MR. STONEMAN
No man who has to contend with the world, and support those he loves
against it, cares twopence about being taken for a fool by the people he
has to contend with. Their opinion to this effect frequently is of some
service to him, and very seldom hurts him, unless he wants to get into
their employment, or to borrow money from them. And in the latter point
it even helps him, when he has good security to give.
There is a certain worm, whose name I know not, being all abroad in
natural history, whose habit it is to come out of the ground and give
himself an airing late at night. And then if you moisten him from above,
in September or October, so grateful is he--or, if you deny him that
lofty feeling, so sensitive--that he glitters like any glow-worm.
With no less amplitude, perhaps, a man who has deep emotions, such as
shy ambition, or literary yearnings, or passionate humanity, or true
love of a woman, sometimes lets himself out at night, when small things
are lost to the eyes, and the larger objects begin to assert themselves.
For after all, what are the toys of the day, for which we sweat, and
fight, and crawl, and rack our poor brains till they cry for the
revolver--even if we get such gauds, what are they, to make up for the
gentle delight we have lost, of the days when we loved all the world,
and the moments when some one tried to do the like to us?
Now nothing of this kind comes in here, for verily I had been cheated
too often to rush into the embrace of the universe. But for the life of
me, I cannot tell how to explain the behaviour of a man, keener by a
thousandfold, and harder than in my worst moments I could long to be,
except by such principles, or (if they are not that) such want of
principle, such backsliding, such loosening of texture, and relapse into
nature, as we feel even in ourselves sometimes, and are more ashamed of
them in voice than heart. However, let every one judge for himself.
It must have been close upon St. Swithin's Day, for people were watching
the weather as they do, to keep up the fine old legend, when after a
long turn among the hay, which was very late that year, I sat in my
little den after dark, considering my pipe, or perhaps allowing it to
consider for me, because I was tired with a hard day's work, and fit for
nothing but putting my legs up. While we were so busy with the only
thing worth growing now in England, because it grows itself, the wisest
plan was to dine, or at least to feed, among it, and be content. And to
feed upon it is what the true Briton must come to, whenever a great war
arises. The man who has shut his eyes, must also shut his mouth, as the
proverb hath it.
While I was nodding at every puff, and full of the sleepy scent of hay,
the sound of a step, and the darkening of my open doorway, aroused me.
"Come in, Bob," I said, "anything the matter?" For some of our ricks had
been carried rather green, and we were still obliged to watch them.
"Excuse me for taking you thus by surprise. If you can spare me a few
minutes, Mr. Cranleigh, you will do a great favour. It is Jackson
Stoneman."
Having seen this rich gentleman chiefly at a distance, and not cared
much to look at him, I wondered at his coming in upon me thus, and was
rather inclined to resent it. But the thought of my father and mother,
and of the great help that his tenancy was to them, compelled me to drop
such little points, and receive him with all civility. My snuggery was
but a very little place, forming a part of the harness-room, and
resigned (whenever the door was shut) to a very modest share of daylight
coming through leaded diamonds, which were certainly not brilliants. So
I lit my candles, still having a pair, and offered him my one armchair,
an ancient Windsor, with a cushion in the bottom, more cosy than most of
the easy-chairs made now to be gazed at rather than sat upon. He thanked
me, but took his seat upon an oaken bench, and looked at me steadily, as
if to search my humour. Being of an equable and by no means rapid
temper, I returned his gaze with interest, and left him to begin.
"First of all, I must have this settled,"--his voice was very clear and
rather pleasant, though he showed some signs of nervousness; "it must be
understood that whether I am right or wrong in coming to you like this,
you will not be annoyed, and turn against me."
"Very well," I said, for the promise was a light one. What harm could I
do to a man of his wealth? And if a man offends me, I let him alone,
until it is cowardice to do so.
"You attach much importance, I think, Mr. Cranleigh, to questions of
birth, and position in the county, and ancient family, and so on?"
"I am not at all aware that I do so. The fact is, that I am too busy now
to dwell much upon such things. And their period seems to be over."
I knew that I was talking stuff, and that bitterness made me do it. One
glance from his swift eyes showed me that he thought none the more of me
for taking such a tone, although for the moment it was genuine.
"If you make little of such matters, I do not," said Stoneman; "neither
will any one of common-sense, for many generations yet to come. At least
if those who are born to such advantage have the wisdom not to overdo
it. But I want to put a few plain questions to you; and from what I have
heard and seen of you, I am sure that you will answer them plainly, when
you know that they are not impertinent. And I give you my word that they
are not that."
"Anything you please, to the best of my knowledge, of anything a
stranger has a right to know."
"I am not a stranger altogether; though I have no privilege of
friendship. When I tell you what I have come about, you may think that
I should have gone to your father first. But I thought it better to give
you the chance of saving him from annoyance. In almost every way, you
act as the manager now for the family. Am I right in believing that?"
"Yes, as regards all local business. My brother, Harold, would be the
proper man; but he is seldom here, and he is not fond of
business--business of a small kind, I mean of course."
My visitor smiled, as if he doubted that ever there could be any but
small business here; and remembering what we must have been once, I
regarded him rather sternly. He was tall, and strongly built, and
straight, and plainly dressed, as a man should be, leaving beauty to the
beautiful. Not that he was an unsightly fellow, but very good-looking in
a certain way. His forehead was large and square, and gave the idea of
strength and steadfastness, and his eyes, perhaps too deeply set, but
full of vigour and decision. His complexion was dark for an
Englishman's, and his close-cropped hair as black as jet, and so was his
short moustache, the only growth allowed upon his face. A good clear
countenance upon the whole, without any sign of weakness in it, neither
of more hardness than a man of the world requires, to hold his own and
enlarge it.
He saw that I was "taking stock" of him,--as his own phrase might have
been perhaps,--and he waited the result with confidence. Then he put me
to some little confusion.
"Well, Mr. Cranleigh, I hope that some of your prejudices are not
confirmed. I know that my position here is not very likely to produce
goodwill, especially with young men of high spirit. But I will not go
into that question now, beyond asking you this as a favour. Have I done
anything, since I occupied the Hall, that a stranger should not have
done among--among the real owners?"
"Not that I know of. I may say more than that. I may say that you have
shown us in every way very kind consideration."
"Thank you. I have tried to do so in everything round here. But now as
to taking the hounds, I have given no promise, until I knew your
opinion. Would it annoy Sir Harold, or any of your family?"
"Not in the least; especially after you have been so kind as to ask us.
They have long left our hands, as you know. My grandfather kept them on,
long after he could afford it; but my father never cared for them, and
gave it up as soon as possible. As for my brother, he would have nothing
to do with them, if he were made of money. And my liking matters of
course neither way."
"That seems hard when you do all the work. You mean, I suppose, that you
would like to keep them under different circumstances."
"If I were head of the family, and could afford it handsomely. As it is,
I would not, even if I could afford it. I should seem to be putting
myself too forward."
"Exactly so. And shall not I appear to be putting myself too forward, if
I bring them back to the old place, just because I can afford it? Your
candid opinion about that."
"Then I think not. No one could take it amiss but ourselves; and we are
not so small as that."
"Not even the ladies? Sometimes ladies do not see things quite as we do.
They might take it into their heads--I mean, they might think, not
unreasonably, that I was of the upstart order."
"There is very little fear of that," I said; "in our family the ladies
are never difficult to deal with. They have always been consulted, and
therefore they are shy about forming their opinions. It is not as if
they had no weight, as among the less solid Norman race. They know that
what they say is something; and that makes them like to hear our
opinions first."
"That state of things is most interesting, as well as rather unusual."
Mr. Stoneman spoke with a smile of calm inquiry, entirely free from
irony, and evidently wished me to go on. But I did not see how it
concerned a stranger; so I left him to his own affairs.
"He seems a very decent sort of fellow. But if he has come to pump me,"
thought I, "he will find that the water has gone from the sucker." And
he saw that he could not pursue that subject.
"I have lately received a requisition, or whatever is the proper name
for it, from several of the people about here, whose acquaintance I made
last season, that I should take over the old Crogate hounds, as Lord
Wiedeland has resigned them. It was signed by yourself and your brother
Harold. That made me think more about it. It seems rather absurd for a
busy man like me, who could never be out more than twice a-week, and
very seldom as much as that. And I am not such a fool as to care two
raps about random popularity; but I want to do what I ought to do; and I
will, whenever I know it."
"Then I think that you ought to do this," I answered, seeing that he was
in earnest. "You ride very well, you enjoy it thoroughly, and you know
quite enough about it to keep things in good order. There is not a man
in the neighbourhood who dares take any liberties with you. Joe Stevens,
of course, will come over with the pack. He is a host in himself. The
kennels are as good as they ever were. And perhaps the hounds will
recognise their duty to their ancestors, who lived so happily in the old
place."
"Ah, there you touch me up; although I am sure that you never meant it.
And that brings me to my second point. If I undertake this affair, upon
the distinct conditions which I shall make, will you join me, and be in
effect the real master, although my name is used? You are here always, I
am generally away. Everybody knows and values you. I am a mere
interloper. If you would only help me thus, everything would go
beautifully."
Not being very quick of thought, which is upon the whole a benefit,
while on the other hand I am uncommonly fond of hunting, I was not far
from saying yes, when luckily my pipe went out. With that I arose to get
another, and as I stood by the mantelpiece a clearer waft of mind came
to me, and showed me the many objections.
"Your offer is wonderfully kind and tempting, and shows more confidence
in me than I have earned." I spoke with some emotion, because I felt
that last point strongly, having shown no friendship towards this man.
"But I cannot accept it, Mr. Stoneman. I will do all I can to make
things easy, and to help you to the utmost of my power. But my first
duty is to my father and mother. And I could not do this without
neglecting that."
"You are right. I was wrong in proposing it. My stable, of course, would
have been at your service. But the inroads upon your time, and the many
derangements--well, never mind, so long as you are not angry with me for
proposing it. But if you will come out with us now and then----"
"Certainly I will, upon our Old Joseph. He ran away with me not very
long ago. Some of your young cracks would find him not so very far
behind; for he is wonderfully knowing."
"Good for you, I know how that tells up; though I am not a 'Parson
Jack,' who laid £5 that he would be in at the death upon his old donkey,
and won it. Very well, all that is settled--not exactly as I should
wish, but as much as we ever get things. But the next thing I shall
never get. And it is the only thing in life I care for."
"I should have thought that a man like you, resolute, very clear-headed,
and wealthy, might make sure of everything that in reason he required.
With life and health, I mean, of course, and the will of the Lord not
against him."
"We never know what is the will of the Lord, until we console ourselves
with it. Not that I am a scoffer or even a sceptic, Mr. Cranleigh. And
in some of the greatest moments of my life--but I will not bother you
with them. Only I may say that I look upon this as the very greatest of
them all. I don't want to make a fool of myself--but--perhaps the Lord
has done it for me."
He tried to make a little smile of this, and looked as if he wanted me
to help him out. But I could only stare, and wonder whether any man ever
born is at all times right in his head. For if anybody could be expected
to know what he is about at all times, I should have thought that man
would be Jackson Stoneman of the Stock Exchange. So I waited, as my
manner is, for him to make good sense of this.
Then he got up from his bench and set his face (which had been
quivering) as firm as the Funds, and looked down at me--for I was in my
Windsor chair again--and his eyes seemed to flash defiance at me,
although his voice was tender.
"George Cranleigh, you may think what you like. I care not a rap what
anybody thinks. I love your sister Grace, as no man ever loved a woman,
or ever will."
My amazement was so great and sudden that I looked at him without a
word. For a moment I was beaten out of time by this strong man's
intensity.
"I know all the stuff that you will say," he went on with scanty
politeness. "That I have not seen her more than half-a-dozen times. That
I have no right to lift my eyes to her. That even a mint of money can
never make up for the want of birth. That I am nothing but an upstart.
That I may be a rogue for all you know. That she is a million times too
good, and pure, and beautiful for such a fellow. Go on, go on; I would
rather have it over."
"But I have not begun yet, and you give me no time," I answered very
steadily, having now recovered myself, and objecting to have my
arguments forestalled. "You seem to forget yourself, Mr. Stoneman. There
is no necessity for excitement. That a man of the world like you----"
"That is the very point. That's what makes my chance so bad. There is
nothing of romance or sweet sentiment about me. I don't know anything
about hearts and darts. I have no poetical ideas. I could not fling
myself off a rock--if there was one. I don't know how to couch a lance.
I am pretty sure, though I have never tried, that I couldn't do a
sonnet, at any price. And if I did, and it leaked out, it would be the
ruin of my business."
"You can buy a sweet sonnet for five shillings, as good as they make
them nowadays, but a little common-sense is better than a thousand
sonnets; and of that, when you are at all yourself, you must have a very
large supply. Now sit down, and let us talk this out. At first it came
to me as a very great surprise. It was about the last thing that I could
have expected. But I think you were wise in coming first to me."
When I look back upon this interview, it often astonishes me that I
should have been able so quietly to take the upper hand with a man not
only my elder and of tenfold experience in the world, but also before me
in natural gifts, and everything that one could think of, except bodily
strength and the accident of birth. Nevertheless I did at once, after
that weak confession of his, take a decided lead upon him. Why? Because
he was plunged into love--a quicksand out of which no man attempts to
pull another, being well aware what he would get for his pains, and
rather inclined to make sport of him, whenever it may be done, without
harm to oneself.
"Well," I said, after waiting to see whether he would make another
start; but even his vigour was unequal to that, and he felt that he had
trespassed over the British bounds of self-control--"well, let us look
at this affair like men, and as if there were no woman in it." He lifted
his hand, by way of protest, as if I were begging the question; but
seeing how judicious my view was, and desiring perhaps to conciliate me,
he pulled out a large cigar and did his best to light it. "You may take
it," I proceeded, with much magnanimity and some contempt, little
presaging my own condition in less than a month from that very day,
"that I look at these subjects sensibly. I have every reason so far to
like you, because you have behaved very well to us. You behaved very
handsomely and justly, long before--well, long before you could possibly
have taken this strange turn."
"What a way to put it! But let everything be straight. I should never
have taken the Hall unless--I mean if anybody else had been there to
show me--to show me what a nice place it was."
"I see. Well, never mind how it began. But I will be as straight as you
are. It is difficult for me to do that, without saying some things to
offend you."
"Say what you please, Mr. Cranleigh. Say what you will, I shall not
forget whose brother you are, and that you mean to do your duty to her."
"To the best of my power. In the first place, then, do you know what the
character of our Grace is? She is gentle, and shy, and affectionate, and
unselfish as a girl alone can be. On the other hand, she is proud, and
high-spirited, and as obstinate as the very devil. Of money she never
thinks twice, except for the sake of those around her. She has the very
loftiest ideals, which she cherishes, but never speaks of them. Can a
money-maker realise them?"
This I ought never to have said; for it pained him very bitterly. He
made no answer; but the expression of his face showed that I had hit his
own misgivings.
"Not that I would make too great a point of that," I proceeded more
politely; "for a woman is not like a man altogether, however consistent
she may be. And Grace is only a girl after all, so that no one must be
too certain. She forms her own opinions to some extent, and nothing will
work her out of them. She takes likes and dislikes at first sight, and
she declares they are always justified----"
"You don't happen to know, I suppose--I mean you have not formed any
idea----"
"What she thought of you, Mr. Stoneman? No. I was rather surprised that
she never said a word that day she was sent for to give you the keys.
The utmost I could get out of her was, 'Oh, yes, he was very polite,
very polite, I assure you.' And so it is still; as if your entire nature
was politeness, and you consisted of good manners."
"Manners maketh man." My visitor spoke for the first time lightly, and
the smile on his face was no small improvement. "But you will think that
I cannot claim them, if I delay any longer to thank you. You have taken
what I had to tell you much better than I could have expected; and for
that I am very grateful. But I want to know this. I have heard a good
deal of the importance attached by the Cranleighs to their very old
lineage--Saxon, I believe. But my family has no such claims. We can
boast no more than this--for three, or four generations at the most, we
have been well educated and well off. All business men, no lords of the
land, no knights with coats of mail, and legs crossed upon a slab. Now
does that make you look down upon me from the height of Salisbury
steeple?"
Without any knowledge of his wealth, such as most of us look up to, it
would have been hard for any one to look down upon the man before me.
And sooth to say, there are plenty of men in his position, and of far
lower birth than his, who would have considered themselves at the top,
and me at the bottom of the tower. But before I could answer, a sudden
flush came over his face, and he rose in haste--for I had made him sit
down again--and he seemed to be trying very hard to look as if he were
not where he was. Perhaps his conscience told him that he was caught in
the attempt to steal a march.
But my sister Grace (who had just come in with her usual light step, to
tempt me to have at least a glass of beer before despising everything),
by some extraordinary gift of sight--though there never have been
straighter eyes--Grace never saw that great stockbroker, who wanted her
not to look at him.
"George, this is too bad of you again," she began with a smile, almost
too sweet for home-consumption only. "Work, work, all day, double,
double, toil and trouble; and scarcely a morsel of nourishment!"
"Not a bit to eat, is what you generally say, and ever so much better
English." I spoke in that way, because I really do dislike all
affectation, and I was sure that she had espied the stockbroker.
"Never mind how I express it," said Grace, and I thought that rather
independent of her, and it confirmed my conviction that she knew of some
one too ready to make too much of her. "If you understand it, that is
enough. But do come, darling George, you make us so sadly anxious about
you. What should we do, if you fell ill? And your poor dear eyes that
were so blue--the loveliest blue--oh, such a blue----"
She knew that her own were tenfold bluer, and mine no more than
cigar-ash to them. Now a man can put up with a lot of humbug from a
sister who is good to him; but he must be allowed to break out
sometimes, or she herself will soon make nought of him. And all this
unusual gush from Grace, because I had missed my supper beer. When she
offered to kiss my poor lonely brow, it annoyed me, as I thought of
being superseded.
"My dear child," I said, waving my hand towards the corner where
Stoneman looked envious, "the light is very dim; but I really should
have thought that you must have seen Mr. Stoneman there. Mr. Stoneman,
allow me to apologise for my sister's apparent rudeness. I fear that she
over-tries her eyes sometimes."
The stockbroker favoured me with a glance, as if he longed to over-try
my eyes too; and then he came forward and offered his hand to my
discomfited sister, with the lowest bow I ever did behold. All this was
a delight to me; but neither of them for the moment seemed to be
enjoying it.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Stoneman," said our Grace, recovering
herself with a curtsey, as profound as his bow, and a thousand times
more graceful. "Really I must take to spectacles. But I hope, as you
have heard my little lecture, you will join me in persuading my dear
brother to take a little more care of himself. He works all day long;
and then at night he sits all by himself and thinks--as I thought he was
doing when I came so in the dark."
After a few more words she left us, departing with a dignity which
showed how wrong I must have been in suspecting her of levity.
"She is--she is----" Mr. Stoneman stopped, for he could not find
anything grand enough. "Oh, I wish I might only call you _George_."
"With all my heart," I replied quite humbly, perceiving a touch of
bathos, which in human affairs is almost sure to mean a return to
common-sense. "All over the farm they call me _George_, at any rate
behind my back."
"Then, my dear George, I will leave you now. I have had a most
delightful visit; and I wish to go and think about it. But do not
suppose for a moment that I shall cherish any foolish hopes. I know what
I am, and what she is. Did you see how she walked from the table? And my
cigar was smoking on it."
"Shall I tell you what to do, my friend?" I answered rather pettishly;
"you are famous for strong decision, as well as quick sagacity. Exert a
little of them now, and put away this weakness."
"It is not my weakness. It is my strength."
Before I could speak again, he was gone. And verily, when I went out of
doors, and saw the stars in their distant gaze, and felt the deep
loneliness of night, it struck me that perhaps this man was wise--to set
his heart upon a constant love, some warmth and truth not far to seek,
and one at least who would never fail to feel his thoughts and endear
his deeds.