THE MOONBEAM.
Ralph the heir had given his answer, and the thing was settled. He
had abandoned his property for ever, and was to be put into immediate
possession of a large sum of money,--of a sum so large that it would
seem at once to make him a rich man. He knew, however, that if he
should spend this money he would be a pauper for life; and he knew
also how great was his facility for spending. There might, however,
be at least a thousand a year for him and for his heirs after him,
and surely it ought to be easy for him to live upon a thousand a
year.
As he thought of this he tried to make the best of it. He had at
any rate rescued himself out of the hands of Neefit, who had become
intolerable to him. As for Polly, she had refused him twice. Polly
was a very sweet girl, but he could not make it matter of regret to
himself that he should have lost Polly. Had Polly been all alone in
the world she would have been well enough,--but Polly with papa and
mamma Neefit must have been a mistake. It was well for him, at any
rate, that he was out of that trouble. As regarded the Neefits, it
would be simply necessary that he should pay the breeches-maker the
money that he owed them, and go no more either to Conduit Street or
to Hendon.
And then what else should he do,--or leave undone? In what other
direction should he be active or inactive? He was well aware
that hitherto he had utterly wasted his life. Born with glorious
prospects, he had now so dissipated them that there was nothing left
for him but a quiet and very unambitious mode of life. Of means he
had sufficient, if only he could keep that sufficiency. But he knew
himself,--he feared that he knew himself too well to trust himself
to keep that which he had unless he altogether changed his manner of
living. To be a hybrid at the Moonbeam for life,--half hero and half
dupe, among grooms and stable-keepers, was not satisfactory to him.
He could see and could appreciate better things, and could long for
them; but he could not attain to anything better unless he were to
alter altogether his mode of life. Would it not be well for him to
get a wife? He was rid of Polly, who had been an incubus to him, and
now he could choose for himself.
He wrote to his brother Gregory, telling his brother what he had
done. The writing of letters was ever a trouble to him, and on this
occasion he told his tidings in a line or two. "Dear Greg., I have
accepted my uncle's offer. It was better so. When I wrote to you
before things were different. I need not tell you that my heart is
sore for the old place. Had I stuck to it, however, I should have
beggared you and disgraced myself. Yours affectionately, R. N." That
was all. What more was to be said which, in the saying, could be
serviceable to any one? The dear old place! He would never see it
again. Nothing on earth should induce him to go there, now that it
could under no circumstances be his own. It would still belong to a
Newton, and he would try and take comfort in that. He might at any
rate have done worse with it. He might have squandered his interest
among the Jews, and so have treated his inheritance that it must have
been sold among strangers.
He was very low in spirits for two or three days, thinking of all
this. He had been with his lawyer, and his lawyer had told him that
it must yet be some weeks before the sale would be perfected. "Now
that it is done, the sooner the better," said Ralph. The lawyer told
him that if he absolutely wanted ready money for his present needs
he could have it; but that otherwise it would be better for him to
wait patiently,--say for a month. He was not absolutely in want of
money, having still funds which had been supplied to him by the
breeches-maker. But he could not remain in town. Were he to remain in
town, Neefit would be upon him; and, in truth, though he was quite
clear in his conscience in regard to Polly, he did not wish to have
to explain personally to Mr. Neefit that he had sold his interest in
Newton Priory. The moment the money was in his hands he would pay Mr.
Neefit; and then--; why then he thought that he would be entitled
to have Mr. Neefit told that he was not at home should Mr. Neefit
trouble him again.
He would marry and live somewhere very quietly;--perhaps take a small
farm and keep one hunter. His means would be sufficient for that,
even with a wife and family. Yes;--that would be the kind of life
most suited for him. He would make a great change. He would be simple
in his habits, domestic, and extravagant in nothing. To hunt once
a week from his own little country house would be delightful. Who
should be the mistress of that home? That of all questions was now
the most important.
The reader may remember a certain trifling incident which took place
some three or four months since on the lawn at Popham Villa. It was
an incident which Clary Underwood had certainly never forgotten. It
is hardly too much to say that she thought of it every hour. She
thought of it as a great sin;--but as a sin which had been forgiven,
and, though a grievous sin, as strong evidence of that which was
not sinful, and which if true would be so full of joy. Clary had
never forgotten this incident;--but Ralph had forgotten it nearly
altogether. That he had accompanied the incident by any assurance of
his love, by any mention of love intended to mean anything, he was
altogether unaware. He would have been ready to swear that he had
never so committed himself. Little tender passages of course there
had been. Such are common,--so he thought,--when young ladies and
young gentlemen know each other well and are fond of each other's
company. But that he owed himself to Clarissa Underwood, and that he
would sin grievously against her should he give himself to another,
he had no idea. It merely occurred to him that there might be some
slight preparatory embarrassment were he to offer his hand to Mary
Bonner. Yet he thought that of all the girls in the world Mary Bonner
was the one to whom he would best like to offer it. It might indeed
be possible for him to marry some young woman with money; but in his
present frame of mind he was opposed to any such effort. Hitherto
things with him had been all worldly, empty, useless, and at the same
time distasteful. He was to have married Polly Neefit for her money,
and he had been wretched ever since he had entertained the idea. Love
and a cottage were, he knew, things incompatible; but the love and
the cottage implied in those words were synonymous with absolute
poverty. Love with thirty thousand pounds, even though it should have
a cottage joined with it, need not be a poverty-stricken love. He was
sick of the world,--of the world such as he had made it for himself,
and he would see if he could not do something better. He would first
get Mary Bonner, and then he would get the farm. He was so much
delighted with the scheme which he thus made for himself, that he
went to his club and dined there pleasantly, allowing himself a
bottle of champagne as a sort of reward for having made up his mind
to so much virtue. He met a friend or two, and spent a pleasant
evening, and as he walked home to his lodgings in the evening was
quite in love with his prospects. It was well for him to have rid
himself of the burden of an inheritance which might perhaps not have
been his for the next five-and-twenty years. As he undressed himself
he considered whether it would be well for him at once to throw
himself at Mary Bonner's feet. There were two reasons for not doing
this quite immediately. He had been told by his lawyer that he ought
to wait for some form of assent or agreement from the Squire before
he took any important step as consequent upon the new arrangement
in regard to the property, and then Sir Thomas was still among the
electors at Percycross. He wished to do everything that was proper,
and would wait for the return of Sir Thomas. But he must do something
at once. To remain in his lodgings and at his club was not in accord
with that better path in life which he had chalked out for himself.
Of course he must go down to the Moonbeam. He had four horses there,
and must sell at least three of them. One hunter he intended to allow
himself. There were Brag, Banker, Buff, and Brewer; and he thought
that he would keep Brag. Brag was only six years old, and might last
him for the next seven years. In the meantime he could see a little
cub-hunting, and live at the Moonbeam for a week at any rate as
cheaply as he could in London. So he went down to the Moonbeam, and
put himself under the charge of Mr. Horsball.
And here he found himself in luck. Lieutenant Cox was there, and with
the lieutenant a certain Fred Pepper, who hunted habitually with the
B. and B. Lieutenant Cox had soon told his little tale. He had sold
out, and had promised his family that he would go to Australia. But
he intended to "take one more winter out of himself," as he phrased
it. He had made a bargain to that effect with his governor. His debts
had been paid, his commission had been sold, and he was to be shipped
for Queensland. But he was to have one more winter with the B. and B.
An open, good-humoured, shrewd youth was Lieutenant Cox, who suffered
nothing from false shame, and was intelligent enough to know that
life at the rate of £1,200 a year, with £400 to spend, must come to
an end. Fred Pepper was a young man of about forty-five, who had
hunted with the B. and B., and lived at the Moonbeam from a time
beyond which the memory of Mr. Horsball's present customers went not.
He was the father of the Moonbeam, Mr. Horsball himself having come
there since the days in which Fred Pepper first became familiar with
its loose boxes. No one knew how he lived or how he got his horses.
He had, however, a very pretty knack of selling them, and certainly
paid Mr. Horsball regularly. He was wont to vanish in April, and
would always turn up again in October. Some people called him the
dormouse. He was good-humoured, good-looking after a horsey fashion,
clever, agreeable, and quite willing to submit himself to any
nickname that could be found for him. He liked a rubber of whist, and
was supposed to make something out of bets with bad players. He rode
very carefully, and was altogether averse to ostentation and bluster
in the field. But he could make a horse do anything when he wanted
to sell him, and could on an occasion give a lead as well as any man.
Everybody liked him, and various things were constantly said in his
praise. He was never known to borrow a sovereign. He had been known
to lend a horse. He did not drink. He was a very safe man in the
field. He did not lie outrageously in selling his horses. He did not
cheat at cards. As long as he had a drop of drink left in his flask,
he would share it with any friend. He never boasted. He was much
given to chaff, but his chaff was good-humoured. He was generous with
his cigars. Such were his virtues. That he had no adequate means of
his own and that he never earned a penny, that he lived chiefly by
gambling, that he had no pursuit in life but pleasure, that he never
went inside a church, that he never gave away a shilling, that he was
of no use to any human being, and that no one could believe a word he
said of himself,--these were specks upon his character. Taken as a
whole Fred Pepper was certainly very popular with the gentlemen and
ladies of the B. and B.
Ralph Newton when he dropped down upon the Moonbeam was made loudly
welcome. Mr. Horsball, whose bill for £500 had been honoured at its
first day of maturity, not a little, perhaps, to his own surprise,
treated Ralph almost as a hero. When Ralph made some reference to the
remainder of the money due, Mr. Horsball expressed himself as quite
shocked at the allusion. He had really had the greatest regret in
asking Mr. Newton for his note of hand, and would not have done it,
had not an unforeseen circumstance called upon him suddenly to make
up a few thousands. He had felt very much obliged to Mr. Newton for
his prompt kindness. There needn't be a word about the remainder,
and if Mr. Newton wanted something specially good for the next
season,--as of course he would,--Mr. Horsball had just the horse that
would suit him. "You'll about want a couple more, Mr. Newton," said
Mr. Horsball.
Then Ralph told something of his plans to this Master of the
Studs,--something, but not much. He said nothing of the sale of his
property, and nothing quite definite as to that one horse with which
his hunting was to be done for the future. "I'm going to turn over a
new leaf, Horsball," he said.
"Not going to be spliced, squire?"
"Well;--I can't say that I am, but I won't say that I ain't. But I'm
certainly going to make a change which will take me away from your
fatherly care."
"I'm sorry for that, squire. We think we've always taken great care
of you here."
"The very best in the world;--but a man must settle down in the world
some day, you know. I want a nice bit of land, a hundred and fifty
acres, or something of that sort."
"To purchase, squire?"
"I don't care whether I buy it or take it on lease. But it mustn't be
in this county. I am too well known here, and should always want to
be out when I ought to be looking after the stock."
"You'll take the season out of yourself first, at any rate," said Mr.
Horsball. Ralph shook his head, but Mr. Horsball felt nearly sure
of his customer for the ensuing winter. It is not easy for a man to
part with four horses, seven or eight saddles, an establishment of
bridles, horsesheets, spurs, rollers, and bandages, a pet groom,
a roomful of top boots, and leather breeches beyond the power of
counting. This is a wealth which it is easy to increase, but of which
it is very difficult to get quit.
"I think I shall sell," said Ralph.
"We'll talk about that in April," said Mr. Horsball.
He went out cub-hunting three or four times, and spent the
intermediate days playing dummy whist with Fred Pepper and Cox,--who
was no longer a lieutenant. Ralph felt that this was not the sort of
beginning for his better life which would have been most appropriate;
but then he hardly had an opportunity of beginning that better life
quite at once. He must wait till something more definite had been
done about the property,--and, above all things, till Sir Thomas
should be back from canvassing. He did, however, so far begin
his better life as to declare that the points at whist must be
low,--shilling points, with half-a-crown on the rubber. "Quite
enough for this kind of thing," said Fred Pepper. "We only want just
something to do." And Ralph, when at the end of the week he had lost
only a matter of fifteen pounds, congratulated himself on having
begun his better life. Cox and Fred Pepper, who divided the trifle
between them, laughed at the bagatelle.
But before he left the Moonbeam things had assumed a shape which,
when looked at all round, was not altogether pleasant to him. Before
he had been three days at the place he received a letter from his
lawyer, telling him that his uncle had given his formal assent to the
purchase, and had offered to pay the stipulated sum as soon as Ralph
would be willing to receive it. As to any further sum that might be
forthcoming, a valuer should be agreed upon at once. The actual deed
of sale and transfer would be ready by the middle of November; and
the lawyer advised Ralph to postpone his acceptance of the money till
that deed should have been executed. It was evident from the letter
that there was no need on his part to hurry back to town. This letter
he found waiting for him on his return one day from hunting. There
had been a pretty run, very fast, with a kill, as there will be
sometimes in cub-hunting in October,--though as a rule, of all
sports, cub-hunting is the sorriest. Ralph had ridden his favourite
horse Brag, and Mr. Pepper had taken out,--just to try him,--a little
animal of his that he had bought, as he said, quite at haphazard. He
knew nothing about him, and was rather afraid that he had been done.
But the little horse seemed to have a dash of pace about him, and in
the evening there was some talk of the animal. Fred Pepper thought
that the little horse was faster than Brag. Fred Pepper never praised
his own horses loudly; and when Brag's merits were chaunted, said
that perhaps Ralph was right. Would Ralph throw his leg over the
little horse on Friday and try him? On the Friday Ralph did throw his
leg over the little horse, and there was another burst. Ralph was
obliged to confess, as they came home together in the afternoon, that
he had never been better carried. "I can see what he is now," said
Fred Pepper;--"he is one of those little horses that one don't get
every day. He's up to a stone over my weight, too." Now Ralph and
Fred Pepper each rode thirteen stone and a half.
On that day they dined together, and there was much talk as to the
future prospects of the men. Not that Fred Pepper said anything of
his future prospects. No one ever presumed him to have a prospect, or
suggested to him to look for one. But Cox had been very communicative
and confidential, and Ralph had been prompted to say something of
himself. Fred Pepper, though he had no future of his own, could
he pleasantly interested about the future of another, and had
quite agreed with Ralph that he ought to settle himself. The only
difficulty was in deciding the when. Cox intended to settle himself
too, but Cox was quite clear as to the wisdom of taking another
season out of himself. He was prepared to prove that it would be
sheer waste of time and money not to do so. "Here I am," said Cox,
"and a fellow always saves money by staying where he is." There was a
sparkle of truth in this which Ralph Newton found himself unable to
deny.
"You'll never have another chance," said Pepper.
"That's another thing," said Cox. "Of course I shan't. I've turned it
round every side, and I know what I'm about. As for horses, I believe
they sell better in April than they do in October. Men know what they
are then." Fred Pepper would not exactly back this opinion, but he
ventured to suggest that there was not so much difference as some men
supposed.
"If you are to jump into the cold water," said Ralph, "you'd better
take the plunge at once."
"I'd sooner do it in summer than winter," said Fred Pepper.
"Of course," said Cox. "If you must give up hunting, do it at the end
of the season, not at the beginning. There's a time for all things.
Ring the bell, Dormouse, and we'll have another bottle of claret
before we go to dummy."
"If I stay here for the winter," said Ralph, "I should want another
horse. Though I might, perhaps, get through with four."
"Of course you might," said Pepper, who never spoilt his own market
by pressing.
"I'd rather give up altogether than do it in a scratch way," said
Ralph. "I've got into a fashion of having a second horse, and I like
it."
"It's the greatest luxury in the world," said Cox.
"I never tried it," said Pepper; "I'm only too happy to get one." It
was admitted by all men that Fred Pepper had the art of riding his
horses without tiring them.
They played their rubber of whist and had a little hot whisky and
water. On this evening Mr. Horsball was admitted to their company and
made a fourth. But he wouldn't bet. Shilling points, he said, were
quite as much as he could afford. Through the whole evening they went
on talking of the next season, of the absolute folly of giving up one
thing before another was begun, and of the merits of Fred Pepper's
little horse. "A clever little animal, Mr. Pepper," said the great
man, "a very clever little animal; but I wish you wouldn't bring so
many clever un's down here, Mr. Pepper."
"Why not, Horsball?" asked Cox.
"Because he interferes with my trade," said Mr. Horsball, laughing.
It was supposed, nevertheless, that Mr. Horsball and Mr. Pepper quite
understood each other. Before the evening was over, a price had been
fixed, and Ralph had bought the little horse for £130. Why shouldn't
he take another winter out of himself? He could not marry Mary Bonner
and get into a farm all in a day,--nor yet all in a month. He would
go to work honestly with the view of settling himself; but let him
be as honest about it as he might, his winter's hunting would not
interfere with him. So at last he assured himself. And then he had
another argument strong in his favour. He might hunt all the winter
and yet have this thirty thousand pounds,--nay, more than thirty
thousand pounds at the end of it. In fact, imprudent and foolish as
had been his hunting in all previous winters, there would not even
be any imprudence in this winter's hunting. Fortified by all these
unanswerable arguments he did buy Mr. Fred Pepper's little horse.
On the next morning, the morning of the day on which he was to return
to town, the arguments did not seem to be so irresistible, and he
almost regretted what he had done. It was not that he would be ruined
by another six months' fling at life. Situated as he now was so much
might be allowed to him almost without injury. But then how can a man
trust in his own resolutions before he has begun to keep them,--when,
at the very moment of beginning, he throws them to the winds for the
present, postponing everything for another hour? He knew as well as
any one could tell him that he was proving himself to be unfit for
that new life which he was proposing to himself. When one man is
wise and another foolish, the foolish man knows generally as well
as does the wise man in what lies wisdom and in what folly. And the
temptation often is very slight. Ralph Newton had hardly wished to
buy Mr. Pepper's little horse. The balance of desire during the whole
evening had lain altogether on the other side. But there had come
a moment in which he had yielded, and that moment governed all the
other minutes. We may almost say that a man is only as strong as his
weakest moment.
But he returned to London very strong in his purpose. He would keep
his establishment at the Moonbeam for this winter. He had it all laid
out and planned in his mind. He would at once pay Mr. Horsball the
balance of the old debt, and count on the value of his horses to
defray the expense of the coming season. And he would, without a
week's delay, make his offer to Mary Bonner. A dim idea of some
feeling of disappointment on Clary's part did cross his brain,--a
feeling which seemed to threaten some slight discomfort to himself
as resulting from want of sympathy on her part; but he must assume
sufficient courage to brave this. That he would in any degree be an
evil-doer towards Clary,--that did not occur to him. Nor did it occur
to him as at all probable that Mary Bonner would refuse his offer. In
these days men never expect to be refused. It has gone forth among
young men as a doctrine worthy of perfect faith, that young ladies
are all wanting to get married,--looking out for lovers with an
absorbing anxiety, and that few can dare to refuse any man who is
justified in proposing to them.