Eli's Children: The Chronicles of an Unhappy Family. George Manville Fenn
ever stepped.”
“Yes, he is that,” said a broad farmer-looking man. “Joseph Portlock, you said the very same thing to me yesternight.”
“He’s a first-class penman.”
“Capital,” said Tomlinson.
“And if you know a man with a clearer head for figures,” continued Fullerton, “I should be glad to see him.”
“Capital man at ciphering,” said Smithson, the tailor, whose yearly accounts Humphrey Bone always made up.
“Then, what do you want?” said Fullerton, angrily. “We’ve all got our faults, and if Humphrey Bone does take a little too much sometimes, hasn’t he been master of Lawford school these thirty years?”
The latter part of Jabez Fullerton’s argument was not very clear to his fellow-townsmen assembled at their weekly social meeting at the King’s Head; but they all granted that they had their faults, and Jabez Fullerton waved the spoon with which he had been stirring his brandy-and-water in a very statesmanlike way.
“Look here,” he said, “I never go to church, for chapel’s good enough for me; but all the same I don’t bear enmity against the church, and never would.”
“But you did oppose the church rates, Fullerton,” said Tomlinson, with a chuckle.
“On principle, neighbour, on principle; I couldn’t help that. But in this case what I say is, that though I’d be the last man in the world to oppose parson, it would be a disgrace to the town if we let poor Humphrey Bone be pitched out of the living, just because parson wants the place for Churchwarden Ross’s boy.”
“Well, I don’t know what to say about it,” said Tomlinson, smoking meditatively at his pipe. “Michael Ross is a very good neighbour of mine, and brings his money to our bank regular. I should be sorry to hurt his feelings, ’specially as his boy has been to London on purpose to be trained.”
“Let him get a school somewhere else. There’s always plenty on the way, I’ll be bound.”
“Don’t seem to me as the boys’ll take to a lad as was brought up, as you may say, among ’em,” said Smithson. “Bless my soul, gentlemen, I made that boy his fust suit with three rows o’ brass buttons, with marigolds stamped on ’em. Bottle-green the suit was, and the trousers buttoned over the jacket. You know, Fullerton; I had the cloth of you.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” said the draper suavely.
“Well,” continued Smithson—
“Excuse me, Smithson,” said Fullerton, “we’re just discussing the question of Mr. Mallow carrying everything with a high hand, and turning out old Humphrey Bone without our consent.”
Smithson, the tailor, jumped up, scowled round at the assembled company, stuck his hat upon his head with a bang, and walked straight out of the room.
“He’s huffed,” said Fullerton, with a sidewise wag of the head, “but I can’t help his being offended. When a man becomes a public man, he’s got a public man’s dooty to do to his fellow townsfolk, and at times like this he’s bound to speak. So what I say, gentlemen, is this; will you all come to the meeting to-morrow, and back me up?”
No one spoke, and it was remarkable that every man present just then seemed to feel his mouth dry, and reached out his hand for his glass.
“I say again, gentlemen,” cried Fullerton, “will you all come and back me up?”
Every man present seemed to consider that it was the duty of the others to speak out and tackle Fullerton—so they mentally put it—and each looked at the other in turn without avail, till the regards of all present seemed to be concentrated upon Tomlinson, the ironmonger, who after a little hesitation said—
“I don’t think it was wise to upset Smithson. It’s like sending a man over to the enemy.”
“I hope he hasn’t got a long bill against you for clothes, Fullerton,” said Warton, the saddler, with a chuckle. “You’ll have it in before it comes due.”
“If I owed my tailor a bill I dare say I could pay it, Mr. Warton,” said Fullerton, haughtily; “and I should be glad to know, gentlemen, whether you mean to discuss the question of the appointment of a new master, because if you don’t I shall throw the whole matter up.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” came in a murmur; “don’t do that, Fullerton,” and an appealing look was directed at Tomlinson, who drew a long breath, refreshed himself, and went on.
“You see I don’t think it would be wise to go and upset Mr. Mallow if we could help it,” he said; “he’s a very good customer of mine, and very neighbourly. I don’t think he’s a bad sort of man.”
“Not a bad sort of man!” cried Fullerton, indignantly; “why, it’s a burning shame for him to have charge of this parish at all. What’s a parson for?”
“Well,” said Tomlinson, mildly, “I suppose to have the care of the parish.”
“Yes, and to rule and manage it,” said Warton.
“Yes,” cried Fullerton, “of course; and here’s a man who can’t manage his own household, which is the wastefullest in the place.”
“Might keep your family on what they waste, eh, Fullerton?” said Warton, the saddler, with a chuckle, for he was a great friend of Smithson; and it was a fact often commented upon by neighbours, that Fullerton’s domestic economy was of the most parsimonious character.
“I’m not the man to eat the parson’s leavings,” said Fullerton, angrily, “nor yet the man to go cringing and touching my hat to him in hopes of getting a harness-mending order.”
Mr. Warton refilled his pipe.
“I say,” continued Fullerton, “that a man who can’t rule his own sons can’t properly rule a parish.”
“Nay, nay, nay,” cried Tomlinson; “don’t be too hard upon him, man. He’s a very good sort of fellow is Mallow, and I should be very sorry to go against him.”
“But you will go against him,” said Fullerton, triumphantly; and he looked very hard in the ironmonger’s face.
Mr. Tomlinson’s pipe needed seeing to just then, and he let his eyes rest upon the glowing fire therein, as he recalled certain little speculative money transactions that had taken place between him and Fullerton, and felt how awkward it might be if he offended his fellow-townsman.
It would be very awkward to have to side against the Rector, but of two evils Tomlinson felt bound to choose the least.
“I’m afraid that in this instance I must go against Mr. Mallow,” said Tomlinson, deliberately; and Fullerton gave a triumphant glance round the room.
“Hah!” he said to himself, “there’s a wonderful power in money, and one never knows what it will do.”
Part 1, Chapter XVII.
The Governors’ Meeting.
Market morning again at Lawford, and the customary business going on. There were a few pigs in the pens; a larger amount of butter than usual at the cross, some of it holding a good two ounces of salt to the pound. A sale by auction of some old furniture was to take place, and gigs, cars, and carts were coming in.
The rectory carriage, with Julia and Cynthia Mallow looking sweet and attractive enough to tempt the tradespeople who quarrelled with the father to touch their hats, came in quite early, setting down the Rector, who had to visit the bookseller’s and order a new volume