The Vicar's People Part 32

"Oh! I did not go high enough then," said Uncle Paul, with a sneer.

"Suppose we must make it five hundred a year. Will that enlist your lords.h.i.+p's services?"

"I should spend a hundred pounds first," said Geoffrey, quietly; "that would be ten pounds apiece for ten shareholders, in carefully examining the mine and testing the lodes, and then, if I thought it really would be a good venture, I'd give my services for fifteen per cent on the profits, and take not a penny besides."

"Wouldn't you really?" said the old man, with an aggravating sneer, as he threw himself back in his chair. "Ha-ha-ha! There, I'm better now.

Look here, Master Geoffrey Trethick, I mean some day to buy Wheal Carnac for a building plot, and to turn the engine-house into a cottage, where I can live in peace, and not be aggravated to death by seeing that jade of a niece of mine running after every good-looking, or ill-looking, fellow she sees. I've got a bit of money, but before I'd put a penny in a mine, I'd cash the lot, and go and sit on a rock and make ducks-and-drakes with it at high water. As for you, my lad, I don't like you, for you're the most confoundedly impudent fellow I ever met; but I'll give you this bit of advice: if you can find any fools to venture their money in an adventure, fix your salary and have it paid.

No percentage. There, now I'll give you one of my best cigars."

He got up and unlocked a desk, out of whose drawer he took a couple, and relocked the holder, when, just as he was in the act of offering one to Geoffrey, the door opened, and Madge came in, looking flushed and pleased.

"What the dev--"

"It's a letter for Mr Trethick," cried the girl, hastily, "from Mr Penwynn, and it says `important.'"

"Then you should have sent it in," cried the old man, shaking his fist at her.

"Penwynn--to see me this morning--important business," read Geoffrey, flus.h.i.+ng with pleasure. "Then," he said aloud, "the tide has turned."

"Oh, Mr Trethick! I'm so glad," cried Madge; but her uncle made as if to throw something at her, and she ran out of the room, while Geoffrey hastily re-read the letter.

"Do you see that?" cried the old gentleman. "You've been talking nonsense to her, and you promised not."

"I? no! Hang the girl!" cried Geoffrey, joyously. "Uncle Paul, old man, the tree's going to bear fruit at last?"

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

THE VICAR IS SHOCKED.

Geoffrey read it that he was to go up to. An Morlock, where he was informed that Mr Penwynn was engaged, but would be at liberty in a few minutes, and he was shown into the drawing-room, where he found the young vicar and Rhoda, who rose eagerly, but the next moment seemed rather constrained.

"The vicar has been discoursing of spiritual love," said Geoffrey to himself, as he declined to notice, either Rhoda's constraint or the young clergyman's stiffness, but chatted away in his free-and-easy manner.

"By the way, Miss Penwynn," he said, after a few moments' conversation, during which he felt that he was in the way, "I saw you were at church last Sunday."

"I was very glad to see you there, Mr Trethick," interposed the vicar, hastily.

"Thanks," said Geoffrey, bluffly. "I shall come--sometimes. Don't you set me down as a heathen. I went to the chapel in the evening."

"Indeed!" said the vicar, gazing at him in a horrified way, his looks plainly saying--"You a University man, and go to that chapel!"

"Yes," said Geoffrey, "and heard a capital sermon."

"Indeed!" said the vicar again, with a slightly supercilious smile.

"Capital," said Geoffrey, "by a miner--a rough fellow--one Pengelly."

"Yes, yes. I know Amos Pengelly," said Rhoda, hastily.

"Then you know a capital preacher, Miss Penwynn," cried Geoffrey, nodding to her. "He's as rough and uncultivated as can be--rather illogical sometimes; but the fellow's earnestness, and the way he swayed the congregation, were something startling."

"He is one of the local preachers," said Rhoda, "and, I believe, a very good man."

As she spoke Rhoda involuntarily glanced at her visitor's feet.

"With a most awful temper," said Geoffrey, laughing. "He got quite angry with the people's sins while he was preaching."

"I must confess," said the vicar, flus.h.i.+ng, and speaking rather warmly--"hem! I must confess, Mr Trethick, that the way in which the people down here usurp the priestly office is very shocking, and--and really gives me a great deal of pain."

"Yes," said Geoffrey, coolly, "I dare say it would. But I do not see why it should. Here, for instance, is a truly earnest man who finds his way right to the hearts of the people, and he does what you do--prays that they may be led into better ways. His language is rough, I grant, but they understand its homeliness; and if they wouldn't be so fond of groaning and shouting out `Glory' and `Hallelujah' at incongruous times I should not care. One thing is very evident: he rouses people out of what your clerical gentlemen would call their sinful lethargy."

"I must say," said the vicar, "that this is all very terrible to me."

"Well, I suppose so," continued Geoffrey. "You see, Mr Lee, you view it all from a University and High Church point of view."

"And pray, sir, how would you view it?" said the vicar, with his usual nervousness dropped, and speaking like a doughty champion of the church militant, while Rhoda's lips parted, and a slight flush came into her cheeks, as she grew quite excited over the verbal battle.

"How would I view it?" said Geoffrey. "Why, from a common-sense point of view--matter-of-fact--human nature."

"Mr Trethick," cried the vicar, "you--but I beg pardon, Miss Penwynn; this is not a discussion to carry on before you. Mr Trethick, we may talk of this again."

"Oh, go on!" cried Rhoda, naively, with her excitement flas.h.i.+ng out of her eyes. "I like it."

"Then I will speak," said the vicar, angrily. "Mr Trethick, you pain me by your remark, and I feel it my duty to say that your words savour of most heterodox opinions."

"Yes," said Geoffrey, "I suppose they do. I am decidedly unorthodox.

I've studied nature too much to hold to many of our old college notions."

"Perhaps you would advocate free thinking?" said the vicar, with a slight sneer; and Rhoda flushed a little more, as she eagerly looked at Geoffrey for his reply.

"Free thinking? Not I. 'Pon my word, Mr Lee, I believe I'm too religious for that."

"Religious?"

"Yes! Why not? Cannot a man go to chapel, or, in other words, leave off going to church sometimes, without being taxed with irreligion?

Look here, Mr Lee, you and I are about contemporaries, and do you know I think if we want to get on here in our different lines of life, the first thing we have to do is to learn of the people."

"My duty here, sir," said the vicar, coldly, and growing very pale and upright, "is to teach."

"So is mine," said Geoffrey, laughing; "yours spiritual, mine carnal; but, my dear fellow, the first thing we have to do, it seems to me, is to learn the right way to the people's hearts."

Rhoda glanced from one to the other, and her pulses began to beat, as she clasped her hands on her lap and excitedly listened for more.

"Perhaps so," said the vicar, coldly, and he glanced at the door, as if to bring the interview to an end, and yet not liking to leave Geoffrey there the master of the situation.

"For instance, take your sermon last Sunday."

"Mr Trethick!" cried the vicar, half rising.