Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
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JOHN TINCROFT
BACHELOR AND BENEDICT
OR
_WITHOUT INTENDING IT_
BY
GEORGE E. SARGENT
AUTHOR OF
"THE STORY OF A CITY ARAB," "THE STORY OF A POCKET BIBLE,"
ETC., ETC.
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
56 PATERNOSTER ROW, 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD
AND 164 PICCADILLY
MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
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CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. AT LIBERTY HALL
II. THE LOVERS' WALK
III. THE PICNIC
IV. IN THE GROTTO
V. THE MAELSTROM
VI. JOHN TINCROFT'S RESOLUTION
VII. TWO FRIENDS—TWO LETTERS
VIII. WHO'S WHO?
IX. A RIFT IN THE CLOUD
X. IN THE FILBERT ALLEY
XI. SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT
XII. THE LION'S MOUTH
XIII. MR. RUBRIC'S LETTER
XIV. JOHN TINCROFT'S BOLD STROKE
XV. FIREWORKS
XVI. JOHN TINCROFT STILL UNDER A CLOUD
XVII. HELEN
XVIII. AN ADVENTURE
XIX. WHAT HAPPENED AT LOW BEECH FARM
XX. HOW TOM GRIGSON SPED IN HIS WOOING
XXI. JOHN TINCROFT AT HOME; AND THE SKELETON THERE
XXII. A LETTER FROM AUSTRALIA
XXIII. A MONTH OF WONDERS
XXIV. "COALS OF FIRE"
XXV. HIGH AND LOW BEECH
XXVI. SARAH'S CONFESSION
XXVII. ELIZABETH'S GRIEVANCES
XXVIII. THE LAST OF THE HOLLY ARBOUR
XXIX. "BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS"
XXX. A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION
XXXI. YOUNG TOM GRIGSON
XXXII. IN THE FLOWER GARDEN
XXXIII. MORE PANICS THAN ONE
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JOHN TINCROFT.
CHAPTER I.
AT LIBERTY HALL.
SO many years ago that those who are old now were young then, and so
few years ago that deeds then transacted are fresh in the memory of
many who are living now, John Tincroft, an undergraduate of Oxford, was
invited to spend the long vacation with a college friend.
And the invitation came very opportunely, John thought.
For one reason, he had no home of his own. His parents had been long
dead, and a distant relative—a London merchant—who had charge of his
orphanhood, was not particularly, certainly not passionately, fond of
him. This gentleman took care to explain, however, to all whom it might
concern, that he had always done his duty towards the lad. But, as
regards this duty, whatever else it might include, it possibly had not
occurred to Mr. Rackstraw that the providing a happy home should have
formed a component part of it.
In the next place, John Tincroft was comparatively poor, and he was
becoming poorer. His patrimony, a small one at first, had been woefully
diminished by his three years' term-keeping, and still more so by
carrying on a Chancery suit; that is, by paying his lawyer to carry it
on for him. He was not in debt, however, which was something in his
favour—or perhaps in his disfavour with college tradesmen.
But he was much nearer the bottom of his purse than he cared to be,
when the offer of a three months' residence in a hospitable home was
placed before him. He had only one or two more terms to keep, and he
wisely thought that he could not employ this last long vacation better
than in reading with young Grigson (if he would be read with) as was
proposed. So the invitation was accepted.
In another year, Tincroft would be far-away from England. He was going
to India in the Civil Service. This much his guardian, who had no sons
of his own to step into the appointment, had done for him, without much
cost or trouble to himself.
"It will be the making of you, if you mind what you are about John,"
said Mr. Rackstraw; "and as to that plaguey Chancery suit and the
Tincroft estate, it isn't worth your while staying in England to be the
winner—or the loser, which is the more likely of the two."
He did not add audibly, "And I shall be well rid of you into the
bargain," though probably, he thought it within himself.
John Tincroft had already commenced making preparations in a small way
for his expatriation, as well as for his future duties; that is, he had
plunged head foremost into certain Oriental histories, under a misty
idea that they would be useful to him when he got to Calcutta.
John Tincroft, though an Oxford "gownsman," was a shy and awkward
youth, of about two or three and twenty. He had never had the advantage
of society—ladies' society, of course, is meant; and this deprivation
had been hurtful, for it had made almost a misanthrope of him. In this
respect, however, he had been the victim of circumstances.
His mother he had never known: he had no sister nor aunt nor fair
cousin to initiate him into the mysteries of easy intercourse with his
species. His school breeding, and, after that, his college training,
together with his guardian's want of sympathy, had had the further
effect of monasticising his young life. And this effect, which had
grown into a habit, had been intensified by his narrow circumstances.
Everybody knew that John Tincroft was under the cloud of straitened
means, and who does not know, or cannot understand, how this evil
reputation (according to worldly maxims) inexorably closes one door
after another against those who lie under it?
Tincroft, at any rate, had felt it keenly, and it had increased his
natural shyness.
The isolation of which we have spoken had favoured him in one respect,
however: it had made a hard student of him, which, perhaps, he might
not otherwise have been. For, to tell the truth, John Tincroft was not
over-bright, though, under the circumstances, which otherwise were in
his disfavour, he had thus far, and almost to the end, passed through
his college course creditably.
More than this, he had happened to be of some use to Tom Grigson,
the hospitalities of whose home he was about to experience. How the
young freshman in his first term managed to get into trouble with
the authorities of the university, and how the older and remarkably
quiet fellow-collegian was accidentally, but fortunately, able to
help him out of it; how the two thereafter formed a kind of friendly
acquaintance; how Tincroft aided Grigson in his attempts at scaling
some of the lower heights of Parnassus; how, in return, the younger
occasionally enticed the elder to the Minor dissipations of a boating
trip to Nuneham, a scamper to Woodstock on hired hacks, a stroll to
Wytham strawberry gardens—(are they there still, I wonder?)—or a
cricket match on Bullingdon Green, must be left to another pen or
another time.
Once, I grieve to say, the volatile Tom induced the sober John to a
surreptitious badger-draw in Bagley Wood, where they had "capital
sport," as Tom averred; and on another occasion—but this is a
secret—the two started off, under shelter of a winter evening, to the
neighbouring town of Abingdon to witness the débût of a young actress
at a temporary theatre there, the severe morality of Oxford forbidding
stage-plays within the precincts of the sacred university town; and
once, only once, the recluse was entrapped by his tempter into the
revelries of a wine-party—once was enough, for, as the due punishment
of his sin, poor Tincroft had a splitting headache which lasted him
three days. All this, in more minute detail, must remain untold.
To compensate for these occasional outbreaks, it is only fair to say
that the influence of the steadier gownsman was often exerted in
keeping his more mercurial friend from mischief, and in prompting
him to a decent attention to his studies. An assurance of this fact
from Tom Grigson himself had been the procuring cause of invitation
to Grigson Manor House, which was presided over by the head of the
family—Tom's elder brother.
Portmanteaus, trunks, boxes, and carpet bags were heaped on the roof
of the Tally-ho. There was a huge mountain of them, for some dozen or
two gownsman were "going down" that day on this particular coach, and
dozens more would follow on the morrow, and more morrows after that.
And so with all other coaches going out of the university city on those
days and every succeeding day till the old colleges were empty.
From the Angel, up the High Street, by Carfax, along the New Road, over
the Botley bridges, on and on the coach rattled merrily, with John
Tincroft and Tom Grigson among its passengers. It was early morning
when they started from Oxford; evening was drawing on when they were
safely deposited with their luggage at the town on the old coach
road nearest to their destination. There the dog-cart from the Manor
House received them, and in another hour they were safely landed, had
performed their ablutions, changed their dusty travelling attire, and
were doing justice to the late dinner specially prepared for their
benefit.
The shy, awkward gownsman had no reason to complain of his reception.
His host was a bluff, good-natured bachelor, older than his brother
Tom by a dozen years or more. He prided himself on being a country
gentleman of the good old school, without any nonsense about him
(which, however, sometimes implies a good deal of that commodity);
and the hearty welcome he gave to the invited guest was none the less
agreeable, perhaps, for being rough and homely as well as sincere.
"You'll have to take us as we are," said Mr. Richard Grigson: "all I
can say is that this is Liberty Hall."
And so it was Liberty Hall. It was a pleasant change for John
Tincroft, who, as we have said, had never known what it was to have
a comfortable home of his own. The Manor House was a large, rambling
old place, something between a mansion and a farmhouse, with plenty of
rooms in it, well furnished with old-fashioned furniture. There was
one room with a cheerful aspect, overlooking a pretty flower garden,
and bookcases lining its walls: it was the library of the old house.
Tincroft sat there from day to day—one hour with Tom Grigson reading,
and as many hours as he pleased by himself, studying for his vocation
in the East, till he almost forgot that he was "under a cloud."
Richard Grigson was a good specimen of his class, and a good match for
his house. He was half farmer, half idler. He was rich, so he had no
need to work; was strong in constitution and active in habits, so he
was a sportsman. He shot in shooting season, hunted in hunting season,
and thought it a waste of time to read much beyond the daily and weekly
papers and a sporting magazine. Add to this, Richard Grigson was
reckoned a fair sort of landlord by his numerous tenants—small farmers
mostly—so long as they paid their rents with tolerable punctuality. We
shall, however, know more about him by-and-by.
As to Tom Grigson, the collegian, he would very well have liked to be
as idle and active as his brother; but the fates were against him,
as he would have said. He was a younger brother, with only a younger
brother's portion—a very small one; and needs must that he would have
to work for his living, in some respectable and gentlemanly way, of
course, but still to work. So he had consented to go to college, to
learn how to do it, or how not to do it, as the case might be.
To tell the truth, Tom was not much more studiously inclined than his
elder brother. At any rate, he did not see the fun of poring over
books in vacation time, when he could be on horseback half the day,
and lounging the other half of it to his heart's content. Very soon,
therefore, John Tincroft had the library to himself, and worked away
with his Oriental studies.
"This will never do, Tincroft," said his host to him one day, two or
three weeks after his arrival; "you are positively wearing yourself to
skin and bone with your books and all the rest of it."
"Am I?" said John, glancing nervously at his nether extremities, and
feeling his arm above the elbow. "No, I don't think I am, though," he
added, in so serious a tone that his friend laughed.
"I didn't mean to alarm you, old fellow; and now I look at you again,
you have some muscle left, though none too much. But come, you must
follow Tom's example—the idle scamp—and lay aside your books for
a while. They'll wait for you; they won't run away from you, I'll
warrant."
"But I shall have to run away from them soon," returned John, gravely.
"So much the better, for anything I can see to the contrary. A jolly
time you will have of it when you get out to India; tiger-hunting,
elephant-riding, and all that sort of thing. Do you know, I half envy
you!"
"You forget fever and sunstroke and snakes, and all that sort of
thing," retorted the guest. "And even the tigers you speak of—supposing
such a thing as a tiger-hunt for me, which isn't likely—but even they
have claws and teeth."
"I must give up India, then," said Grigson. "But seriously, friend,
your shutting yourself up in this room all day—" they were in the
library—"when you might be enjoying yourself out and about, is good
neither for body nor mind."
"I must work, you know, Mr. Grigson," returned John.
"No doubt: so must we all, I suppose. But that doesn't mean that we are
never to do anything else. 'All work and no play,' you know, 'makes
Jack a—' I beg your pardon, though; I didn't mean that you are 'a dull
boy,' though you are Jack. But come, you must shut up for once. We are
going to drive over to the Mumbles. I have some business to do with
Elliston; and Tom wants to introduce you to the ladies there—Jane and
Kitty. By the way, if you could get hold of one of them, Tincroft, you
might burn your books and stop in England. And why shouldn't you?"
"I shall never marry. I have no vocation that way. If I were
independent, I might; but what's the use of talking? No, thank you,
Grigson, I would rather be excused the Mumbles."
"You must do something of the sort, or where is the use of having a
holiday? By the way, next week, Tuesday, we have our summer picnic; all
the tenants that like to come, and their families; wives, daughters,
sons, lovers, and all the rest of that sort of thing. You'll join us
there, at any rate?"
"What do you mean? I mean, what do you do? Where do you go?" John
Tincroft asked dreamily.
"Oh, as to the going, we shan't have to go far. They come to us. We
have tables, forms, and chairs out on the lawn; and there's eating and
drinking, you may make sure of that; and after that—but you'll see
enough of it before it is over. And you must put your books away for
that day, at any rate."
"Are your tenants a very noisy set?" asked quiet John.
"Oh, they are not as still as mice, and they don't roar quite so loud
as lions. They are a decent set altogether; and with two Oxford men to
keep them in order, we shall do. It will be something to amuse you, I
dare say."
"I am afraid not," said John, wearily; "but I suppose I must do what
you bid me."
"Of course you must," said Richard Grigson.
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