A PROPOSAL.
Lionel Verner was seated in the dining-room at Verner's Pride. Not its
master. Its master, John Massingbird, was there, opposite to Lionel.
They had just dined, and John was filling his short pipe as an
accompaniment to his wine. During dinner, he had been regaling Lionel
with choice anecdotes of his Australian life, laughing ever; but not a
syllable had he broached yet about the "business" he had put forth as
the plea for the invitation to Lionel to come. The anecdotes did not
raise the social features of that far-off colony in Mr. Verner's
estimation. But he laughed with John; laughed as merrily as his heavy
heart would allow him.
It was quite a wintry day, telling of the passing autumn. The skies were
leaden-gray; the dead leaves rustled on the paths; and the sighing wind
swept through the trees with a mournful sound. Void of brightness, of
hope, it all looked, as did Lionel Verner's fortunes. But a few short
weeks ago he had been in John Massingbird's place, in the very chair
that _he_ now sat in, never thinking to be removed from it during life.
And now!--what a change!
"Why don't you smoke, Lionel?" asked John, setting light to his pipe by
the readiest way--that of thrusting it between the bars of the grate.
"You did not care to smoke in the old days, I remember."
"I never cared for it," replied Lionel.
"I can tell you that you would have cared for it, had you been knocked
about as I have. Tobacco's meat and drink to a fellow at the diggings;
as it is to a sailor and a soldier."
"Not to all soldiers," observed Lionel. "My father never smoked an ounce
of tobacco in his life. I have heard them say so. And he saw some
service."
"Every man to his liking," returned John Massingbird. "Folks preach
about tobacco being an acquired taste! It's all bosh. Babies come into
the world with a liking for it, I know. Talking about your father, would
you like to have that portrait of him that hangs in the large
drawing-room? You can if you like. I'm sure you have more right to it
than I."
"Thank you," replied Lionel. "I should very much like it, if you will
give it me."
"What a fastidious chap you are, Lionel!" cried John Massingbird,
pulling vigorously; for the pipe was turning refractory, and would not
keep alight. "There are lots of things you have left behind you here,
that I, in your place, should have marched off without asking."
"The things are yours. That portrait of my father belonged to my Uncle
Stephen, and he made no exception in its favour when he willed Verner's
Pride, and all it contained, away from me. In point of legal right, I
was at liberty to touch nothing, beyond my personal effects."
"Liberty be hanged!" responded John. "You are over fastidious; always
were. Your father was the same, I know; can see it in his likeness. I
should say, by the look of that, he was too much of a gentleman for a
soldier."
Lionel smiled. "Some of our soldiers are the most refined gentlemen in
the world."
"I can't tell how they retain their refinement, then, amid the rough and
ready of camp life. I know I lost all I had at the diggings."
Lionel laughed outright at the notion of John Massingbird's losing his
refinement at the diggings. He never had any to lose. John joined in the
laugh.
"Lionel, old boy, do you know I always liked you, with all your
refinement; and it's a quality that never found great favour with me. I
liked you better than I liked poor Fred; and that's the truth."
Lionel made no reply, and John Massingbird smoked for a few minutes in
silence. Presently he began again.
"I say, what made you go and marry Sibylla?"
Lionel lifted his eyes. But John Massingbird resumed, before he had time
to speak.
"She's not worth a button. Now you need not fly out, old chap. I am not
passing my opinion on your wife; wouldn't presume to do such a thing;
but on my cousin. Surely I may find fault with my cousin, if I like! Why
did you marry her?"
"Why does anybody else marry?" returned Lionel.
"But why did you marry _her_? A sickly, fractious thing! I saw enough of
her in the old days. There! be quiet! I have done. If it hadn't been for
her, I'd have asked you to come here to your old home; you and I should
jog along together first-rate. But Sibylla bars it. She may be a model
of a wife; I don't insinuate to the contrary, take you note, Mr. Verner;
but she's not exactly a model of temper, and Verner's Pride wouldn't be
big enough to hold her and me. Would you have taken up your abode with
me, had you been a free man?"
"I cannot tell," replied Lionel. "It is a question that cannot arise
now."
"No. Sibylla stops it. What are you going to do with yourself?"
"That I cannot tell. I should like an appointment abroad, if I could get
one. I did think of going to London, and looking about me a bit; but I
am not sure that I shall do so just yet."
"I say, Lionel," resumed John Massingbird, sinking his voice, but
speaking in a joking sort of way, "how do you mean to pay your debts? I
hear you have a few."
"I have a good many, one way or another."
"Wipe them off," said John.
"I wish I could wipe them off."
"There's nothing more easy," returned John in his free manner. "Get the
whitewash brush to work. The insolvent court has its friendly doors ever
open."
The colour came into the face of Lionel. A Verner _there!_ He quietly
shook his head. "I dare say I shall find a way of paying some time, if
the people will only wait."
"Sibylla helped you to a good part of the score, didn't she? People are
saying so. Just like her!"
"When I complain of my wife, it will be quite time enough for other
people to begin," said Lionel. "When I married Sibylla, I took her with
her virtues and her faults; and I am quite ready to defend both."
"All right. I'd rather you had the right of defending them than I," said
incorrigible John. "Look here, Lionel, I got you up here to-day to talk
about the estate. Will you take the management of it?"
"Of this estate?" replied Lionel, scarcely understanding.
"Deuce a bit of any other could I offer you. Things are all at sixes and
sevens already. They are chaos; they are purgatory. That's our word out
yonder, Lionel, to express the ultimatum of badness. Matiss comes and
bothers; the tenants, one and another, come and bother; Roy comes and
bothers. What with it all, I'm fit to bar the outer doors. Roy, you
know, thought I should put him into power again! No, no, Mr. Roy; Fred
might have done it, but I never will. I have paid him well for the
services he rendered me; but put him into power--no. Altogether, things
are getting into inextricable confusion; I can't look to them, and I
want a manager. Will you take it, Lionel? I'll give you five hundred a
year."
The mention of the sum quite startled Lionel. It was far more than he
should have supposed John Massingbird would offer to any manager. Matiss
would do it for a fourth. _Should_ he take it?
He sat, twirling his wine-glass in his fingers. There was a soreness of
spirit to get over, and it could not be done all in a moment. To become
a servant (indeed it was no better) on the land that had once been his;
that ought to be his now, by the law of right--a servant to John
Massingbird! Could he bend to it? John smoked, and sat watching him.
He thought of the position of his wife; he thought of the encumbrance on
his mother: he thought of his brother Jan, and what _he_ had done; he
thought of his own very unsatisfactory prospects. Was _this_ putting his
shoulder to the wheel, as he had resolved to do, thus to hesitate on a
quibble of pride? Down, down with his rebellious spirit! Let him be a
man in the sight of Heaven!
He turned to John Massingbird, his brow clear, his eye serene. "I will
take it, and thank you," he said in a steady, cheerful tone.
"Then let's have some grog on the strength of it," was that gentleman's
answer. "Tynn says the worry nearly took my mother's life out of her
during the time she managed the estate; and it would take it out of
mine. If I kept it in my own hands, it would go to the dogs in a
twelvemonth. And you'd not thank me for that, Lionel. You are the next
heir."
"You may take a wife yet."
"A wife for me!" he shouted. "No, thank you. I know the value of 'em too
well for that. Give me my liberty, and you may have the wives. Lionel,
the office had better be in the study as it used to be: you can come up
here of a day. I'll turn the drawing-room into my smoke-shop. If there
are any leases or other deeds missing, you must get them drawn out
again. I'm glad it's settled."
Lionel declined the grog; but he remained on, talking things over. John
Massingbird sat in a cloud of smoke, drinking Lionel's share as well as
his own, and listening to the rain, which had begun to patter against
the window-panes.