A DAY-DREAMER IN LONDON STREETS.
Now as to the Lethbridges, concerning whose characters and
peculiarities it is necessary to say something more.
There was Mrs. Lethbridge, whom we already know, affectionately called
Aunt Leth, not only by Phoebe, but by a great many young people who
were on terms of friendship with her. And to be on such terms with such
a woman was worth while, for she was not only a magnet that attracted
love, she was a sun that bestowed it. There was Mr. Lethbridge, for the
same reason called Uncle Leth by his young friends, and delighted in
being so called. There was Fanny Lethbridge, their only daughter,
between whom and Phoebe passed, under the seal of sacred secrecy, the
most delicious confidences. Lastly, there was Robert Lethbridge, their
only son, a young gentleman of vague and unlimited views, just entering
into the serious business of life, and who, when things were perfectly
smooth between him and his cousin Phoebe, was addressed as Bob, and at
other times, according to the measure of dignity deemed necessary, as
Robert or Cousin Robert. But it was generally Bob.
Mrs. Lethbridge, on her last birthday, forty-four; Mr. Lethbridge, on
_his_ last birthday, forty-eight; Fanny on _her_ last birthday,
nineteen (with many a sigh at being compelled to bid farewell to
teens); Robert, on _his_ last birthday, twenty-two. These comprised the
family.
To hark back for a moment. It was an undoubted love match with Aunt and
Uncle Leth. He a bank clerk, with limited income; she a young lady,
with no income at all. That was of small account, however. Cupid--the
real one, not the counterfeit--does not pause to consider. They had a
boundless income in their love, and they drew large checks upon it.
Expectations they had none, except that of being happy. Unlike the
majority of expectations, theirs was fulfilled.
Outwardly and inwardly happy. For instance: their honey-moon. Was there
ever a honey-moon like it, though it was not spent on the Continent?
Never. It was their opinion, and if you dispute it you do so upon
insufficient evidence. Then, their children. Parents never drew sweeter
delight from their offspring than they from theirs. It is a species of
delight which cannot be bought, being far more precious than silver and
gold, and in the hourly and daily return for love invested it proclaims
itself an incomparable speculation. Robert came first, Fanny next. This
was as it should be. The boy to protect the girl, who of the two was
infinitely the wiser. This is often the case with boys and girls.
The loving couple had a hard fight of it, and much to learn. They
buckled to with willingness and cheerfulness, took their rubs lightly,
and spread their pleasures so that they lasted a long time--not making
light of them, as some do, and thus depriving themselves of the greater
part of the enjoyment to be derived from them. As an example: a visit
to the theatre, for which they were now able to obtain "orders." But it
was not so during the first years of their married life. The
contemplated visit used to be planned weeks beforehand--discussed,
laughed over, enjoyed in the anticipation, but not half so much as in
the realization. As to which theatre, now, and which play? The grave
conversations they had on the point! It was really worth while
listening to them. Those nights were gala-nights. After the theatre, a
bit of supper, perhaps--occasionally, but rarely--in a restaurant. The
careful study of the bill of fare; the selection of the modest dishes;
the merry words with which they banished the expensive ones and chose
the cheapest--nothing could be more delightful, nothing more truly
enjoyable. They went out to meet the sun, and revelled in its beams.
Worth laying to heart, this!
Their income of a hundred and eighty sufficed. They could not save
money--but what a mine was the future!
Of the two, the one who drew most largely upon it was Mr. Lethbridge.
The extraordinary demands he made upon it, and the extraordinary
readiness with which his demands were met! It will be not unpleasant to
linger a little over this phase of his character, premising, for
lucidity, that in all London could not be found a brighter, more
agreeable day-dreamer.
Thus: Walking to the bank to save the 'bus fare, Mr. Lethbridge
beguiled the way. He had kissed his wife and Fanny, and saw them
smiling at the window, and waving their hands to him as he passed the
house. He went on his way rejoicing, and straightway began to dream.
What is this he hears? A meeting of the bank directors is being held. A
messenger appears before Mr. Lethbridge's desk.
"The directors wish to see you, sir."
He prepares to obey the call, leaves his papers and books in order,
pulls up his shirt collar, pulls down his cuffs, straightens himself
generally, and presents himself in the board-room. There they are, the
great magnates, all before him. The chairman, white-haired,
gold-spectacled, and pleasant-voiced. Others of the directors also
white-haired, gold-spectacled, and pleasant-voiced. Comfortable-looking
gentlemen of the highest respectability, with country houses, carriages
and horses, first-class railway tickets, and famous cellars of
wine--all plainly visible in their shirt fronts and gold watch chains.
They gaze at him in approval. He bows to them. The chairman bends his
head slightly, and smiles a welcome. The other directors follow suit.
They bend their heads slightly, and smile a welcome. It is really very
pleasant.
"Take a seat, Mr. Lethbridge. We wish to say a few words to you."
He sinks into a chair, and waits for the chairman to unfold himself.
The chairman coughs to clear his voice.
"You have served the bank, Mr. Lethbridge, man and boy, for
twenty-eight years. We have observed you for many years, and are happy
to express our approval of the manner in which you have performed your
duties."
What could be better than that? How delighted they will be at home when
he tells them!
"Always punctual at your post, Mr. Lethbridge. Never an error in your
accounts. We have had no occasion to complain of the slightest
irregularity."
Positive facts, and, although not mentioned till now, carefully noted
by those in authority over him. Of that there could be no doubt; and
how pleasant and agreeable it was to hear it! He had always been
confident that his time would come.
"As a substantial mark of our approval, Mr. Lethbridge, we offer you
the desk of our second chief cashier, who is about to retire on a
pension. You will take his place at the end of the present month, and
your salary will be six hundred pounds per annum."
The chairman rises and shakes hands with him; the other directors rise
and shake hands with him. He retires from the board-room, filled with
joy. Everybody in the bank congratulates him; he has not an enemy in
the establishment.
Being now in the enjoyment of a salary more than three times as large
as that upon which he and his wife have had to manage since their
marriage, he proceeds to the disposal of it. A little extravagance is
allowable; he must work down his feelings somehow. A new dress suit for
himself, a new black silk for his wife. His dress suit had lasted him
for Heaven knows how long, and his wife's black silk has been made over
and turned till it really could not be made over and turned again. Bob
shall have the gold watch he has been promised since childhood, and
which father's ship--which certainly has made one of the longest
passages on record--has been bringing home for the last dozen years.
Fanny shall be suitably provided for. For wife and daughter, each one
dozen pairs of kid gloves, four button, eight button, a hundred button
if they like; new bonnets, mantles, and boots; and also for each a
ten-pound note, in a new purse, to do just as they please with. Phoebe,
also, must not be forgotten. She shall have new gloves, and bonnet, and
mantle, and boots, and money in a new purse. He goes out with them to
make the purchases, and they have the most delightfully grave
consultations and discussions. And just as the shopkeeper in Regent
street is pressing upon him a most extraordinary bargain in the shape
of a new silk----
Yes, just at that moment Mr. Lethbridge arrives at the bank, punctual,
as usual, to the minute. He is in the best of spirits. His walk from
Camden Town has been as good as a play. Better; for he is convinced
that his dreams will come true one of these fine days. What does it
matter, a week or two sooner or later?