[Paddy O’Connell lays down the law.]
Glendalough,
August 12th, 1905.
Dear Harry,--What I would have you to do is to set about getting your
living. ’Tis honest advice and the best I can give you--though it’s
precious little I do in that line myself, and a poor hand I would be
at the employment if my father--God rest his soul--had not done the
business for me.
I am little acquainted with the art of money-making, and no wise
adviser in that matter. But I see plainly enough that if you do not
set about earning your living, this parson man will be banking your
fortune and thanking God for it, while you will be next door to a
beggar in the streets, and a mighty unsuccessful one at that.
Let me ask you what you could bring to the child if you lost your
fortune. This gipsy notion is well enough when a man follows it by
choice; but there is a time of life when you begin to sniff at the
cooking-pot and to ask how many thorns are in your bed before you--and
you will come to that before most of us, by reason of the habits you
have acquired. Indeed, Harry, I am not sure that you understand at all
what this loss of fortune may mean to you, nor do I believe your life
will be worth living when you have lost it.
You are young, you have a fine presence, people take a liking to the
looks of you, you are by no means wanting in brains. Should you get on
the Stock Exchange you would find clients enough--or, for that matter,
you might turn your Art knowledge to some advantage and see what you
can do in that line.
Shake your wits together, my boy, and make a start, to-morrow if you
can. I couldn’t do it myself--unless I were taken up by those who
would learn to ride, or golf, or play a decent hand at bridge; but you
can do it, Harry, for you have the brains; and if you love this little
girl out of France, and if your heart is full because of her, you will
lose no time in following my advice and preparing that home she will
be willing enough to occupy.
Meanwhile, see, for God’s sake, that no harm overtakes her. It’s worse
than wicked to hear of the company she is in. Pay for a change of
employment and do not let her know that you have done it. Your purse
may help to achieve this. Pull the strings of it wide open, Harry, and
put her in some decent way of life, in London for preference, and
where you can watch over her. I have said from the first that the
blood of the Bohemian runs strong in her veins. I doubt that you will
ever tie her to any house or country--but the effort is worth the
making, and you know that you have my good wishes in the matter.
As for your prudence, your right to marry her or the wisdom of it, you
know that I am a man who said be hanged to convention many years ago.
What a sorry peep-show, what a play of shams and meanness and false
pleasures is this social world we know, and into which we were born! I
tell you that the hut on the mountain side--if there be good whisky
therein and a decent golf course within riding distance--is all the
palace I will ever require; while, as for my friend Harry, if the
great high road and the café at the far end of it are not his goal,
then say that I know nothing of men and less of the sex that does us
all the mischief.
You will set about earning your living, Harry, and put Mimi to some
decent employment unbeknown to her that you have done it. This is the
wisdom and the wish of your old friend,
Paddy.