“Do be punctual”
On the very morning after his failure in the House of Commons, when
Phineas was reading in the _Telegraph_,--he took the _Telegraph_ not
from choice but for economy,--the words of that debate which he had
heard and in which he should have taken a part, a most unwelcome
visit was paid to him. It was near eleven, and the breakfast things
were still on the table. He was at this time on a Committee of the
House with reference to the use of potted peas in the army and
navy, at which he had sat once,--at a preliminary meeting,--and in
reference to which he had already resolved that as he had failed so
frightfully in debate, he would certainly do his duty to the utmost
in the more easy but infinitely more tedious work of the Committee
Room. The Committee met at twelve, and he intended to walk down to
the Reform Club, and then to the House. He had just completed his
reading of the debate and of the leaders in the _Telegraph_ on the
subject. He had told himself how little the writer of the article
knew about Mr. Turnbull, how little about Mr. Monk, and how little
about the people,--such being his own ideas as to the qualifications
of the writer of that leading article,--and was about to start. But
Mrs. Bunce arrested him by telling him that there was a man below who
wanted to see him.
“What sort of a man, Mrs. Bunce?”
“He ain’t a gentleman, sir.”
“Did he give his name?”
“He did not, sir; but I know it’s about money. I know the ways of
them so well. I’ve seen this one’s face before somewhere.”
“You had better show him up,” said Phineas. He knew well the business
on which the man was come. The man wanted money for that bill which
Laurence Fitzgibbon had sent afloat, and which Phineas had endorsed.
Phineas had never as yet fallen so deeply into troubles of money as
to make it necessary that he need refuse himself to any callers on
that score, and he did not choose to do so now. Nevertheless he most
heartily wished that he had left his lodgings for the club before the
man had come. This was not the first he had heard of the bill being
overdue and unpaid. The bill had been brought to him noted a month
since, and then he had simply told the youth who brought it that he
would see Mr. Fitzgibbon and have the matter settled. He had spoken
to his friend Laurence, and Laurence had simply assured him that all
should be made right in two days,--or, at furthest, by the end of
a week. Since that time he had observed that his friend had been
somewhat shy of speaking to him when no others were with them.
Phineas would not have alluded to the bill had he and Laurence been
alone together; but he had been quick enough to guess from his
friend’s manner that the matter was not settled. Now, no doubt,
serious trouble was about to commence.
The visitor was a little man with grey hair and a white cravat, some
sixty years of age, dressed in black, with a very decent hat,--which,
on entering the room, he at once put down on the nearest chair,--with
reference to whom, any judge on the subject would have concurred at
first sight in the decision pronounced by Mrs. Bunce, though none
but a judge very well used to sift the causes of his own conclusions
could have given the reasons for that early decision. “He ain’t a
gentleman,” Mrs. Bunce had said. And the man certainly was not a
gentleman. The old man in the white cravat was very neatly dressed,
and carried himself without any of that humility which betrays one
class of uncertified aspirants to gentility, or of that assumed
arrogance which is at once fatal to another class. But, nevertheless,
Mrs. Bunce had seen at a glance that he was not a gentleman,--had
seen, moreover, that such a man could have come only upon one
mission. She was right there too. This visitor had come about money.
“About this bill, Mr. Finn,” said the visitor, proceeding to take
out of his breast coat-pocket a rather large leathern case, as he
advanced up towards the fire. “My name is Clarkson, Mr. Finn. If I
may venture so far, I’ll take a chair.”
“Certainly, Mr. Clarkson,” said Phineas, getting up and pointing to
a seat.
“Thankye, Mr. Finn, thankye. We shall be more comfortable doing
business sitting, shan’t we?” Whereupon the horrid little man drew
himself close in to the fire, and spreading out his leathern case
upon his knees, began to turn over one suspicious bit of paper after
another, as though he were uncertain in what part of his portfolio
lay this identical bit which he was seeking. He seemed to be quite
at home, and to feel that there was no ground whatever for hurry
in such comfortable quarters. Phineas hated him at once,--with a
hatred altogether unconnected with the difficulty which his friend
Fitzgibbon had brought upon him.
“Here it is,” said Mr. Clarkson at last. “Oh, dear me, dear me! the
third of November, and here we are in March! I didn’t think it was
so bad as this;--I didn’t indeed. This is very bad,--very bad! And
for Parliament gents, too, who should be more punctual than anybody,
because of the privilege. Shouldn’t they now, Mr. Finn?”
“All men should be punctual, I suppose,” said Phineas.
“Of course they should; of course they should. I always say to my
gents, ‘Be punctual, and I’ll do anything for you.’ But, perhaps, Mr.
Finn, you can hand me a cheque for this amount, and then you and I
will begin square.”
“Indeed I cannot, Mr. Clarkson.”
“Not hand me a cheque for it!”
“Upon my word, no.”
“That’s very bad;--very bad indeed. Then I suppose I must take the
half, and renew for the remainder, though I don’t like it;--I don’t
indeed.”
“I can pay no part of that bill, Mr. Clarkson.”
“Pay no part of it!” and Mr. Clarkson, in order that he might the
better express his surprise, arrested his hand in the very act of
poking his host’s fire.
“If you’ll allow me, I’ll manage the fire,” said Phineas, putting out
his hand for the poker.
But Mr. Clarkson was fond of poking fires, and would not surrender
the poker. “Pay no part of it!” he said again, holding the poker away
from Phineas in his left hand. “Don’t say that, Mr. Finn. Pray don’t
say that. Don’t drive me to be severe. I don’t like to be severe with
my gents. I’ll do anything, Mr. Finn, if you’ll only be punctual.”
“The fact is, Mr. Clarkson, I have never had one penny of
consideration for that bill, and--”
“Oh, Mr. Finn! oh, Mr. Finn!” and then Mr. Clarkson had his will of
the fire.
“I never had one penny of consideration for that bill,” continued
Phineas. “Of course, I don’t deny my responsibility.”
“No, Mr. Finn; you can’t deny that. Here it is;--Phineas Finn;--and
everybody knows you, because you’re a Parliament gent.”
“I don’t deny it. But I had no reason to suppose that I should
be called upon for the money when I accommodated my friend, Mr.
Fitzgibbon, and I have not got it. That is the long and the short
of it. I must see him and take care that arrangements are made.”
“Arrangements!”
“Yes, arrangements for settling the bill.”
“He hasn’t got the money, Mr. Finn. You know that as well as I do.”
“I know nothing about it, Mr. Clarkson.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Finn; you know; you know.”
“I tell you I know nothing about it,” said Phineas, waxing angry.
“As to Mr. Fitzgibbon, he’s the pleasantest gent that ever lived.
Isn’t he now? I’ve know’d him these ten years. I don’t suppose that
for ten years I’ve been without his name in my pocket. But, bless
you, Mr. Finn, there’s an end to everything. I shouldn’t have looked
at this bit of paper if it hadn’t been for your signature. Of course
not. You’re just beginning, and it’s natural you should want a little
help. You’ll find me always ready, if you’ll only be punctual.”
“I tell you again, sir, that I never had a shilling out of that for
myself, and do not want any such help.” Here Mr. Clarkson smiled
sweetly. “I gave my name to my friend simply to oblige him.”
“I like you Irish gents because you do hang together so close,” said
Mr. Clarkson.
“Simply to oblige him,” continued Phineas. “As I said before, I know
that I am responsible; but, as I said before also, I have not the
means of taking up that bill. I will see Mr. Fitzgibbon, and let
you know what we propose to do.” Then Phineas got up from his seat
and took his hat. It was full time that he should go down to his
Committee. But Mr. Clarkson did not get up from his seat. “I’m afraid
I must ask you to leave me now, Mr. Clarkson, as I have business down
at the House.”
“Business at the House never presses, Mr. Finn,” said Mr. Clarkson.
“That’s the best of Parliament. I’ve known Parliament gents this
thirty years and more. Would you believe it--I’ve had a Prime
Minister’s name in that portfolio; that I have; and a Lord
Chancellor’s; that I have;--and an Archbishop’s too. I know
what Parliament is, Mr. Finn. Come, come; don’t put me off with
Parliament.”
There he sat before the fire with his pouch open before him, and
Phineas had no power of moving him. Could Phineas have paid him the
money which was manifestly due to him on the bill, the man would of
course have gone; but failing in that, Phineas could not turn him
out. There was a black cloud on the young member’s brow, and great
anger at his heart,--against Fitzgibbon rather than against the man
who was sitting there before him. “Sir,” he said, “it is really
imperative that I should go. I am pledged to an appointment at the
House at twelve, and it wants now only a quarter. I regret that your
interview with me should be so unsatisfactory, but I can only promise
you that I will see Mr. Fitzgibbon.”
“And when shall I call again, Mr. Finn?”
“Perhaps I had better write to you,” said Phineas.
“Oh dear, no,” said Mr. Clarkson. “I should much prefer to look in.
Looking in is always best. We can get to understand one another in
that way. Let me see. I daresay you’re not particular. Suppose I say
Sunday morning.”
“Really, I could not see you on Sunday morning, Mr. Clarkson.”
“Parliament gents ain’t generally particular,--’speciaily not among
the Catholics,” pleaded Mr. Clarkson.
“I am always engaged on Sundays,” said Phineas.
“Suppose we say Monday,--or Tuesday. Tuesday morning at eleven. And
do be punctual, Mr. Finn. At Tuesday morning I’ll come, and then no
doubt I shall find you ready.” Whereupon Mr. Clarkson slowly put up
his bills within his portfolio, and then, before Phineas knew where
he was, had warmly shaken that poor dismayed member of Parliament by
the hand. “Only do be punctual, Mr. Finn,” he said, as he made his
way down the stairs.
It was now twelve, and Phineas rushed off to a cab. He was in such
a fervour of rage and misery that he could hardly think of his
position, or what he had better do, till he got into the Committee
Room; and when there he could think of nothing else. He intended to
go deeply into the question of potted peas, holding an equal balance
between the assailed Government offices on the one hand, and the
advocates of the potted peas on the other. The potters of the peas,
who wanted to sell their article to the Crown, declared that an
extensive,--perhaps we may say, an unlimited,--use of the article
would save the whole army and navy from the scourges of scurvy,
dyspepsia, and rheumatism, would be the best safeguard against
typhus and other fevers, and would be an invaluable aid in all other
maladies to which soldiers and sailors are peculiarly subject. The
peas in question were grown on a large scale in Holstein, and their
growth had been fostered with the special object of doing good to the
British army and navy. The peas were so cheap that there would be a
great saving in money,--and it really had seemed to many that the
officials of the Horse Guards and the Admiralty had been actuated
by some fiendish desire to deprive their men of salutary fresh
vegetables, simply because they were of foreign growth. But the
officials of the War Office and the Admiralty declared that the
potted peas in question were hardly fit for swine. The motion for the
Committee had been made by a gentleman of the opposition, and Phineas
had been put upon it as an independent member. He had resolved to
give it all his mind, and, as far as he was concerned, to reach a
just decision, in which there should be no favour shown to the
Government side. New brooms are proverbial for thorough work,
and in this Committee work Phineas was as yet a new broom. But,
unfortunately, on this day his mind was so harassed that he could
hardly understand what was going on. It did not, perhaps, much
signify, as the witnesses examined were altogether agricultural. They
only proved the production of peas in Holstein,--a fact as to which
Phineas had no doubt. The proof was naturally slow, as the evidence
was given in German, and had to be translated into English. And
the work of the day was much impeded by a certain member who
unfortunately spoke German, who seemed to be fond of speaking German
before his brethren of the Committee, and who was curious as to
agriculture in Holstein generally. The chairman did not understand
German, and there was a difficulty in checking this gentleman, and
in making him understand that his questions were not relevant to the
issue.
Phineas could not keep his mind during the whole afternoon from the
subject of his misfortune. What should he do if this horrid man came
to him once or twice a week? He certainly did owe the man the money.
He must admit that to himself. The man no doubt was a dishonest
knave who had discounted the bill probably at fifty per cent; but,
nevertheless, Phineas had made himself legally responsible for the
amount. The privilege of the House prohibited him from arrest. He
thought of that very often, but the thought only made him the more
unhappy. Would it not be said, and might it not be said truly, that
he had incurred this responsibility,--a responsibility which he was
altogether unequal to answer,--because he was so protected? He did
feel that a certain consciousness of his privilege had been present
to him when he had put his name across the paper, and there had been
dishonesty in that very consciousness. And of what service would his
privilege be to him, if this man could harass every hour of his
life? The man was to be with him again in a day or two, and when the
appointment had been proposed, he, Phineas, had not dared to negative
it. And how was he to escape? As for paying the bill, that with him
was altogether impossible. The man had told him,--and he had believed
the man,--that payment by Fitzgibbon was out of the question. And
yet Fitzgibbon was the son of a peer, whereas he was only the son of
a country doctor! Of course Fitzgibbon must make some effort,--some
great effort,--and have the thing settled. Alas, alas! He knew enough
of the world already to feel that the hope was vain.
He went down from the Committee Room into the House, and he dined
at the House, and remained there until eight or nine at night; but
Fitzgibbon did not come. He then went to the Reform Club, but he was
not there. Both at the club and in the House many men spoke to him
about the debate of the previous night, expressing surprise that he
had not spoken,--making him more and more wretched. He saw Mr. Monk,
but Mr. Monk was walking arm in arm with his colleague, Mr. Palliser,
and Phineas could do no more than just speak to them. He thought that
Mr. Monk’s nod of recognition was very cold. That might be fancy, but
it certainly was a fact that Mr. Monk only nodded to him. He would
tell Mr. Monk the truth, and then, if Mr. Monk chose to quarrel with
him, he at any rate would take no step to renew their friendship.
From the Reform Club he went to the Shakspeare, a smaller club to
which Fitzgibbon belonged,--and of which Phineas much wished to
become a member,--and to which he knew that his friend resorted when
he wished to enjoy himself thoroughly, and to be at ease in his
inn. Men at the Shakspeare could do as they pleased. There were no
politics there, no fashion, no stiffness, and no rules,--so men said;
but that was hardly true. Everybody called everybody by his Christian
name, and members smoked all over the house. They who did not belong
to the Shakspeare thought it an Elysium upon earth; and they who
did, believed it to be among Pandemoniums the most pleasant. Phineas
called at the Shakspeare, and was told by the porter that Mr.
Fitzgibbon was up-stairs. He was shown into the strangers room, and
in five minutes his friend came down to him.
“I want you to come down to the Reform with me,” said Phineas.
“By jingo, my dear fellow, I’m in the middle of a rubber of whist.”
“There has been a man with me about that bill.”
“What;--Clarkson?”
“Yes, Clarkson,” said Phineas.
“Don’t mind him,” said Fitzgibbon.
“That’s nonsense. How am I to help minding him? I must mind him. He
is coming to me again on Tuesday morning.”
“Don’t see him.”
“How can I help seeing him?”
“Make them say you’re not at home.”
“He has made an appointment. He has told me that he’ll never leave me
alone. He’ll be the death of me if this is not settled.”
“It shall be settled, my dear fellow. I’ll see about it. I’ll see
about it and write you a line. You must excuse me now, because those
fellows are waiting. I’ll have it all arranged.”
Again as Phineas went home he thoroughly wished that he had not
seceded from Mr. Low.