Doctor Thorne, Anthony Trollope [an ebook reader .TXT] 📗

“Yes; quite so. Do you know, Oriel, I never was so sleepy in my life. What with all that fuss of Gazebee’s, and one thing and another, I could not get to bed till one o’clock; and then I couldn’t sleep. I’ll take a snooze now, if you won’t think it uncivil.” And then, putting his feet upon the opposite seat, he settled himself comfortably to his rest. And so Mr. Oriel’s last attempt for lecturing Frank in the railway-carriage faded away and was annihilated.

By twelve o’clock Frank was with Messrs Slow and Bideawhile. Mr. Bideawhile was engaged at the moment, but he found the managing Chancery clerk to be a very chatty gentleman. Judging from what he saw, he would have said that the work to be done at Messrs Slow and Bideawhile’s was not very heavy.

“A singular man that Sir Louis,” said the Chancery clerk.

“Yes; very singular,” said Frank.

“Excellent security, excellent; no better; and yet he will foreclose; but you see he has no power himself. But the question is, can the trustee refuse? Then, again, trustees are so circumscribed nowadays that they are afraid to do anything. There has been so much said lately, Mr. Gresham, that a man doesn’t know where he is, or what he is doing. Nobody trusts anybody. There have been such terrible things that we can’t wonder at it. Only think of the case of those Hills! How can anyone expect that anyone else will ever trust a lawyer again after that? But that’s Mr. Bideawhile’s bell. How can anyone expect it? He will see you now, I dare say, Mr. Gresham.”

So it turned out, and Frank was ushered into the presence of Mr. Bideawhile. He had got his lesson by heart, and was going to rush into the middle of his subject; such a course, however, was not in accordance with Mr. Bideawhile’s usual practice. Mr. Bideawhile got up from his large wooden-seated Windsor chair, and, with a soft smile, in which, however, was mingled some slight dash of the attorney’s acuteness, put out his hand to his young client; not, indeed, as though he were going to shake hands with him, but as though the hand were some ripe fruit all but falling, which his visitor might take and pluck if he thought proper. Frank took hold of the hand, which returned him no pressure, and then let it go again, not making any attempt to gather the fruit.

“I have come up to town, Mr. Bideawhile, about this mortgage,” commenced Frank.

“Mortgage⁠—ah, sit down, Mr. Gresham; sit down. I hope your father is quite well?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“I have a great regard for your father. So I had for your grandfather; a very good man indeed. You, perhaps, don’t remember him, Mr. Gresham?”

“He died when I was only a year old.”

“Oh, yes; no, you of course, can’t remember him; but I do, well: he used to be very fond of some port wine I had. I think it was ’11;’ and if I don’t mistake, I have a bottle or two of it yet; but it is not worth drinking now. Port wine, you know, won’t keep beyond a certain time. That was very good wine. I don’t exactly remember what it stood me a dozen then; but such wine can’t be had now. As for the Madeira, you know there’s an end of that. Do you drink Madeira, Mr. Gresham?”

“No,” said Frank, “not very often.”

“I’m sorry for that, for it’s a fine wine; but then there’s none of it left, you know. I have a few dozen, I’m told they’re growing pumpkins where the vineyards were. I wonder what they do with all the pumpkins they grow in Switzerland! You’ve been in Switzerland, Mr. Gresham?”

Frank said he had been in Switzerland.

“It’s a beautiful country; my girls made me go there last year. They said it would do me good; but then you know, they wanted to see it themselves; ha! ha! ha! However, I believe I shall go again this autumn. That is to Aix, or some of those places; just for three weeks. I can’t spare any more time, Mr. Gresham. Do you like that dining at the tables d’hôte?”

“Pretty well, sometimes.”

“One would get tired of it⁠—eh! But they gave us capital dinners at Zurich. I don’t think much of their soup. But they had fish, and about seven kinds of meats and poultry, and three or four puddings, and things of that sort. Upon my word, I thought we did very well, and so did my girls, too. You see a great many ladies travelling now.”

“Yes,” said Frank; “a great many.”

“Upon my word, I think they are right; that is, if they can afford time. I can’t afford time. I’m here every day till five, Mr. Gresham; then I go out and dine in Fleet Street, and then back to work till nine.”

“Dear me! that’s very hard.”

“Well, yes it is hard work. My boys don’t like it; but I manage it somehow. I get down to my little place in the country on Saturday. I shall be most happy to see you there next Saturday.”

Frank, thinking it would be outrageous on his part to take up much of the time of the gentleman who was constrained to work so unreasonably hard, began again to talk about his mortgages, and, in so doing, had to mention the name of Mr. Yates Umbleby.

“Ah, poor Umbleby!” said Mr. Bideawhile; “what is he doing now? I am quite sure your father was right, or he wouldn’t have done it; but I used to think that Umbleby was a decent sort of man enough. Not so grand, you know, as your Gazebees and Gumptions⁠—eh, Mr. Gresham? They do say young Gazebee is thinking of getting into Parliament. Let me see: Umbleby married⁠—who was it he married? That was the way your father got hold of him; not your father, but your grandfather. I used to know all about it. Well, I was sorry for Umbleby. He has got something, I suppose⁠—eh?”

Frank said that he