Richard Avenel was in a state of great nervous excitement. He proposed
to give an entertainment of a kind wholly new to the experience of
Screwstown. Mrs. M'Catchley had described with much eloquence the
/Dejeunes dansants/ of her fashionable friends residing in the elegant
suburbs of Wimbledon and Fulham. She declared that nothing was so
agreeable. She had even said point-blank to Mr. Avenel, "Why don't you
give a /Dejeune dansant/?" And, therewith, a /Dejeune dansant/ Mr.
Avenel resolved to give.
The day was fixed, and Mr. Avenel entered into all the requisite
preparations, with the energy of a man and the providence of a woman.
One morning as he stood musing on the lawn, irresolute as to the best
site for the tents, Leonard came up to him with an open letter in his
hand.
"My dear uncle," said he, softly.
"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Avenel, with a start. "Ha-well, what now?"
"I have just received a letter from Mr. Dale. He tells me that my poor
mother is very restless and uneasy, because he cannot assure her that he
has heard from me; and his letter requires an answer. Indeed I shall
seem very ungrateful to him--to all--if I do not write."
Richard Avenel's brows met. He uttered an impatient "Pish!" and turned
away. Then coming back, he fixed his clear hawk-like eye on Leonard's
ingenuous countenance, linked his arm into his nephew's, and drew him
into the shrubbery.
"Well, Leonard," said he, after a pause, "it is time that I should give
you some idea of my plans with regard to you. You have seen my manner of
living--some difference from what you ever saw before, I calculate! Now
I have given you, what no one gave me, a lift in the world; and where I
place you, there you must help yourself."
"Such is my duty and my desire," said Leonard, heartily. "Good. You are
a clever lad, and a genteel lad, and will do me credit. I have had
doubts of what is best for you. At one time I thought of sending you to
college. That, I know; is Mr. Dale's wish; perhaps it is your own. But
I have given up that idea; I have something better for you. You have a
clear head for business, and are a capital arithmetician. I think of
bringing you up to superintend my business; by and by I will adinit you
into partnership; and before you are thirty you will be a rich man.
Come, does that suit you?"
"My dear uncle," said Leonard, frankly, but much touched by this
generosity, "it is not for me to have a choice. I should have preferred
going to college, because there I might gain independence for myself and
cease to be a burden on you. Moreover, my heart moves me to studies more
congenial with the college than the counting-house. But all this is
nothing compared with my wish to be of use to you, and to prove in any
way, however feebly, my gratitude for all your kindness."
"You're a good, grateful, sensible lad," exclaimed Richard, heartily;
"and believe me, though I'm a rough diamond, I have your true interest
at heart. You can be of use to me, and in being so you will best serve
yourself. To tell you the truth, I have some idea of changing my
condition. There's a lady of fashion and quality who, I think, may
condescend to become Mrs. Avenel; and if so, I shall probably reside a
great part of the year in London. I don't want to give up my business.
No other investment will yield the same interest. But you can soon learn
to superintend it for me, as some day or other I may retire, and then you
can step in. Once a member of our great commercial class, and with your
talents you may be anything,--member of parliament, and after that,
minister of State, for what I know. And my wife--hem! that is to be--has
great connections, and you shall marry well; and--oh, the Avenels will
hold their heads with the highest, after all! Damn the aristocracy! we
clever fellows will be the aristocrats, eh?" Richard rubbed his hands.
Certainly, as we have seen, Leonard, especially in his earlier steps to
knowledge, had repined at his position in the many degrees of life;
certainly he was still ambitious; certainly he could not now have
returned contentedly to the humble occupation he had left; and woe to the
young man who does not hear with a quickened pulse and brightening eye
words that promise independence, and flatter with the hope of
distinction. Still, it was with all the reaction of chill and mournful
disappointment that Leonard, a few hours after this dialogue with his
uncle, found himself alone in the fields, and pondering over the
prospects before him. He had set his heart upon completing his
intellectual education, upon developing those powers within him which
yearned for an arena of literature, and revolted from the routine of
trade.
But to his credit be it said, that he vigorously resisted this natural
disappointment, and by degrees schooled himself to look cheerfully on the
path imposed on his duty, and sanctioned by the manly sense that was at
the core of his character.
I believe that this self-conquest showed that the boy had true genius.
The false genius would have written sonnets and despaired.
But still, Richard Avenel left his nephew sadly perplexed as to the
knotty question from which their talk on the future had diverged,--
namely, should he write to the parson, and assure the fears of his
mother? How do so without Richard's consent, when Richard had on a
former occasion so imperiously declared that, if he did, it would lose
his mother all that Richard intended to settle on her? While he was
debating this matter with his conscience, leaning against a stile that
interrupted a path to the town, Leonard Fairfield was startled by an
exclamation. He looked up, and beheld Mr. Sprott the tinker.