is the colour of a half-blown rose, in which the variations from white to pink, and almost to red, are so gradual and soft as to have no limits. And then with her there was a charm beyond that of the rose, for the hues would ever be changing. As she spoke or laughed, or became serious or sat thoughtless, or pored over her novel, the tint of her cheek and neck would change as this or that emotion, be it ever so slight, played upon the current of her blood. She was tall, and well made,--perhaps almost robust. She was good-humoured, somewhat given to frank coquetry, and certainly fond of young men. She had sense enough not to despise her father, and was good enough to endeavour to make life bearable to her mother. She was clever, too, in her way, and could say sprightly things. She read novels, and loved a love story. She meant herself to have a grand pa.s.sion some day, but did not quite sympathise with her father's views about gentlemen. Not that these views were discussed between them, but each was gradually learning the mind of the other. It was very pleasant to Polly Neefit to waltz with the good-looking gasfitter;--and indeed to waltz with any man was a pleasure to Polly, for dancing was her Paradise upon earth. And she liked talking to Ontario Moggs, who was a clever man and had a great deal to say about many things. She believed that Ontario Moggs was dying for her love, but she had by no means made up her mind that Ontario was to be the hero of the great pa.s.sion. The great pa.s.sion was quite a necessity for her. She must have her romance. But Polly was aware that a great pa.s.sion ought to be made to lead to a snug house, half a dozen children, and a proper, church-going, roast-mutton, duty-doing manner of life. Now Ontario Moggs had very wild ideas. As for the gasfitter he danced well and was good-looking, but he had very little to say for himself. When Polly saw Ralph Newton,--especially when he sat out on the lawn with them and smoked cigars on his second coming,--she thought him very nice. She had no idea of being patronised by any one, and she was afraid of persons whom she called "stuck-up" ladies and gentlemen. But Mr. Newton had not patronised her, and she had acknowledged that he was--very nice. Such as she was, she was the idol of her father's heart and the apple of his eye. If she had asked him to give up measuring, he might have yielded. But then his Polly was too wise for that.

We must say a word more of Mrs. Neefit, and then we shall hope that our readers will know the family. She had been the daughter of a breeches-maker, to whom Neefit had originally been apprenticed,--and therefore regarded herself as the maker of the family. But in truth the business, such as it was now in its glory, had been constructed by her husband, and her own fortune had been very small. She was a stout, round-faced, healthy, meaningless woman, in whom ill-humour would not have developed itself unless idleness,--that root of all evil,--had fallen in her way. As it was, in the present condition of their lives, she did inflict much discomfort on poor Mr. Neefit. Had he been ill, she would have nursed him with all her care. Had he died, she would have mourned for him as the best of husbands. Had he been three parts ruined in trade, she would have gone back to Conduit Street and made beef-steak puddings almost without a murmur. She was very anxious for his Sunday dinner,--and would have considered it to be a sin to be without a bit of something nice for his supper. She took care that he always wore flannel, and would never let him stay away from church,--lest worse should befall him. But she couldn't let him be quiet. What else was there left for her to do but to nag him?

Polly, who was with her during the long hours of the day, would not be nagged. "Now, mamma!" she'd say with a tone of authority that almost overcame mamma. And if mamma was very cross, Polly would escape. But during the long hours of the night the breeches-maker could not escape;--and in minor matters the authority lay with her.

It was only when great matters were touched that Mr. Neefit would rise in his wrath and desire his wife "to be blowed."

No doubt Mrs. Neefit was an unhappy woman,--more unfortunate as a woman than was her husband as a man. The villa at Hendon had been heavy upon him, but it had been doubly heavy upon her. He could employ himself. The legs of his customers, to him, were a blessed resource. But she had no resource. The indefinite idea which she had formed of what life would be in a pretty villa residence had been proved to be utterly fallacious,--though she had never acknowledged the fallacy either to husband or daughter. That one-horse carriage in which she was dragged about, was almost as odious to her as her own drawing-room. That had become so horrible that it was rarely used;--but even the dining-room was very bad. What would she do there, poor woman? What was there left for her to do at all in this world,--except to nag at her husband?

Nevertheless all who knew anything about the Neefits said that they were very respectable people, and had done very well in the world.

CHAPTER VI.

MRS. NEEFIT'S LITTLE DINNER.

On the Sunday morning following that remarkable Sat.u.r.day on which Miss Bonner had been taken to her new home and Ralph Newton had ordered three pair of breeches, Mr. Neefit made a very ambitious proposition. "My dear, I think I'll ask that young man to come and have a bit of dinner here next Sunday." This was said after breakfast, as Mr. Neefit was being made smart in his church-going coat and his Sunday hat, which were kept together in Mrs. Neefit's big press.

"Which young man?" Now Mrs. Neefit when she asked the question knew very well that Mr. Newton was the young man to whom hospitality was to be offered. Ontario Moggs was her favourite; but Mr. Neefit would not have dreamed of asking Ontario Moggs to dinner.

"Mr. Newton, my dear," said Mr. Neefit, with his head stuck sharply up, while his wife tied a bow in his Sunday neckhandkerchief.

"Why should us ask him? He won't think nothing of his vittels when he gets 'em. He'd only turn up his nose; and as for Polly, what's the use of making her more saucy than she is? I don't want such as him here, Neefit;--that I don't. Stuck-up young men like him had better stay away from Alexandrina Cottage,"--that was the name of the happy home at Hendon. "I'm sure our Polly won't be the better for having the likes of him here."

Nothing more was said on the subject till after the return of the family from church; but, during the sermon Mr. Neefit had had an opportunity of thinking the subject over, and had resolved that this was a matter in which it behoved him to be master. How was this marriage to be brought about if the young people were not allowed to see each other? Of course he might fail. He knew that. Very probably Mr. Newton might not accept the invitation,--might never show himself again at Alexandrina Cottage; but unless an effort was made there could not be success. "I don't see why he shouldn't eat a bit of dinner here," said Mr. Neefit, as soon as his pipe was lighted after their early dinner. "It ain't anything out of the way, as I know of."

"You're thinking of Polly, Neefit?"

"Why shouldn't I be thinking of her? There ain't no more of 'em.

What's the use of working for her, if one don't think of her?"

"It won't do no good, Neefit. If we had things here as we might have 'em, indeed--!"

"What's amiss?"

"With nothing to drink out of, only common wine-gla.s.ses; and it's my belief Jemima 'd never cook a dinner as he'd look at. I know what they are,--them sort of young men. They're worse than a dozen ladies when you come to vittels."

Nevertheless Mr. Neefit resolved upon having his own way, and it was settled that Ralph Newton should be asked to come and eat a bit of dinner on next Sunday. Then there arose a difficulty as to the mode of asking him. Neefit himself felt that it would be altogether out of his line to indite an invitation. In days gone by, before he kept a clerk for the purpose, he had written very many letters to gentlemen, using various strains of pressure as he called their attention to the little outstanding accounts which stood on his books and were thorns in his flesh. But of the writing of such letters as this now intended to be written he had no experience. As for Mrs. Neefit, her skill in this respect was less even than that of her husband. She could write, no doubt. On very rare occasions she would make some expression of her thoughts with pen and ink to Polly, when she and Polly were apart. But no one else ever saw how slight was her proficiency in this direction. But Polly was always writing. Polly's pothooks, as her father called them, were pictures in her father's eyes. She could dash off straight lines of writing,--line after line,--with sharp-pointed angles and long-tailed letters, in a manner which made her father proud of the money which he had spent on her education.

So Polly was told to write the letter, and after many expressions of surprise, Polly wrote the letter that evening. "Mr. and Mrs. Neefit's compliments to Mr. Newton, and hope he will do them the honour to dine with them on Sunday next at five o'clock. Alexandrina Cottage, Sunday."

"Say five sharp," said the breeches-maker.

"No, father, I won't,--say anything about sharp."

"Why not, Polly?"

"It wouldn't look pretty. I don't suppose he'll come, and I'm sure I don't know why you should ask him. Dear me, I'm certain he'll know that I wrote it. What will he think?"

"He'll think it comes from as pretty a young woman as he ever clapped his eyes on," said Mr. Neefit, who was not at all reticent in the matter of compliments to his daughter.

"Laws, Neefit, how you do spoil the girl!" said his wife.

"He has about finished spoiling me now, mamma; so it don't much signify. You always did spoil me;--didn't you, father?" Then Polly kissed Mr. Neefit's bald head; and Mr. Neefit, as he sat in the centre of his lawn, with his girdle loose around him, a gla.s.s of gin and water by his side, and a pipe in his mouth, felt that in truth there was something left in the world worth living for. But a thought came across his mind,--"If that chap comes I shan't be as comfortable next Sunday." And then there was another thought,--"If he takes my Polly away from me, I don't know as I shall ever be comfortable again." But still he did not hesitate or repent. Of course his Polly must have a husband.

Then a dreadful proposition was made by Mrs. Neefit. "Why not have Moggs too?"

"Oh, mamma!"

"Are you going to turn your nose up at Ontario Moggs, Miss Pride?"

"I don't turn my nose up at him. I'm very fond of Mr. Moggs. I think he's the best fun going. But I am sure that if Mr. Newton does come, he'd rather not have Mr. Moggs here too."

"It wouldn't do at all," said Mr. Neefit. "Ontario is all very well, but Mr. Newton and he wouldn't suit."

Mrs. Neefit was snubbed, and went to sleep on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon,--intending, no doubt, to let Mr. Neefit have the benefit of her feelings as soon as they two should be alone together.

Our friend Ralph received the note, and accepted the invitation. He told himself that it was a lark. As the reader knows, he had already decided that he would not sell himself even to so pretty a girl as Polly Neefit for any amount of money; but not the less might it be agreeable to him to pa.s.s a Sunday afternoon in her company.

Ralph Newton at this time occupied very comfortable bachelor's rooms in a small street close to St. James's Palace. He had now held these for the last two years, and had contrived to make his friends about town know that here was his home. He had declined to go into the army himself when he was quite young,--or rather had agreed not to go into the army, on condition that he should not be pressed as to any other profession. He lived, however, very much with military friends, many of whom found it convenient occasionally to breakfast with him, or to smoke a pipe in his chambers. He never did any work, and lived a useless, b.u.t.terfly life,--only with this difference from other b.u.t.terflies, that he was expected to pay for his wings.

In that matter of payment was the great difficulty of Ralph Newton's life. He had been started at nineteen with an allowance of 250 per annum. When he was twenty-one he inherited a fortune from his father of more than double that amount; and as he was the undoubted heir to a property of 7,000 a year, it may be said of him that he was born with a golden spoon. But he had got into debt before he was twenty, and had never got out of it. The quarrel with his uncle was an old affair, arranged for him by his father before he knew how to quarrel on his own score, and therefore we need say no more about that at present. But his uncle would not pay a s.h.i.+lling for him, and would have quarrelled also with his other nephew, the clergyman, had he known that the younger brother a.s.sisted the elder. But up to the moment of which we are writing, the iron of debt had not as yet absolutely entered into the soul of this young man. He had, in his need, just borrowed 100 from his breeches-maker; and this perhaps was not the first time that he had gone to a tradesman for a.s.sistance. But hitherto money had been forthcoming, creditors had been indulgent, and at this moment he possessed four horses which were eating their heads off at the Moonbeam, at Barnfield.

At five o'clock, with sufficient sharpness, Ralph Newton got out of a Hansom cab at the door of Alexandrina Cottage. "He's c.u.m in a 'Ansom," said Mrs. Neefit, looking over the blind of the drawing-room window. "That's three-and-six," said Neefit, with a sigh. "You didn't think he was going to walk, father?" said Polly. "There's the Underground within two miles, if the Midland didn't suit," said Mr.

Neefit. "Nonsense, father. Of course he'd come in a cab!" said Polly.

Mrs. Neefit was not able to add the stinging remark with which her tongue was laden, as Ralph Newton was already in the house. She smoothed her ap.r.o.n, crossed her hands, and uttered a deep sigh. There could be no more going down into the kitchen now to see whether the salmon was boiled, or to provide for the proper dis.h.i.+ng of the lamb. "This is quite condescending of you, Mr. Newton," said the breeches-maker, hardly daring to shake hands with his guest,--though in his shop he was always free enough with his customers in this matter. Polly looked as though she thought there was no condescension whatever, held up her head, and laughed and joked, and asked some questions about the German at the shop, whom she declared she was never allowed to see now, and whose voice she swore she had never heard. "Is he dumb, Mr. Newton? Father never will tell me anything about him. You must know."

"Laws, Polly, what does it matter?" said Mrs. Neefit. And they were the only words she had spoken. Polly, from the first, had resolved that she would own to the shop. If Mr. Newton came to see her, he should come to see a girl who was not ashamed to speak of herself as the daughter of a breeches-maker.

"He don't talk much, does he, Mr. Newton?" said Mr. Neefit, laughing merrily.