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

It was the first of July, and of course there was no fire in the grate; but, nevertheless, the doctor was standing with his back to the fireplace, with his coattails over his arms, as though he were engaged, now in summer as he so often was in winter, in talking, and roasting his hinder person at the same time.

“Twelve thousand pounds! It’s a very large sum of money.”

“I said ten,” said the squire.

“Ten thousand pounds is a very large sum of money. There is no doubt he’ll let you have it. Scatcherd will let you have it; but I know he’ll expect to have the title deeds.”

“What! for ten thousand pounds?” said the squire. “There is not a registered debt against the property but his own and Armstrong’s.”

“But his own is very large already.”

“Armstrong’s is nothing; about four-and-twenty thousand pounds.”

“Yes; but he comes first, Mr. Gresham.”

“Well, what of that? To hear you talk, one would think that there was nothing left of Greshamsbury. What’s four-and-twenty thousand pounds? Does Scatcherd know what rent-roll is?”

“Oh, yes, he knows it well enough: I wish he did not.”

“Well, then, why does he make such a bother about a few thousand pounds? The title-deeds, indeed!”

“What he means is, that he must have ample security to cover what he has already advanced before he goes on. I wish to goodness you had no further need to borrow. I did think that things were settled last year.”

“Oh if there’s any difficulty, Umbleby will get it for me.”

“Yes; and what will you have to pay for it?”

“I’d sooner pay double than be talked to in this way,” said the squire, angrily, and, as he spoke, he got up hurriedly from his chair, thrust his hands into his trousers-pockets, walked quickly to the window, and immediately walking back again, threw himself once more into his chair.

“There are some things a man cannot bear, doctor,” said he, beating the devil’s tattoo on the floor with one of his feet, “though God knows I ought to be patient now, for I am made to bear a good many things. You had better tell Scatcherd that I am obliged to him for his offer, but that I will not trouble him.”

The doctor during this little outburst had stood quite silent with his back to the fireplace and his coattails hanging over his arms; but though his voice said nothing, his face said much. He was very unhappy; he was greatly grieved to find that the squire was so soon again in want of money, and greatly grieved also to find that this want had made him so bitter and unjust. Mr. Gresham had attacked him; but as he was determined not to quarrel with Mr. Gresham, he refrained from answering.

The squire also remained silent for a few minutes; but he was not endowed with the gift of silence, and was soon, as it were, compelled to speak again.

“Poor Frank!” said he. “I could yet be easy about everything if it were not for the injury I have done him. Poor Frank!”

The doctor advanced a few paces from off the rug, and taking his hand out of his pocket, he laid it gently on the squire’s shoulder. “Frank will do very well yet,” said the he. “It is not absolutely necessary that a man should have fourteen thousand pounds a year to be happy.”

“My father left me the property entire, and I should leave it entire to my son;⁠—but you don’t understand this.”

The doctor did understand the feeling fully. The fact, on the other hand, was that, long as he had known him, the squire did not understand the doctor.

“I would you could, Mr. Gresham,” said the doctor, “so that your mind might be happier; but that cannot be, and, therefore, I say again, that Frank will do very well yet, although he will not inherit fourteen thousand pounds a year; and I would have you say the same thing to yourself.”

“Ah! you don’t understand it,” persisted the squire. “You don’t know how a man feels when he⁠—Ah, well! it’s no use my troubling you with what cannot be mended. I wonder whether Umbleby is about the place anywhere?”

The doctor was again standing with his back against the chimneypiece, and with his hands in his pockets.

“You did not see Umbleby as you came in?” again asked the squire.

“No, I did not; and if you will take my advice you will not see him now; at any rate with reference to this money.”

“I tell you I must get it from someone; you say Scatcherd won’t let me have it.”

“No, Mr. Gresham; I did not say that.”

“Well, you said what was as bad. Augusta is to be married in September, and the money must be had. I have agreed to give Moffat six thousand pounds, and he is to have the money down in hard cash.”

“Six thousand pounds,” said the doctor. “Well, I suppose that is not more than your daughter should have. But then, five times six are thirty; thirty thousand pounds will be a large sum to make up.”

The father thought to himself that his younger girls were but children, and that the trouble of arranging their marriage portions might well be postponed a while. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.

“That Moffat is a griping, hungry fellow,” said the squire. “I suppose Augusta likes him; and, as regards money, it is a good match.”

“If Miss Gresham loves him, that is everything. I am not in love with him myself; but then, I am not a young lady.”

“The de Courcys are very fond of him. Lady de Courcy says that he is a perfect gentleman, and thought very much of in London.”

“Oh! if Lady de Courcy says that, of course, it’s all right,” said the doctor, with a quiet sarcasm, that was altogether thrown away on the squire.

The squire did not like any of the de Courcys; especially, he did not like Lady de Courcy; but still he was accessible to a certain amount