Once more Farmer Fleming and Rhoda prepared for their melancholy journey
up to London. A light cart was at the gateway, near which Robert stood
with the farmer, who, in his stiff brown overcoat, that reached to his
ankles, and broad country-hat, kept his posture of dumb expectation
like a stalled ox, and nodded to Robert's remarks on the care which the
garden had been receiving latterly, the many roses clean in bud, and the
trim blue and white and red garden beds. Every word was a blow to him;
but he took it, as well as Rhoda's apparent dilatoriness, among the
things to be submitted to by a man cut away by the roots from the home
of his labour and old associations. Above his bowed head there was a
board proclaiming that Queen Anne's Farm, and all belonging thereunto,
was for sale. His prospect in the vague wilderness of the future, was
to seek for acceptance as a common labourer on some kind gentleman's
property. The phrase “kind gentleman” was adopted by his deliberate
irony of the fate which cast him out. Robert was stamping fretfully for
Rhoda to come. At times, Mrs. Sumfit showed her head from the window of
her bed-room, crying, “D'rectly!” and disappearing.
The still aspect of the house on the shining May afternoon was otherwise
undisturbed. Besides Rhoda, Master Gammon was being waited for; on whom
would devolve the driving of the cart back from the station. Robert
heaped his vexed exclamations upon this old man. The farmer restrained
his voice in Master Gammon's defence, thinking of the comparison he
could make between him and Robert: for Master Gammon had never run
away from the farm and kept absent, leaving it to take care of itself.
Gammon, slow as he might be, was faithful, and it was not he who had
made it necessary for the farm to be sold. Gammon was obstinate, but it
was not he who, after taking a lead, and making the farm dependent on
his lead, had absconded with the brains and energy of the establishment.
Such reflections passed through the farmer's mind.
Rhoda and Mrs. Sumfit came together down the trim pathway; and Robert
now had a clear charge against Master Gammon. He recommended an
immediate departure.
“The horse 'll bring himself home quite as well and as fast as Gammon
will,” he said.
“But for the shakin' and the joltin', which tells o' sovereigns and
silver,” Mrs. Sumfit was observing to Rhoda, “you might carry the
box--and who would have guessed how stout it was, and me to hit it with
a poker and not break it, I couldn't, nor get a single one through the
slit;--the sight I was, with a poker in my hand! I do declare I felt
azactly like a housebreaker;--and no soul to notice what you carries.
Where you hear the gold, my dear, go so”--Mrs. Sumfit performed a
methodical “Ahem!” and noised the sole of her shoe on the gravel “so,
and folks 'll think it's a mistake they made.”
“What's that?”--the farmer pointed at a projection under Rhoda's shawl.
“It is a present, father, for my sister,” said Rhoda.
“What is it?” the farmer questioned again.
Mrs. Sumfit fawned before him penitently--“Ah! William, she's poor,
and she do want a little to spend, or she will be so nipped and like a
frost-bitten body, she will. And, perhaps, dear, haven't money in her
sight for next day's dinner, which is--oh, such a panic for a young
wife! for it ain't her hunger, dear William--her husband, she thinks of.
And her cookery at a stand-still! Thinks she, 'he will charge it on the
kitchen;' so unreasonable's men. Yes,” she added, in answer to the rigid
dejection of his look, “I said true to you. I know I said, 'Not a penny
can I get, William,' when you asked me for loans; and how could I get
it? I can't get it now. See here, dear!”
She took the box from under Rhoda's shawl, and rattled it with a down
turn and an up turn.
“You didn't ask me, dear William, whether I had a money-box. I'd ha'
told you so at once, had ye but asked me. And had you said, 'Gi' me your
money-box,' it was yours, only for your asking. You do see, you can't
get any of it out. So, when you asked for money I was right to say, I'd
got none.”
The farmer bore with her dreary rattling of the box in demonstration of
its retentive capacities. The mere force of the show stopped him from
retorting; but when, to excuse Master Gammon for his tardiness, she
related that he also had a money-box, and was in search of it, the
farmer threw up his head with the vigour of a young man, and thundered
for Master Gammon, by name, vehemently wrathful at the combined
hypocrisy of the pair. He called twice, and his face was purple and red
as he turned toward the cart, saying,--
“We'll go without the old man.”
Mrs. Sumfit then intertwisted her fingers, and related how that she and
Master Gammon had one day, six years distant, talked on a lonely evening
over the mischances which befel poor people when they grew infirm, or
met with accident, and what “useless clays” they were; and yet they had
their feelings. It was a long and confidential talk on a summer evening;
and, at the end of it, Master Gammon walked into Wrexby, and paid
a visit to Mr. Hammond, the carpenter, who produced two strong
saving-boxes excellently manufactured by his own hand, without a lid to
them, or lock and key: so that there would be no getting at the contents
until the boxes were full, or a pressing occasion counselled the
destruction of the boxes. A constant subject of jest between Mrs. Sumfit
and Master Gammon was, as to which first of them would be overpowered
by curiosity to know the amount of their respective savings; and their
confessions of mutual weakness and futile endeavours to extract one
piece of gold from the hoard.
“And now, think it or not,” said Mrs. Sumfit, “I got that power over
him, from doctorin' him, and cookin' for him, I persuaded him to help my
poor Dahly in my blessed's need. I'd like him to do it by halves, but he
can't.”
Master Gammon appeared round a corner of the house, his box, draped by
his handkerchief, under his arm. The farmer and Robert knew, when he was
in sight, that gestures and shouts expressing extremities of the need
for haste, would fail to accelerate his steps, so they allowed him to
come on at his own equal pace, steady as Time, with the peculiar lopping
bend of knees which jerked the moveless trunk regularly upward, and
the ancient round eyes fixed contemplatively forward. There was an
affectingness in this view of the mechanical old man bearing his poor
hoard to bestow it.
Robert said out, unawares, “He mustn't be let to part with h'old
pennies.”
“No;” the farmer took him up; “nor I won't let him.”
“Yes, father!” Rhoda intercepted his address to Master Gammon. “Yes,
father!” she hardened her accent. “It is for my sister. He does a good
thing. Let him do it.”
“Mas' Gammon, what ha' ye got there?” the farmer sung out.
But Master Gammon knew that he was about his own business. He was a
difficult old man when he served the farmer; he was quite unmanageable
in his private affairs.
Without replying, he said to Mrs. Sumfit,--
“I'd gummed it.”
The side of the box showed that it had been made adhesive, for the sake
of security, to another substance.
“That's what's caused ye to be so long, Mas' Gammon?”
The veteran of the fields responded with a grin, designed to show a
lively cunning.
“Deary me, Mas' Gammon, I'd give a fortnight's work to know how much
you'm saved, now, I would. And, there! Your comfort's in your heart. And
it shall be paid to you. I do pray heaven in mercy to forgive me,” she
whimpered, “if ever knowin'ly I hasted you at a meal, or did deceive you
when you looked for the pickings of fresh-killed pig. But if you only
knew how--to cookit spoils the temper of a woman! I'd a aunt was cook
in a gentleman's fam'ly, and daily he dirtied his thirteen plates--never
more nor never less; and one day--was ever a woman punished so! her best
black silk dress she greased from the top to the bottom, and he sent
down nine clean plates, and no word vouchsafed of explanation. For
gentlefolks, they won't teach themselves how it do hang together with
cooks in a kitchen--”
“Jump up, Mas' Gammon,” cried the farmer, wrathful at having been
deceived by two members of his household, who had sworn to him, both,
that they had no money, and had disregarded his necessity. Such being
human nature!
Mrs. Sumfit confided the termination of her story to Rhoda; or suggested
rather, at what distant point it might end; and then, giving Master
Gammon's box to her custody, with directions for Dahlia to take the
boxes to a carpenter's shop--not attempting the power of pokers upon
them--and count and make a mental note of the amount of the rival
hoards, she sent Dahlia all her messages of smirking reproof, and
delighted love, and hoped that they would soon meet and know happiness.
Rhoda, as usual, had no emotion to spare. She took possession of the
second box, and thus laden, suffered Robert to lift her into the cart.
They drove across the green, past the mill and its flashing waters, and
into the road, where the waving of Mrs. Sumfit's desolate handkerchief
was latest seen.
A horseman rode by, whom Rhoda recognized, and she blushed and had a
boding shiver. Robert marked him, and the blush as well.
It was Algernon, upon a livery-stable hack. His countenance expressed a
mighty disappointment.
The farmer saw no one. The ingratitude and treachery of Robert, and of
Mrs. Sumfit and Master Gammon, kept him brooding in sombre disgust of
life. He remarked that the cart jolted a good deal.
“If you goes in a cart, wi' company o' four, you expects to be jolted,”
said Master Gammon.
“You seem to like it,” Robert observed to the latter.
“It don't disturb my in'ards,” quoth the serenest of mankind.
“Gammon,” the farmer addressed him from the front seat, without turning
his head: “you'll take and look about for a new place.”
Master Gammon digested the recommendation in silence. On its being
repeated, with, “D' ye hear?” he replied that he heard well enough.
“Well, then, look about ye sharp, or maybe, you'll be out in the cold,”
said the farmer.
“Na,” returned Master Gammon, “ah never frets till I'm pinched.”
“I've given ye notice,” said the farmer.
“No, you ha'n't,” said Master Gammon.
“I give ye notice now.”
“No, you don't.”
“How d' ye mean?”
“Cause I don't take ne'er a notice.”
“Then you'll be kicked out, old man.”
“Hey! there y' have me,” said Master Gammon. “I growed at the farm, and
you don't go and tell ne'er a tree t' walk.”
Rhoda laid her fingers in the veteran's palm.
“You're a long-lived family, aren't you, Master Gammon?” said Robert,
eyeing Rhoda's action enviously.
Master Gammon bade him go to a certain churchyard in Sussex, and
inspect a particular tombstone, upon which the ages of his ancestry were
written. They were more like the ages of oaks than of men.
“It's the heart kills,” said Robert.
“It's damned misfortune,” murmured the farmer.
“It is the wickedness in the world,” thought Rhoda.
“It's a poor stomach, I reckon,” Master Gammon ruminated.
They took leave of him at the station, from which eminence it was a
notable thing to see him in the road beneath, making preparations for
his return, like a conqueror of the hours. Others might run, and stew,
if they liked: Master Gammon had chosen his pace, and was not of a mind
to change it for anybody or anything. It was his boast that he had never
ridden by railway: “nor ever means to, if I can help it,” he would say.
He was very much in harmony with universal nature, if to be that is the
secret of human life.
Meantime, Algernon retraced his way to the station in profound chagrin:
arriving there just as the train was visible. He caught sight of the
cart with Master Gammon in it, and asked him whether all his people were
going up to London; but the reply was evidently a mile distant, and had
not started; so putting a sovereign in Master Gammon's hand, together
with the reins of his horse, Algernon bade the old man conduct the
animal to the White Bear Inn, and thus violently pushing him off the
tramways of his intelligence, left him stranded.
He had taken a first-class return-ticket, of course, being a gentleman.
In the desperate hope that he might jump into a carriage with Rhoda, he
entered one of the second-class compartments; a fact not only foreign to
his tastes and his habits, but somewhat disgraceful, as he thought. His
trust was, that the ignoble of this earth alone had beheld him: at
any rate, his ticket was first class, as the guard would instantly and
respectfully perceive, and if he had the discomforts, he had also some
of the consolations of virtue.
Once on his way, the hard seat and the contemptible society surrounding
him, assured his reflective spirit that he loved: otherwise, was it in
reason that he should endure these hardships? “I really love the girl,”
he said, fidgeting for cushions.
He was hot, and wanted the window up, to which his fellow-travellers
assented. Then, the atmosphere becoming loaded with offence to his
morbid sense of smell, he wanted the windows down; and again they
assented. “By Jove! I must love the girl,” ejaculated Algernon inwardly,
as cramp, cold, and afflicted nostrils combined to astonish his
physical sensations. Nor was it displeasing to him to evince that he was
unaccustomed to bare boards.
“We're a rich country,” said a man to his neighbour; “but, if you
don't pay for it, you must take your luck, and they'll make you as
uncomfortable as they can.”
“Ay,” said the other. “I've travelled on the Continent. The second-class
carriages there are fit for anybody to travel in. This is what comes of
the worship of money--the individual is not respected. Pounds alone!”
“These,” thought Algernon, “are beastly democrats.”
Their remarks had been sympathetic with his manifestations, which had
probably suggested them. He glowered out of the window in an exceedingly
foreign manner. A plainly dressed woman requested that the window should
be closed. One of the men immediately proceeded to close it. Algernon
stopped him.
“Pardon me, sir,” said the man; “it's a lady wants it done;” and he did
it.
A lady! Algernon determined that these were the sort of people he should
hate for life. “Go among them and then see what they are,” he addressed
an imaginary assembly of anti-democrats, as from a senatorial chair set
in the after days. Cramp, cold, ill-ordered smells, and eternal hatred
of his fellow-passengers, convinced him, in their aggregation, that he
surmounted not a little for love of Rhoda.
The train arrived in London at dusk. Algernon saw Rhoda step from a
carriage near the engine, assisted by Robert; and old Anthony was on the
platform to welcome her; and Anthony seized her bag, and the troop
of passengers moved away. It may be supposed that Algernon had angry
sensations at sight of Robert; and to a certain extent this was the
case; but he was a mercurial youth, and one who had satisfactorily
proved superior strength enjoyed a portion of his respect. Besides, if
Robert perchance should be courting Rhoda, he and Robert would enter
into another field of controversy; and Robert might be taught a lesson.
He followed the party on foot until they reached Anthony's
dwelling-place, noted the house, and sped to the Temple. There, he found
a telegraphic message from Edward, that had been awaiting him since the
morning.
“Stop It,” were the sole words of the communication brief, and if one
preferred to think so, enigmatic.
“What on earth does he mean?” cried Algernon, and affected again
and again to see what Edward meant, without success. “Stop it?--stop
what?--Stop the train? Stop my watch? Stop the universe? Oh! this is
rank humbug.” He flung the paper down, and fell to counting the money in
his possession. The more it dwindled, the more imperative it became that
he should depart from his country.
Behind the figures, he calculated that, in all probability, Rhoda would
visit her sister this night. “I can't stop that,” he said: and hearing
a clock strike, “nor that” a knock sounded on the door; “nor that.” The
reflection inspired him with fatalistic views.
Sedgett appeared, and was welcome. Algernon had to check the impulse of
his hand to stretch out to the fellow, so welcome was he: Sedgett stated
that everything stood ready for the morrow. He had accomplished all that
had to be done.
“And it's more than many'd reckon,” he said, and rubbed his hands, and
laughed. “I was aboard ship in Liverpool this morning, that I was.
That ere young woman's woke up from her dream”, (he lengthened the word
inexpressibly) “by this time, that she is. I had to pay for my passage,
though;” at which recollection he swore. “That's money gone. Never mind:
there's worse gone with it. Ain't it nasty--don't you think, sir--to get
tired of a young woman you've been keepin' company with, and have to be
her companion, whether you will, or whether you won't? She's sick enough
now. We travelled all night. I got her on board; got her to go to her
bed; and, says I, I'll arrange about the luggage. I packs myself down
into a boat, and saw the ship steam away a good'n. Hanged if I didn't
catch myself singin'. And haven't touched a drop o' drink, nor will,
till tomorrow's over. Don't you think 'Daehli's' a very pretty name,
sir? I run back to her as hard as rail 'd carry me. She's had a letter
from her sister, recommending o' her to marry me: 'a noble man,' she
calls me--ha, ha! that's good. 'And what do you think, my dear?' says I;
and, bother me, if I can screw either a compliment or a kiss out of her.
She's got fine lady airs of her own. But I'm fond of her, that I am.
Well, sir, at the church door, after the ceremony, you settle our
business, honour bright--that's it, en't it?”
Algernon nodded. Sedgett's talk always produced discomfort in his
ingenuous bosom.
“By the way, what politics are you?” he asked.
Sedgett replied, staring, that he was a Tory, and Algernon nodded again,
but with brows perturbed at the thought of this ruffian being of the
same political persuasion as himself.
“Eh?” cried Sedgett; “I don't want any of your hustings pledges,
though. You'll be at the door tomorrow, or I'll have a row--mind that. A
bargain's a bargain. I like the young woman, but I must have the money.
Why not hand it over now?”
“Not till the deed's done,” said Algernon, very reasonably.
Sedgett studied his features, and as a result remarked: “You put me up
to this: I'll do it, and trust you so far, but if I'm played on, I
throw the young woman over and expose you out and out. But you mean
honourable?”
“I do,” Algernon said of his meaning.
Another knock sounded on the door. It proved to be a footman in Sir
William's livery, bearing a letter from Edward; an amplification of the
telegram:
“Dear Algy, Stop it. I'm back, and have to see
my father. I may be down about two, or three, or four,
in the morning. No key; so, keep in. I want to see
you. My whole life is changed. I must see her. Did
you get my telegram? Answer, by messenger; I shall
come to you the moment my father has finished his
lecture.
“Yours,
“E.B.”
Algernon told Sedgett to wait while he dressed in evening uniform, and
gave him a cigar to smoke.
He wrote:--
“Dear Ned, Stop what? Of course, I suppose there's only one thing,
and how can I stop it? What for? You ridiculous old boy! What a
changeable old fellow you are!--Off, to see what I can do. After
eleven o'clock to-morrow, you'll feel comfortable.--If the Governor
is sweet, speak a word for the Old Brown; and bring two dozen in a
cab, if you can. There's no encouragement to keep at home in this
place. Put that to him. I, in your place, could do it. Tell him
it's a matter of markets. If I get better wine at hotels, I go to
hotels, and I spend twice--ten times the money. And say, we intend
to make the laundress cook our dinners in chambers, as a rule. Old
B. an inducement.
“Yours aff.
“A.B.”
This epistle he dispatched by the footman, and groaned to think that
if, perchance, the Old Brown Sherry should come, he would, in all
probability, barely drink more than half-a-dozen bottles of that prime
vintage. He and Sedgett, soon after, were driving down to Dahlia's poor
lodgings in the West. On the way, an idea struck him:
Would not Sedgett be a noisier claimant for the thousand than Edward?
If he obeyed Edward's direction and stopped the marriage, he could hand
back a goodly number of hundreds, and leave it to be supposed that he
had advanced the remainder to Sedgett. How to do it? Sedgett happened to
say: “If you won't hand the money now, I must have it when I've married
her. Swear you'll be in the vestry when we're signing. I know all about
marriages. You swear, or I tell you, if I find I'm cheated, I will throw
the young woman over slap.”
Algernon nodded: “I shall be there,” he said, and thought that he
certainly would not. The thought cleared an oppression in his head,
though it obscured the pretty prospect of a colonial but and horse, with
Rhoda cooking for him, far from cares. He did his best to resolve that
he would stop the business, if he could. But, if it is permitted to the
fool to create entanglements and set calamity in motion, to arrest its
course is the last thing the Gods allow of his doing.