KNOCKER VERSUS BELL-PULL.
There is, or was, a street in Oxford, near the ruins of the ancient
castle, and behind the new county jail, where one of the many offsets
of the Isis filters its artificial way beneath low arches and betwixt
dead walls; and this street (partly destroyed since then) was known to
the elder generation by the name of "Cross Duck Lane." Of course what
remains of it now exults in an infinitely grander title, though
smelling thereby no sweeter. With that we have nothing to do; the
street was "Cross Duck Lane" in our time.
Here, in a highly respectable house, a truly respectable man was
living, with his business and his family. "Luke Sharp, gentleman," was
his name, description, style, and title; and he was not by any means a
bad man, so as to be an Attorney.
This man possessed a great deal of influence, having much
house-property; and he never in the least disguised his sentiments, or
played fast and loose with them. Being of a commanding figure, and
fine straightforward aspect, he left an impression, wherever he went,
of honesty, vigour, and manliness. And he went into very good society,
as often as he cared to do so; for although not a native of Oxford,
but of unknown (though clearly large) origin, he now was the head, and
indeed the entirety, of a long-established legal firm. He had married
the daughter of the senior partner, and bought or ousted away the
rest; and although the legend on his plate was still "Piper, Pepper,
Sharp, and Co.," every one knew that the learning, wealth, and honour
of the whole concern were now embodied in Mr. Luke Sharp. Such a man
was under no necessity ever to blow his own trumpet.
His wife, a fat and goodly person, Miranda Piper of former days,
happened to be the first cousin and nearest relative of a famous
man--"Port-wine Fermitage" himself; and his death had affected her
very sadly. For she found that he had provided for himself a most
precarious future, by unjust disposal of his worldly goods, which he
could not come back to rectify. To his godson, her only child and her
idol, Christopher Fermitage Sharp, he had left a copy of Dr.
Doddridge's "Expositor," and nothing else! A golden work, no
doubt--but still golden precepts fill no purse, but rather tend to
empty it. Mrs. Luke Sharp, though a very good Christian, repacked and
sent back the "Expositor."
If Mr. Sharp had been at home, he would not have let her do so. He was
full at all times of large generous impulse, but never yet guilty of
impulsive acts. It had always been said that his son was to have the
bottled half-pipe of gold, or the chief body of it, after the widow's
life-interest. Whereas now, Mrs. Fermitage, if she liked, might roll
all the bottles down the High Street. She, however, was a careful
woman; and it was manifest where the whole of this Côte d'Or vintage
would be binned away--to wit, in the cellars of Beckley Barton, with
the key at Grace Oglander's very pretty waist. Mr. Sharp at the moment
could descry no cure; but still to show temper was a vulgar thing.
Now, upon the New Year's Day of 1838, the bitter weather continuing
still, and doing its best to grow more bitter, Mr. Sharp, being of a
festive turn, had closed his office early. The demand for universal
closing and perpetual holiday had not yet risen to its present height,
and the clerks, though familiar with the kindness of their principal,
scarcely expected such a premature relief. But this only added to the
satisfaction with which they went home to their New Year dinners.
But Mr. Sharp, though of early habits, and hungry at proper seasons,
was not preparing for his dinner now. He had ordered his turkey to be
kept back, and begged his wife to see to it until he could make out
and settle the import of a letter which reached him about one o'clock.
It had been delivered by a groom on horseback, who had suffered some
inward struggle before he had stooped to ring the Attorney's bell. For
"Cross Duck House," though a comfortable place, was not of an
aristocratic cast. The letter was short, and expounded little.
"SIR,--I shall do myself the honour of calling upon you at four
o'clock this afternoon, upon some important business.
"Obediently yours,
"RUSSEL OVERSHUTE."
It is not altogether an agreeable thing, even for a man with the
finest conscience, such as Mr. Sharp was blest with, to receive a
challenge upon an unknown point, curtly worded in this wise. And the
pleasure does not increase, when the strong correspondent is partly
suspected of holding unfavourable views towards one, and the gaze of
self-inspection needs a little more time to compose itself. Luke Sharp
had led an unblemished life, since the follies of his youth subsided;
he subscribed to inevitable charities; and he waited for his rents,
when sure of them. Still he did not like that letter.
Now he took off the coat which he wore at his desk, and his waistcoat
of the morning, and washed his nice white hands, and clothed himself
in expensive dignity. Then he opened his book of daily entries, and
folded blotting-paper, and prepared to receive instructions, or give
advice, or be wise abstractedly. But he thought it a sound precaution
to have his son Christopher within earshot; for young Overshute was
reputed to be of a rather excitable nature; therefore Kit Sharp was
commanded to finish the cleaning of his gun--which was his chief
delight--in his father's closet adjoining the office, and to keep the
door shut, unless called for.
The lawyer was not kept waiting long. As the clock of St. Thomas
struck four, the shoes of a horse rang sharply on the icy road, and
the office-bell kicked up its tongue, with a jerk showing great
extra-mural energy. "Let him ring again," said Mr. Sharp; "I defy him
to ring much harder."
The defiance was soon proved to be unsound; for in less than ten
seconds, the bell, which had stood many years of strong emotion, was
visited with such a violent spasm that nothing short of the
melting-pot restored its constitution. A piece clinked on the passage
floor, and the lawyer was filled with unfeigned wrath. That bell had
been ringing for three generations, and was the Palladium of the firm.
"What clumsy clod-hopper," cried Mr. Sharp, rushing out, as if he saw
nobody--"what beggarly bumpkin has broken my bell? Mr. Overshute!--oh!
I beg pardon, I am sure!"
"We must make allowance," said Russel calmly, "for fidgety animals,
Mr. Sharp; and for thick gloves in this frosty weather. John, take my
horse on the Seven-bridges road, and be back in exactly fifteen
minutes. How kind of you to be at home, Mr. Sharp!"
With the words, the young man bestowed on the lawyer a short sharp
glance, which entirely failed to penetrate the latter.
"Shut out this cold wind, for Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, as he shut
in his visitor. "You young folk never seem to feel the cold. But you
carry it a little too far sometimes. Ah, I must have been about your
age when we had such another hard winter as this, four and twenty
years ago. Scarcely so bitter, but a deal more snow; snow, snow, six
feet everywhere. I was six and twenty then--about your age, I take it,
sir?"
"My age to a tittle," said Overshute; "but I am generally taken for
thirty-two. How can you have guessed it so?"
"Early thought, sir, juvenile thought, and advanced intelligence make
young people look far in front of their age. When you come to my time
of life, young sir, your thoughts and your looks will be younger. Now
take this chair. Never mind your boots; let them hiss as they will on
the fender. I like to hear it--a genial sound--a touch of emery paper
in the morning, and there we are, ready for other boots. I have had
men here come fifty miles across country, as the crow flies, to see
me, when the floods were out; and go away with minds comforted."
"I have heard of your skill in all legal points. But I am not come on
that account. Quibbles and shuffles I detest."
"Well, Mr. Overshute, I have met with a good deal of rudeness in my
early days; before I was known, as I am now. It was worth my while to
disarm it then. It is not so now, in your case. You belong to a very
good county family; and although you are committed to inferior hands,
if you had come in a friendly spirit, I would have been glad to serve
you. As it is, I can only request you to say what your purpose is, and
to settle it."
Russel Overshute, with his large and powerful eyes, gazed straight at
Sharp; and Mr. Sharp (who had steely eyes--the best of all for getting
on with--not very large, but as keen as need be) therewith answered
complacently, and as if he saw hope of amusement.
"You puzzle me, Sharp," said Overshute--about the worst thing he could
have said; and he knew it before the words had passed.
"I am called, for the most part, 'Mister Sharp,' except by gentlemen
of my own age, or friends who entirely trust me. Mr. Russel Overshute,
explain how I have puzzled you."
"Never mind that. You would never understand. Have you any idea what
has brought me here?"
"Yes, to be plain with you, I have. One of your least, but very oldest
tenants, has been caught out in poaching. You hate the game-laws; you
are a Radical, ranter, and reformer. You know that your lawyer is good
and active, but too well known as a Liberal. It requires a man of
settled principles to contest with the game-laws."
"You could not be more wide astray!" cried young Overshute
triumphantly, taking in every word the other had said, as a piece of
his victory. "No, no, thank goodness, we are not come so low that we
cannot get off our tenants, in spite of any evidence; you must indeed
think that our family is quite reduced to the dirt, if we can no
longer do even that much."
"Not at all, sir. You are much too hot. I only supposed for the moment
that your principles might have stopped you."
"Oh dear, no! My mother could not take it at all, in that way. Now,
where have you put Grace Oglander?"
Impetuous Russel, with his nostrils quivering, and his eyes fixed on
the lawyer's, and his right hand clenching his heavy whip, purposely
fired his question thus, like a thunderbolt out of pure heaven. He
felt sure of producing a grand effect; and so he did, but not the
right one.
"You threaten me, do you?" said Mr. Sharp. "I think that you make a
mistake, young man. Violence is objectionable in every way, though
natural with fools, who believe they are the stronger. I am sorry to
have spoiled your whip; but you will acknowledge that the fault was
yours. Now, I am ready for reason--if you are."
With a grave bow, Luke Sharp offered Russel the fragments of his pet
hunting-crop, which he had caught from his hand, and snapped like a
stick of peppermint, as he spoke. Overshute thought himself a fine,
strong fellow, and with very good reason; but the quickness of his
antagonist left him gasping.
"I want no apologies," Mr. Sharp continued, going to his desk; while
the young man looked sadly at his brazen-knockered butt, for he had
been at that admirable college, and cherished his chief reminiscence
of it thus. "Apologies are always waste of time. You have threatened
me, and you have found your mistake. Such a formidable antagonist
makes one's hand shake. Still, I think that I can hit my key-hole."
"You can always make your keys fit, I dare say. But you never could do
that to me again."
"Very likely not. I shall never care to try it. Physical force is
always low. But, as a gentleman, you must own that you first offered
violence."
"Mr. Sharp, I confess that I did. Not in word, or deed; but still my
manner fairly imported it. And the first respect I ever felt for you,
I feel now, for your quickness and pluck."
"I am pleased with any respect from you; because you have little for
anything. Now, repeat your question, moderately."
"Where have you put Grace Oglander?"
"Let me offer you a chair again. Striding about with frozen feet is
almost the worst thing a man can do. However, you seem to be a little
excited. Have you brought me a letter from my client, to authorize
this inquiry?"
"From Mr. Oglander? Oh no! He has no idea of my being here."
"We will get over that. You are a friend of his, and a neighbour. He
has asked you, in a general way, to help him in this sad great
trouble."
"Not at all. He would rather not have my interference. He does not
like its motive."
"And the motive is, that like many other people, you were attached to
this young lady?"
"Certainly, I am. I would give my life at any moment for her."
"Well, well; I will not speak quite so strongly as you do. Life grows
dearer as it gets more short. But still, I would give my best year
remaining to get to the bottom of this problem."
"You would?" cried young Overshute, looking at him, with admiration of
his strength and truth. "Give me your hand, sir? I have wronged you! I
see that I am but a hasty fool!"
"You should never own that," said the lawyer.