MR. MAYNE MAKES HIMSELF DISAGREEABLE.
The library at Longmead was a very pleasant room, and it was the
custom of the family to retire thither on occasions when guests were
not forthcoming, and Mr. Mayne could indulge in his favorite nap
without fear of interruption.
A certain simplicity, not to say homeliness, of manners prevailed in
the house. It was understood among them that the dining-room was far
too gorgeous for anything but occasions of ceremony. Mrs. Mayne,
indeed, had had the good taste to cover the satin couches with pretty,
fresh-looking cretonne, and had had arranged hanging cupboards of old
china until it had been transformed into a charming apartment,
notwithstanding which the library was declared to be the family-room,
where the usual masculine assortment of litter could be regarded with
indulgent eyes, and where papers and pamphlets lay in delightful
confusion.
Longmead was not a pretentious house--it was a moderate-sized
residence, adapted to a gentleman of moderate means; but in summer no
place could be more charming. The broad gravel walk before the house
had a background of roses; hundreds of roses climbed up the railings
or twined themselves about the steps: a tiny miniature lake, garnished
with water-lilies, lay in the centre of the lawn; a group of old
elm-trees was beside it; behind the house lay another lawn, and beyond
were meadows where a few sheep were quietly grazing. Mr. Mayne, who
found time hang a little heavily on his hands, prided himself a good
deal on his poultry-yard and kitchen-garden. A great deal of his spare
time was spent among his favorite Bantams and Dorkings, and in
superintending his opinionated old gardener--on summer mornings he
would be out among the dews in his old coat and planter's hat, weeding
among the gooseberry-bushes.
"It is the early bird that finds the worm," he would say, when Dick
sauntered into the breakfast-room later on; for, in common with the
youth of his generation, he had a wholesome horror of early rising,
which he averred was one of the barbarous usages of the dark ages in
which his elders had been bred.
"I never took any interest in worms, sir," returned Dick, helping
himself to a tempting rasher that had just been brought in hot for the
pampered youth. "By the bye, have you seen Darwin's work on 'The
Formation of Vegetable Mould'? he declares that worms have played a
more important part in the history of the world than most people
would at first suppose: they were our earliest ploughmen."
"Oh, ah! indeed, very interesting!" observed his father, dryly; "but
all the same, I beg to observe, no one succeeded in life who was not
an early riser."
"A sweeping assertion, and one I might be tempted to argue, if it were
not for taking up your valuable time," retorted Dick, lazily, but with
a twinkle in his eye. "I know my constitution better than to trust
myself out before the world is properly aired and dried. I am thinking
it is less a case of worms than of rheumatism some early birds will be
catching;" to which Mr. Mayne merely returned an ungracious "Pshaw!"
and marched off, leaving his son to enjoy his breakfast in peace.
When Dick entered the library on the evening in question, Mr. Mayne's
querulous observation as to the noisiness of his entrance convinced
him at once that his father was in a very bad humor indeed, and that
on this account it behooved him to be exceedingly cool.
So he kissed his mother, who looked at him a little anxiously, and
then sat down and turned out her work-basket, as he had done Nan's two
or three hours ago.
"You are late after all, Dick," she said, with a little reproach in
her voice. It was hardly a safe observation, to judge by her husband's
cloudy countenance; but the poor thing sometimes felt her evenings a
trifle dull when Dick was away. Mr. Mayne would take up his paper, but
his eyes soon closed over it; that habit of seeking for the early worm
rather disposed him to somnolent evenings, during which his wife
knitted and felt herself nodding off out of sheer _ennui_ and dulness.
These were not the hours she had planned during those years of
waiting; she had told herself that Richard would read to her or talk
to her as she sat over her work, that they would have so much to say
to each other; but now, as she regarded his sleeping countenance
evening after evening, it may be doubted whether matrimony was quite
what she expected, since its bliss was so temperate and so strongly
infused with drowsiness.
Dick looked up innocently. "Am I late, mother?"
"Oh, of course not," returned his father, with a sneer; "it is not
quite time to ring for Nicholson to bring our candles. Bessie, I think
I should like some hot water to-night; I feel a little chilly." And
Bessie rang the bell obediently, and without any surprise in her
manner. Mr. Mayne often woke up chilly from his long nap.
"Are you going to have a 'drap of the cratur'?" asked his son, with
alacrity. "Well, I don't mind joining you, and that's the truth, for
we have been dawdling about, and I am a trifle chilly myself."
"You know I object to spirits for young men," returned Mr. Mayne,
severely: nevertheless he pushed the whiskey to Dick as soon as he
had mixed his own glass, and his son followed his example.
"I am quite of your opinion, father," he observed, as he regarded the
handsome cut-glass decanter somewhat critically; "but there are
exceptions to every rule, and when one is chilly----"
"I wish you would make an exception and stay away from the cottage
sometimes," returned Mr. Mayne, with ill-suppressed impatience. "It
was all very well when you were all young things together, but it is
high time matters should be different."
Dick executed a low whistle of surprise and dismay. He had no idea his
father's irritability had arisen from any definite cause. What a fool
he had been to be so late! it might lead to some unpleasant
discussion. Well, after all, if his father chose to be so disagreeable
it was not his fault; and he was no longer a boy, to be chidden, or
made to do this or that against his own will.
Mr. Mayne was sufficiently shrewd to see that his son was somewhat
taken aback by this sudden onslaught, and he was not slow to press his
advantage. He had wanted to give Dick a bit of his mind for some time,
and after all there is no time like the present.
"Yes, it was all very well when you were a lot of children together,"
he continued. "Of course, it is hard on you, Dick, having no brothers
and sisters to keep you company; your mother and I were always sorry
about that for your sake."
"Oh, don't mention it," interrupted Dick: "on the whole, I am best
pleased as it is."
"But it would have been better for you," returned his father, sharply:
"we should not have had all this fooling and humbug if you had had
sisters of your own."
"Fooling and humbug!" repeated Dick, hotly; "I confess, sir, I don't
quite understand to what you are referring." He was growing very
angry, but his mother flung herself between the combatants.
"Don't, my boy, don't; you must not answer your father in that way.
Richard, what makes you so hard on him to-night? It must be the gout,
Dick: we had better send for Dr. Weatherby in the morning," continued
the anxious woman, with tears in her eyes, "for your dear father would
never be so cross to you as this unless he were going to be ill."
"Stuff and nonsense, Bessie! Dr. Weatherby indeed!" but his voice was
less wrathful. "What is it but fooling, I should like to know, for
Dick to be daundering his time away with a parcel of girls as he does
with these Challoners!"
"I suppose you were never a young man yourself, sir."
"Oh, yes, I was, my boy," and the corners of Mr. Mayne's mouth relaxed
in spite of his efforts to keep serious. "I fell in love with your
mother, and stuck to her for seven or eight years; but I did not make
believe that I was brother to a lot of pretty girls, and waste all my
time dancing attendance on them and running about on their errands."
"You ought to have taken a lesson out of my book," returned his son,
readily.
"No, I ought to have done no such thing, sir!" shouted back Mr. Mayne,
waxing irate again. It could not be denied that Dick could be
excessively provoking when he liked. "Don't I tell you it is time this
sort of thing was stopped? Why, people will begin to talk, and say you
are making up to one of them, it is not right, Dick; it is not,
indeed," with an attempted pathos.
"I don't care that for what people say," returned the young fellow,
snapping his fingers. "Is it not a pity you are saying all this to me
just when I am going away and am not likely to see any of them for the
next six months? You are very hard on me to-night, father; and I can't
think what it is all about."
Mr. Mayne was silent a moment, revolving his son's pathetic speech. It
was true he had been cross, and had said more than he had meant to
say. He had not wished to hinder Dick's innocent enjoyments; but if he
were unknowingly picking flowers at the edge of a precipice, was it
not his duty as a father to warn him?
"I think I have been a little hard, my lad," he said, candidly, "but
there, you and your mother know my bark is worse than my bite. I only
wanted to warn you; that's all, Dick."
"Warn me!--against what, sir?" asked the young man, quickly.
"Against falling in love, really, with one of the Challoner girls!"
returned Mr. Mayne, trying to evade the fire of Dick's eyes, and
blustering a little in consequence. "Why, they have not a penny, one
of them, and, if report be true, Mrs. Challoner's money is very
shakily invested. Paine told me so the other day. He said he should
never wonder if a sudden crash came any minute."
"Is this true, Richard?"
"Paine declares it is; and think of Dick saddling himself with the
support of a whole family!"
"It strikes me you are taking things very much for granted," returned
his son, trying to speak coolly, but flushing like a girl over his
words. "I think you might wait, father, until I proposed bringing you
home a daughter-in-law."
"I am only warning you, Dick, that the Challoner connection would be
distasteful to me," replied Mr. Mayne, feeling that he had gone a
little too far. "If you had brothers and sisters it would not matter
half so much; but it would be too hard if my only son were to cross my
wishes."
"Should you disinherit me, father?" observed Dick, cheerfully. He had
recovered his coolness and pluck, and began to feel more equal to the
occasion.
"We should see about that, but I hardly think it would be for your
advantage to oppose me too much," returned his father with an ominous
pucker of his eyebrows, which warned Dick, that it was hardly safe to
chaff the old boy too much to-night.
"I think I will go to bed, Richard," put in poor Mrs. Mayne. She had
wisely forborne to mix in the discussion, fearing that it would bring
upon her the vials of her husband's wrath. Mr. Mayne was as choleric
as a Welshman, and had a reserve force of sharp cynical sayings that
were somewhat hard to bear. He was disposed to turn upon her on such
occasions, and to accuse her of spoiling Dick and taking his part
against his father; between the two Richards she sometimes had a very
bad time indeed.
Dick lighted his mother's candle, and bade her good-night; but all the
same she knew she had not seen the last of him. A few minutes
afterwards there was a hasty tap at the bedroom door, and Dick thrust
in his head.
"Come in, my dear; I have been expecting you," she said, with a
pleased smile. He always came to her when he was ruffled or put out,
and brought her all his grievances; surely this was the very meaning
and essence of her motherhood,--this healing and comfort that lay in
her power of sympathy.
When he was a little fellow, had she not extracted many a thorn and
bound up many a cut finger? and now he was a man, would she be less
helpful to him when he wanted a different kind of comfort?
"Come in, my son," she said, beckoning him to the low chair beside
her, into which Dick threw himself with a petulant yawn.
"Mother, what made the pater so hard on me to-night? he cut up as
rough as though I had committed some crime."
"I don't think he is quite himself to-night," returned Mrs. Mayne, in
her soft, motherly voice. "I fancy he misses you, Dick, and is half
jealous of the Challoners for monopolizing you. You are all we have,
that's where it is," she finished, stroking the sandy head with her
plump hand; but Dick jerked away from her with a little impatience.
"I think it rather hard that a fellow is to be bullied for doing
nothing at all," replied Dick, with a touch of sullenness. "When the
pater is in this humor it is no use saying anything to him; but you
may as well tell him, mother, that I mean to choose my wife for
myself."
"Oh, my dear, I dare not tell him anything of the kind," returned Mrs.
Mayne, in an alarmed voice; and then, as she glanced at her son, her
terror merged into amusement. There was something so absurdly boyish
in Dick's appearance, such a ludicrous contrast between the manliness
of his speech and his smooth cheek; the little fringe of hirsute
ornament, of which Dick was so proud, was hardly visible in the dim
light; his youthful figure, more clumsy than graceful, had an
unfledged air about it, nevertheless, the boldness of his words took
away her breath.
"Every man has a right to his own choice in such a matter," continued
Dick, loftily. "You may as well tell him, mother, that I intend to
select my own wife."
"My dear, I dare not for worlds----" she began; and then she stopped,
and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Why do you say this to me? there
is plenty of time," she went on hastily; "that is what your father
says, and I think he is right. You are too young for this sort of
thing yet. You must see the world; you must look about you; you must
have plenty of choice," continued the anxious mother. "I shall be hard
to please, Dick, for I shall think no one good enough for my boy; that
is the worst of having only one, and he the best son that ever lived,"
finished Mrs. Mayne, with maternal pride in her voice.
Dick took this effusion very coolly. He was quite used to all this
sort of worship; he did not think badly of himself; he was not
particularly humble-minded or given to troublesome introspection; on
the whole, he thought himself a good fellow, and was not at all
surprised that people appreciated him.
"There are such a lot of cads in the world, one is always glad to fall
in with a different sort," he would say to himself. He was quite of
his mother's opinion, that an honest, God-fearing young fellow, who
spoke the truth and shamed the devil, who had no special vices but a
dislike for early rising, who had tolerable brains, and more than his
share of muscle, who was in the Oxford eleven, and who had earned his
blue ribbon,--that such a one might be considered to set an example to
his generation.
When his mother told him she would be hard to please, Dick looked a
little wicked, and thought of Nan; but the name was not mentioned
between them. Nevertheless, Mrs. Mayne felt with unerring maternal
instinct that, in spite of his youth, Dick's choice was made, and
sighed to herself at the thought of the evil days that were to come.
Poor woman, she was to have little peace that night! Hardly had Dick
finished his grumble and sauntered away, before her husband's step was
heard in his dressing-room.
"Bessie," he called out to her, "why do you allow that boy to keep you
up so late at night? Do you know that it is eleven, and you are still
fully dressed?"
"Is it so late, Richard?"
"Yes, of course," he snapped; "but that is the care you take of your
health; and the way you cosset and spoil that boy is dreadful."
"I don't think Dick is easily spoiled," plucking up a little spirit to
answer him.
"That shows how little you understand boys," returned her husband.
Evidently the whiskey, though it was the best Glenlivat, had failed to
mollify him. It might be dangerous to go too far with Dick, for he had
a way of turning around and defending himself that somewhat
embarrassed Mr. Mayne, but with his wife there would be no such
danger. He would dominate her by his sharp speeches, and reduce her to
abject submission in a moment, for Bessie was the meekest of wives.
"Take care how you side with him," he continued, in a threatening
voice. "He thinks that I am not serious in what I said just now, and
is for carrying it off with a high hand; but I tell you, and you had
better tell him, that I was never more in earnest in my life. I won't
have one of those Challoner girls for a daughter-in-law!"
"Oh, Richard! and Nan is such a sweet girl!" returned his wife, with
tears in her eyes. She was awfully jealous of Nan, at times she almost
dreaded her; but for her boy's sake she would have taken her now to
her heart and defied even her formidable husband. "She is such a
pretty creature, too; no one can help loving her."
"Pshaw!" returned her husband; "pretty creature indeed! that is just
your soft-hearted nonsense. Phillis is ten times prettier, and has
heaps more sense. Why couldn't Dick have taken a fancy to her?"
"Because I am afraid he cares for the other one," returned Mrs. Mayne,
sadly. She had no wish to deceive her husband and she knew that the
golden apple had rolled to Nan's feet.
"Stuff and rubbish!" he responded, wrathfully. "What is a boy of his
age to know about such things? Tell him from me to put this nonsense
out of his head for the next year or two; there is plenty of time to
look out for a wife after that. But I won't have him making up his
mind until he has left Oxford." And Mrs. Mayne, knowing that her
husband had spoken his last word, thankfully withdrew, feeling that in
her heart she secretly agreed with him.