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

propose his health, and then there would be a clatter of voices, ladies and gentlemen, men and girls; and when that was done he would find himself standing on his legs, with the room about him, going round and round and round.

Having had a previous hint of this, he had sought advice from his cousin, the Honourable George, whom he regarded as a dab at speaking; at least, so he had heard the Honourable George say of himself.

“What the deuce is a fellow to say, George, when he stands up after the clatter is done?”

“Oh, it’s the easiest thing in life,” said the cousin. “Only remember this: you mustn’t get astray; that is what they call presence of mind, you know. I’ll tell you what I do, and I’m often called up, you know; at our agriculturals I always propose the farmers’ daughters: well, what I do is this⁠—I keep my eye steadfastly fixed on one of the bottles, and never move it.”

“On one of the bottles!” said Frank; “wouldn’t it be better if I made a mark of some old covey’s head? I don’t like looking at the table.”

“The old covey’d move, and then you’d be done; besides there isn’t the least use in the world in looking up. I’ve heard people say, who go to those sort of dinners every day of their lives, that whenever anything witty is said; the fellow who says it is sure to be looking at the mahogany.”

“Oh, you know I shan’t say anything witty; I’ll be quite the other way.”

“But there’s no reason you shouldn’t learn the manner. That’s the way I succeeded. Fix your eye on one of the bottles; put your thumbs in your waistcoat pockets; stick out your elbows, bend your knees a little, and then go ahead.”

“Oh, ah! go ahead; that’s all very well; but you can’t go ahead if you haven’t got any steam.”

“A very little does it. There can be nothing so easy as your speech. When one has to say something new every year about the farmers’ daughters, why one has to use one’s brains a bit. Let’s see: how will you begin? Of course, you’ll say that you are not accustomed to this sort of thing; that the honour conferred upon you is too much for your feelings; that the bright array of beauty and talent around you quite overpowers your tongue, and all that sort of thing. Then declare you’re a Gresham to the backbone.”

“Oh, they know that.”

“Well, tell them again. Then of course you must say something about us; or you’ll have the countess as black as old Nick.”

“Abut my aunt, George? What on earth can I say about her when she’s there herself before me?”

“Before you! of course; that’s just the reason. Oh, say any lie you can think of; you must say something about us. You know we’ve come down from London on purpose.”

Frank, in spite of the benefit he was receiving from his cousin’s erudition, could not help wishing in his heart that they had all remained in London; but this he kept to himself. He thanked his cousin for his hints, and though he did not feel that the trouble of his mind was completely cured, he began to hope that he might go through the ordeal without disgracing himself.

Nevertheless, he felt rather sick at heart when Mr. Baker got up to propose the toast as soon as the servants were gone. The servants, that is, were gone officially; but they were there in a body, men and women, nurses, cooks, and ladies’ maids, coachmen, grooms, and footmen, standing in two doorways to hear what Master Frank would say. The old housekeeper headed the maids at one door, standing boldly inside the room; and the butler controlled the men at the other, marshalling them back with a drawn corkscrew.

Mr. Baker did not say much; but what he did say, he said well. They had all seen Frank Gresham grow up from a child; and were now required to welcome as a man amongst them one who was well qualified to carry on the honour of that loved and respected family. His young friend, Frank, was every inch a Gresham. Mr. Baker omitted to make mention of the infusion of de Courcy blood, and the countess, therefore, drew herself up on her chair and looked as though she were extremely bored. He then alluded tenderly to his own long friendship with the present squire, Francis Newbold Gresham the elder; and sat down, begging them to drink health, prosperity, long life, and an excellent wife to their dear young friend, Francis Newbold Gresham the younger.

There was a great jingling of glasses, of course; made the merrier and the louder by the fact that the ladies were still there as well as the gentlemen. Ladies don’t drink toasts frequently; and, therefore, the occasion coming rarely was the more enjoyed. “God bless you, Frank!” “Your good health, Frank!” “And especially a good wife, Frank!” “Two or three of them, Frank!” “Good health and prosperity to you, Mr. Gresham!” “More power to you, Frank, my boy!” “May God bless you and preserve you, my dear boy!” and then a merry, sweet, eager voice from the far end of the table, “Frank! Frank! Do look at me, pray do Frank; I am drinking your health in real wine; ain’t I, papa?” Such were the addresses which greeted Mr. Francis Newbold Gresham the younger as he essayed to rise up on his feet for the first time since he had come to man’s estate.

When the clatter was at an end, and he was fairly on his legs, he cast a glance before him on the table, to look for a decanter. He had not much liked his cousin’s theory of sticking to the bottle; nevertheless, in the difficulty of the moment, it was well to have any system to go by. But, as misfortune would have it, though the table was covered with bottles, his eye could not catch one.