END OF A STRUGGLE.

It was not one of his official bilious attacks that Darius had on the

following day; he only yielded himself up in the complete grand manner

when nature absolutely compelled. The goose had not formally beaten

him, but neither had he formally beaten the goose. The battle was

drawn, and this meant that Darius had a slight headache, a feeling of

heavy disgust with the entire polity of the universe, and a

disinclination for food. The first and third symptoms he hid as far as

possible, from pride: at breakfast he toyed with bacon, from pride,

hating bacon. The children knew from his eyes and his guilty gestures

that he was not well, but they dared not refer to his condition; they

were bound to pretend that the health of their father flourished in the

highest perfection. And they were glad that things were no worse.

On the other hand Edwin had a sneezing cold which he could not conceal,

and Darius inimically inquired what foolishness he had committed to have

brought this on himself. Edwin replied that he knew of no cause for it.

A deliberate lie! He knew that he had contracted a chill while writing

a letter to his father in an unwarmed attic, and had intensified the

chill by going forth to post the letter without his overcoat in a raw

evening mist. Obviously, however, he could not have stated the truth.

He was uncomfortable at the breakfast-table, but, after the first few

moments, less so than during the disturbed night he had feared to be.

His father had neither eaten him, nor jumped down his throat, nor

performed any of those unpleasant miraculous feats which fathers usually

do perform when infuriated by filial foolishness. The letter therefore

had not been utterly disastrous; sometimes a letter would ruin a

breakfast, for Mr Clayhanger, with no consideration for the success of

meals, always opened his post before bite or sup. He had had the

letter, and still he was ready to talk to his son in the ordinary grim

tone of a goose-morrow. Which was to the good. Edwin was now convinced

that he had done well to write the letter.

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Clayhanger · 第 118 / 427 题