Tony Butler. Lever Charles James
said that the Minister of the day pressed him to remain at his post. He has the reputation of possessing no mean abilities, and certainly enjoyed the confidence of the Court to which he was accredited.”
“I never heard so much good of him before; and to tell you the truth, Mr. Maitland, if you had warned me that you were his friend, I ‘d scarcely have been so eager to make your acquaintance.”
“Remember, my dear madam, all I have been telling you reached myself as hearsay.”
“Well, well,” said she, sighing. “He’s not over-likely to trouble his head about me, and I don’t see why I am to fash myself for him. Are you minded to stay much longer in this neighborhood, Mr. Maitland?” said she, to change the topic.
“I fear not, madam. I have overstayed everything here but the kindness of my hosts. I have affairs which call me abroad, and some two or three engagements that I have run to the very last hour. Indeed, I will confess to you, I delayed here to meet your son.”
“To meet Tony, sir?”
“Yes, madam. In my intercourse with the Lyles I have learned to know a great deal about him; to hear traits of his fine generous nature, his manly frankness, and his courage. These were the testimonies of witnesses who differed widely from each other in age and temperament; and yet they all concurred in saying he was a noble-hearted young fellow, who richly deserved all the fortune that could befall him.”
“Oh dear, sir, these are sweet words to his poor mother’s ears. He is all that I have left me; and you cannot know how he makes up to me for want of station and means, and the fifty other things that people who are well-off look for. I do hope he ‘ll come back before you leave this. I ‘d like to let you see I ‘m not over-boastful about him.”
“I have had a project in my head for some days back. Indeed, it was in pursuance of it I have been so persevering in my attempts to see you, madam. It occurred to me, from what Sir Arthur Lyle said of your son, that he was just the person I have long been looking out for, – a man of good name and good blood, fresh to the world, neither hackneyed, on the one hand, nor awkwardly ignorant, on the other; well brought up and high-principled, – a gentleman, in fact It has long been a plan of mine to find one such as this, who, calling himself my secretary, would be in reality my companion and my friend; who would be content to share the fortunes of a somewhat wayward fellow for a year or two, till, using what little influence I possess, I could find means of effectually establishing him in life. Now, madam, I am very diffident about making such a proposal to one in every respect my equal, and, I have no doubt, more than my equal in some things; but if he were not my equal, there would be an end to what I desire in the project. In fact, to make the mere difference of age the question of superiority between us, is my plan. We should live together precisely on the terms of equality. In return for that knowledge of life I could impart to him, – what I know of the world, not acquired altogether without some sharp experience, – he would repay me by that hearty and genial freshness which is the wealth of the young. Now, madam, I will not tire you with any more of my speculations, purely selfish as they are; but will at once say, if, when your son and I meet, this notion of mine is to his taste, all the minor details of it shall not deter him. I know I am not offering a career, but it is yet the first step that will fit him for one. A young fellow, gifted as he is, will needs become, in a couple of years’ intercourse with what is pre-eminently society, a man of consummate tact and ability. All that I know of life convinces me that the successful men are the ready-witted men. Of course I intend to satisfy you with respect to myself. You have a right to know the stability of the bank to whom you are intrusting your deposit At all events, think over my plan, and if nothing has already fallen to your son’s hands in London, ask him to come back here and talk it over with me. I can remain here for a week, that is, if I can hope to meet him.” The old lady listened with all attention and patience to this speech. She was pleased by the flattery of it. It was flattery, indeed, to hear that consummately fine gentleman declare that he was ready to accept Tony as his equal in all things, and it was more than flattery to fancy her dear boy mingling in the pleasures and fascinations of the great world, courted and admired, as she could imagine he would be; but there were still drawbacks to all these. The position was that of a dependant; and how would Tony figure in such a post? He was the finest-tempered, most generous creature in the world, where no attempt to overbear interfered; but any show of offensive superiority would make a tiger of him.
“Well, well,” thought she, “it’s not to be rejected all at once, and I ‘ll just talk it over with the minister.” “May I consult an old friend and neighbor of mine, sir, before I speak to Tony himself?” said she, timidly.
“By all means, madam; or, if you like it better, let me call on him, and enter more fully into my plan than I have ventured to do with you.”
“No, thank you, sir. I ‘ll just talk the matter over with the doctor, and I ‘ll see what he says to it all. This seems a very ungracious way to meet your great kindness, sir; but I was thinking of what awhile ago you called my deposit, and so it is, – it’s all the wealth I possess, – and even the thought of resigning it is more than I can bear.”
“I hope to convince you one of these days, madam, that you have not invested unprofitably;” and with many courteous assurances that, decide how she might, his desire to serve her should remain, he took his leave, bequeathing, as he passed out, a glow of hope to the poor widow’s heart, not the less cheering that she could not freely justify nor even define it.
CHAPTER XIII. TONY IN TOWN
Day followed day, and Tony Butler heard nothing from the Minister. He went down each morning to Downing Street, and interrogated the austere doorkeeper, till at length there grew up between that grim official and himself a state of feeling little short of hatred.
“No letter?” would say Tony.
“Look in the rack,” was the answer.
“Is this sort of thing usual?”
“What sort of thing?”
“The getting no reply for a week or eight days?”
“I should say it is very usual with certain people.”
“What do you mean by certain people?”
“Well, the people that don’t have answers to the letters, nor ain’t likely to have them.”
“Might I ask you another question?” said Tony, lowering his voice, and fixing a very quiet but steady look on the other.
“Yes, if it’s a short one.”
“It’s a very short one. Has no one ever kicked you for your impertinence?”
“Kicked me, – kicked me, sir!” cried the other, while his face became purple with passion.
“Yes,” resumed Tony, mildly; “for let me mention it to you in confidence, it’s the last thing I mean to do before I leave London.”
“We ‘ll see about this, sir, at once,” cried the porter, who rushed through the inner door, and tore upstairs like a madman. Tony meanwhile brushed some dust off his coat with a stray clothes-brush near, and was turning to leave the spot, when Skeffington came hurriedly towards him, trying to smother a fit of laughter that would not be repressed.
“What’s all this, Butler?” said he. “Here’s the whole office in commotion. Willis is up with the chief clerk and old Brand telling them that you drew a revolver and threatened his life, and swore if you had n’t an answer by tomorrow at twelve, you’d blow Sir Harry’s brains out.”
“It’s somewhat exaggerated. I had no revolver, and never had one. I don’t intend any violence beyond kicking that fellow, and I ‘ll not do even that if he can manage to be commonly civil.”
“The Chief wishes to see this gentleman upstairs for a moment,” said a pale, sickly youth to Skeffington.
“Don’t get flurried. Be cool, Butler, and say nothing that can irritate, – mind that,” whispered Skeffington, and stole away.
Butler was introduced into a spacious room, partly office,