The Small House at Allington, Anthony Trollope [best ebook reader for chromebook .txt] 📗

“Out of the question, Eames; quite out of the question.”

“It’s almost life and death to me.”

“Almost life and death. Why, what are you going to do?” With all his grandeur and national importance, Sir Raffle would be very curious as to little people.

“Well, I can’t exactly tell you, and I’m not quite sure myself.”

“Then don’t talk nonsense. It’s impossible that I should spare my private secretary just at that time of the year. I couldn’t do it. The service won’t admit of it. You’re not entitled to leave at that season. Private secretaries always take their leave in the autumn.”

“I should like to be absent in the autumn too, but⁠—”

“It’s out of the question, Mr. Eames.”

Then John Eames reflected that it behoved him in such an emergency to fire off his big gun. He had a great dislike to firing this big gun, but, as he said to himself, there are occasions which make a big gun very necessary. “I got a letter from Lord De Guest this morning, pressing me very much to go to him at Easter. It’s about business,” added Johnny. “If there was any difficulty, he said, he should write to you.”

“Write to me,” said Sir Raffle, who did not like to be approached too familiarly in his office, even by an earl.

“Of course I shouldn’t tell him to do that. But, Sir Raffle, if I remained out there, in the office,” and Johnny pointed towards the big room with his head, “I could choose April for my month. And as the matter is so important to me, and to the earl⁠—”

“What can it be?” said Sir Raffle.

“It’s quite private,” said John Eames.

Hereupon Sir Raffle became very petulant, feeling that a bargain was being made with him. This young man would only consent to become his private secretary upon certain terms! “Well, go in to FitzHoward now. I can’t lose all my day in this way.”

“But I shall be able to get away at Easter?”

“I don’t know. We shall see about it. But don’t stand talking there now.” Then John Eames went into FitzHoward’s room, and received that gentleman’s congratulations on his appointment. “I hope you like being rung for, like a servant, every minute, for he’s always ringing that bell. And he’ll roar at you till you’re deaf. You must give up all dinner engagements, for though there is not much to do, he’ll never let you go. I don’t think anybody ever asks him out to dinner, for he likes being here till seven. And you’ll have to write all manner of lies about big people. And, sometimes, when he has sent Rafferty out about his private business, he’ll ask you to bring him his shoes.” Now Rafferty was the First Commissioner’s messenger.

It must be remembered, however, that this little account was given by an outgoing and discomfited private secretary. “A man is not asked to bring another man his shoes,” said Eames to himself, “until he shows himself fit for that sort of business.” Then he made within his own breast a little resolution about Sir Raffle’s shoes.

Income-tax Office, April 8, 18⁠—.

My dear Lord De Guest,

I hardly know how to answer your letter, it is so very kind⁠—more than kind. And about not writing before⁠—I must explain that I have not liked to trouble you with letters. I should have seemed to be encroaching if I had written much. Indeed it didn’t come from not thinking about you. And first of all, about the money⁠—as to your offer, I mean. I really feel that I do not know what I ought to say to you about it, without appearing to be a simpleton. The truth is, I don’t know what I ought to do, and can only trust to you not to put me wrong. I have an idea that a man ought not to accept a present of money, unless from his father, or somebody like that. And the sum you mention is so very large that it makes me wish you had not named it. If you choose to be so generous, would it not be better that you should leave it me in your will?

“So that he might always want me to be dying,” said Lord De Guest, as he read the letter out loud to his sister.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t want that,” said Lady Julia. “But you may live for twenty-five years, you know.”

“Say fifty,” said the earl. And then he continued the reading of his letter.

But all that depends so much upon another person, that it is hardly worth while talking about it. Of course I am very much obliged to Mr. Dale⁠—very much indeed⁠—and I think that he is behaving very handsomely to his niece. But whether it will do me any good, that is quite another thing. However, I shall certainly accept your kind invitation for Easter, and find out whether I have a chance or not. I must tell you that Sir Raffle Buffle has made me his private secretary, by which I get a hundred a year. He says he was a great crony of yours many years ago, and seems to like talking about you very much. You will understand what all that means. He has sent you ever so many messages, but I don’t suppose you will care to get them. I am to go to him tomorrow, and from all I hear I shall have a hard time of it.

“By George, he will,” said the earl. “Poor fellow!”

“But I thought a private secretary never had anything to do,” said Lady Julia.

“I shouldn’t like to be private secretary to Sir Raffle, myself. But he’s young, and a hundred a year is a great thing. How we all of us used to hate that man. His voice sounded like a bell with a crack in it. We always used to be asking for someone to muffle the Buffle. They call him