Mr. Keelevin, when Charles had left him, sat for some time with his
cheek resting on his hand, reflecting on what had passed; and in
the afternoon, he ordered his horse, and rode over to Grippy, where
he found the Laird sitting sullenly by himself in the easy-chair by
the fire-side, with a white night-cap on his head, and grey worsted
stockings drawn over his knees.
‘I’m wae, Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said the honest lawyer, as he entered the
room, ‘to see you in sic an ailing condition; what’s the matter wi’
you, and how lang hae ye been sae indisposed?’
Claud had not observed his entrance; for, supposing the noise in
opening the door had been made by the Leddy in her manifold household
cares, or by some one of the servants, he never moved his head,
but kept his eyes ruminatingly fixed on a peeling of soot that was
ominously fluttering on one of the ribs of the grate, betokening,
according to the most credible oracles of Scottish superstition, the
arrival of a stranger, or the occurrence of some remarkable event. But,
on hearing the voice of his legal friend, he turned briskly round.
‘Sit ye doun, Mr. Keelevin, sit ye doun forenent me. What’s brought you
here the day? Man, this is sore weather for ane at your time o’ life to
come so far afield,’ was the salutation with which he received him.
‘Aye,’ replied Mr. Keelevin, ‘baith you and me, Grippy, are beginning
to be the waur o’ the wear; but I didna expek to find you in sic a
condition as this. I hope it’s no the gout or the rheumatism.’
Claud, who had the natural horror of death as strong as most country
gentlemen of a certain age, if not of all ages, did not much relish
either the observation or the inquiries. He, however, said, with
affected indifference,--
‘No! be thankit, it’s neither the t’ane nor the t’ither, but just a
waff o’ cauld that I got twa nights ago;--a bit towt that’s no worth
the talking o’.’
‘I’m extraordinar glad to hear’t; for, seeing you in sic a frail and
feckless state, I was fear’t that ye were na in a way to converse on
any concern o’ business. No that I hae muckle to say, but ye ken a’
sma’ things are a great fasherie to a weakly person, and I would na
discompose you, Mr. Walkinshaw, unless you just felt yoursel in your
right ordinar, for, at your time o’ life, ony disturbance’----
‘My time o’ life?’ interrupted the old man tartly. ‘Surely I’m no sae
auld that ye need to be speaking o’ my time o’ life? But what’s your
will, Mr. Keelevin, wi’ me?’
Whether all this sympathetic condolence, on the part of the lawyer,
was said in sincerity, or with any ulterior view, we need not pause to
discuss, for the abrupt question of the invalid brought it at once to a
conclusion.
‘In truth, Laird,’ replied Mr. Keelevin, ‘I canna say that I hae ony
thing o’ a particular speciality to trouble you anent, for I came
hither more in the way o’ friendship than o’ business,--having had this
morning a visit frae your son Charles, a fine weel-doing young man as
can be.’
‘He’s weel enough,’ said the old man gruffly, and the lawyer
continued,--
‘’Deed, Mr. Walkinshaw, he’s mair than weel enough. He’s by common,
and it was with great concern I heard that you and him are no on sic a
footing of cordiality as I had thought ye were.’
‘Has he been making a complaint o’ me?’ said Claud looking sharply,
and with a grim and knotted brow as if he was, at the same time,
apprehensive and indignant.
‘He has mair sense and discretion,’ replied Mr. Keelevin; ‘but he was
speaking to me on a piece of business, and I was surprised he did na
rather confer wi’ you; till, in course of conversation, it fell out,
as it were unawares, that he did na like to speak to you anent it;
the which dislike, I jealouse, could only proceed o’ some lack o’
confidence between you, mair than should ever be between a father and a
well-behaved son like Mr. Charles.’
‘And what was’t?’ said Grippy drily.
‘I doubt that his income is scant to his want, Mr. Walkinshaw.’
‘He’s an extravagant fool; and ne’er had a hand to thraw a key in a
lock;--when I began the world I had na’----
‘Surely,’ interrupted Mr. Keelevin, ‘ye could ne’er think the son
o’ a man in your circumstances should hain and hamper as ye were
necessitated to do in your younger years. But no to mak a hearing or an
argument concerning the same--Mr. Charles requires a sma’ sum to get
him free o’ a wee bit difficulty, for, ye ken, there are some folk, Mr.
Walkinshaw, that a flea-bite molests like the lash o’ a whip.’
The old man made no answer to this; but sat for some time silent,
drawing down his brows and twirling his thumbs. Mr. Keelevin waited in
patience till he should digest the reply he so evidently meditated.
‘I hae ay thought Charlie honest, at least,’ said Grippy; ‘but I maun
say that this fashes me, for if he’s in sic straits, there’s no telling
what liberties he may be led to tak wi’ my property in the shop.’
Mr. Keelevin, who, in the first part of this reply, had bent eagerly
forward, was so thunderstruck by the conclusion, that he threw himself
back in his chair with his arms extended; but in a moment recovering
from his consternation, he said, with fervour,--
‘Mr. Walkinshaw, I mind weel the reproof ye gave me when I remonstrated
wi’ you against the injustice ye were doing the poor lad in the entail,
but there’s no consideration on this earth will let me alloo you to
gang on in a course of error and prejudice. Your son is an honest young
man. I wish I could say his father kent his worth, or was worthy o’
him--and I’ll no see him wrangeously driven to the door, without taking
his part, and letting the world ken wha’s to blame. I’ll no say ye hae
defrauded him o’ his birthright, for the property was your ain--but if
ye drive him forth the shop, and cast him wi’ his sma’ family on the
scrimp mercy of mankind, I would be wanting to human nature in general,
if I did na say it was most abominable, and that you yoursel, wi’ a’
your trumpery o’ Walkinshaws and Kittlestonheughs, ought to be scourged
by the hands o’ the hangman. So do as ye like, Mr. Walkinshaw, ride to
the deevil at the full gallop for aught I care, but ye’s no get out o’
this world without hearing the hue-and-cry that every Christian soul
canna but raise after you.’
Claud was completely cowed both by the anger and menace of the
honest lawyer, but still more by the upbraidings of his own startled
conscience--and he said, in a humiliated tone, that almost provoked
contempt,--
‘Ye’re oure hasty, Mr. Keelevin. I did na mint a word about driving him
forth the shop. Did he tell you how muckle his defect was?’
‘Twa miserable hundred pounds,’ replied Mr. Keelevin, somewhat
subsiding into his wonted equanimity.
‘Twa hundred pound o’ debt!’ exclaimed Claud.
‘Aye,’ said Mr. Keelevin, ‘and I marvel it’s no mair, when I consider
the stinting and the sterile father o’ him.’
‘If I had the siller, Mr. Keelevin,’ replied Claud, ‘to convince baith
you and him that I’m no the niggar ye tak me for, I would gi’e you’t
wi’ hearty gude will; but the advance I made to get Geordie into his
partnership has for the present rookit me o’ a’ I had at command.’
‘No possible!’ exclaimed Mr. Keelevin, subdued from his indignation;
adding, ‘and heavens preserve us, Mr. Walkinshaw, an ony thing were
happening on a sudden to carry you aff, ye hae made na provision for
Charlie nor your dochter.’
There was something in this observation which made the old man shrink
up into himself, and vibrate from head to heel. In the course, however,
of less than a minute, he regained his self-possession, and said,--
‘’Deed, your observe, Mr. Keelevin, is very just, and I ought to do
something to provide for what may come to pass. I maun try and get
Watty to concur wi’ me in some bit settlement that may lighten the
disappointment to Charlie and Meg, should it please the Lord to tak me
to himsel without a reasonable warning. Can sic a paper be made out?’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied the worthy lawyer, delighted with so successful an
issue to his voluntary mission; ‘ye hae twa ways o’ doing the business;
either by getting Watty to agree to an aliment, or by making a bond of
provision to Charles and Mrs. Milrookit.’
Claud said he would prefer the former mode; observing, with respect to
the latter, that he thought it would be a cheating o’ the law to take
the other course.
‘As for cheating the law,’ said the lawyer, ‘ye need gie yoursel no
uneasiness about it, provided ye do honestly by your ain bairns, and
the rest o’ the community.’
And it was in consequence agreed, that, in the course of a day or two,
Claud should take Walter to Glasgow, to execute a deed, by which, in
the event of surviving his father, he would undertake to pay a certain
annuity for the behoof of Charles’s family, and that of his sister,
Mrs. Milrookit.