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

Huffle Scuffle at his office. Poor Johnny!” Then he finished the letter:⁠—

I told him that I must have leave of absence at Easter, and he at first declared that it was impossible. But I shall carry my point about that. I would not stay away to be made private secretary to the Prime Minister; and yet I almost feel that I might as well stay away for any good that I shall do.

Give my kind regards to Lady Julia, and tell her how very much obliged to her I am. I cannot express the gratitude which I owe to you. But pray believe me, my dear Lord De Guest, always very faithfully yours,

John Eames

It was late before Eames had finished his letter. He had been making himself ready for his exodus from the big room, and preparing his desk and papers for his successor. About half-past five Cradell came up to him, and suggested that they should walk home together.

“What! you here still?” said Eames. “I thought you always went at four.” Cradell had remained, hanging about the office, in order that he might walk home with the new private secretary. But Eames did not desire this. He had much of which he desired to think alone, and would fain have been allowed to walk by himself.

“Yes; I had things to do. I say, Johnny, I congratulate you most heartily; I do, indeed.”

“Thank you, old fellow!”

“It is such a grand thing, you know. A hundred a year and all at once! And then such a snug room to yourself⁠—and that fellow, Kissing, never can come near you. He has been making himself such a beast all day. But, Johnny, I always knew you’d come to something more than common. I always said so.”

“There’s nothing uncommon about this; except that Fitz says that old Huffle Scuffle makes himself uncommon nasty.”

“Never mind what Fitz says. It’s all jealousy. You’ll have it all your own way, if you look sharp. I think you always do have it all your own way. Are you nearly ready?”

“Well⁠—not quite. Don’t wait for me, Caudle.”

“Oh, I’ll wait. I don’t mind waiting. They’ll keep dinner for us if we both stay. Besides, what matters? I’d do more than that for you.”

“I have some idea of working on till eight, and having a chop sent in,” said Johnny. “Besides⁠—I’ve got somewhere to call, by myself.”

Then Cradell almost cried. He remained silent for two or three minutes, striving to master his emotion; and at last, when he did speak, had hardly succeeded in doing so. “Oh, Johnny,” he said, “I know what that means. You are going to throw me over because you are getting up in the world. I have always stuck to you, through everything; haven’t I?”

“Don’t make yourself a fool, Caudle.”

“Well; so I have. And if they had made me private secretary, I should have been just the same to you as ever. You’d have found no change in me.”

“What a goose you are. Do you say I’m changed, because I want to dine in the city?”

“It’s all because you don’t want to walk home with me, as we used to do. I’m not such a goose but what I can see. But, Johnny⁠—I suppose I mustn’t call you Johnny, now.”

“Don’t be such a⁠—confounded⁠—” Then Eames got up, and walked about the room. “Come along,” said he, “I don’t care about staying, and don’t mind where I dine.” And he bustled away with his hat and gloves, hardly giving Cradell time to catch him before he got out into the streets. “I tell you what it is, Caudle,” said he, “all that kind of thing is disgusting.”

“But how would you feel,” whimpered Cradell, who had never succeeded in putting himself quite on a par with his friend, even in his own estimation, since that glorious victory at the railway station. If he could only have thrashed Lupex as Johnny had thrashed Crosbie; then indeed they might have been equal⁠—a pair of heroes. But he had not done so. He had never told himself that he was a coward, but he considered that circumstances had been specially unkind to him. “But how would you feel,” he whimpered, “if the friend whom you liked better than anybody else in the world, turned his back upon you?”

“I haven’t turned my back upon you; except that I can’t get you to walk fast enough. Come along, old fellow, and don’t talk confounded nonsense. I hate all that kind of thing. You never ought to suppose that a man will give himself airs, but wait till he does. I don’t believe I shall remain with old Scuffles above a month or two. From all that I can hear that’s as much as anyone can bear.”

Then Cradell by degrees became happy and cordial, and during the whole walk flattered Eames with all the flattery of which he was master. And Johnny, though he did profess himself to be averse to “all that kind of thing,” was nevertheless open to flattery. When Cradell told him that though FitzHoward could not manage the Tartar knight, he might probably do so; he was inclined to believe what Cradell said. “And as to getting him his shoes,” said Cradell, “I don’t suppose he’d ever think of asking you to do such a thing, unless he was in a very great hurry, or something of that kind.”

“Look here, Johnny,” said Cradell, as they got into one of the streets bordering on Burton Crescent, “you know the last thing in the world I should like to do would be to offend you.”

“All right, Caudle,” said Eames, going on, whereas his companion had shown a tendency towards stopping.

“Look here, now; if I have vexed you about Amelia Roper, I’ll make you a promise never to speak to her again.”

“D⁠⸺ Amelia Roper,” said Eames, suddenly stopping himself and stopping Cradell as well. The exclamation was made in a deep angry voice which attracted the notice of one or