Doctor Thorne - Anthony Trollope (historical books to read .txt) 📗

his taste might lead

him to prefer books or pictures, or dogs and horses, or turnips in

drills, or old Italian plates and dishes, was a matter which did not

much signify; with which it was not at all necessary that his noble

aunt should trouble herself.

 

“Oh! you are going to Cambridge again, are you? Well, if your father

wishes it;—though very little is ever gained now by a university

connexion.”

 

“I am to take my degree in October, aunt; and I am determined, at any

rate, that I won’t be plucked.”

 

“Plucked!”

 

“No; I won’t be plucked. Baker was plucked last year, and all because

he got into the wrong set at John’s. He’s an excellent fellow if you

knew him. He got among a set of men who did nothing but smoke and

drink beer. Malthusians, we call them.”

 

“Malthusians!”

 

“‘Malt,’ you know, aunt, and ‘use;’ meaning that they drink beer. So

poor Harry Baker got plucked. I don’t know that a fellow’s any the

worse; however, I won’t get plucked.”

 

By this time the party had taken their place round the long board,

Mr Gresham sitting at the top, in the place usually occupied by Lady

Arabella. She, on the present occasion, sat next to her son on the

one side, as the countess did on the other. If, therefore, Frank now

went astray, it would not be from want of proper leading.

 

“Aunt, will you have some beef?” said he, as soon as the soup

and fish had been disposed of, anxious to perform the rites of

hospitality now for the first time committed to his charge.

 

“Do not be in a hurry, Frank,” said his mother; “the servants will—”

 

“Oh! ah! I forgot; there are cutlets and those sort of things. My

hand is not in yet for this work, aunt. Well, as I was saying about

Cambridge—”

 

“Is Frank to go back to Cambridge, Arabella?” said the countess to

her sister-in-law, speaking across her nephew.

 

“So his father seems to say.”

 

“Is it not a waste of time?” asked the countess.

 

“You know I never interfere,” said the Lady Arabella; “I never liked

the idea of Cambridge myself at all. All the de Courcys were Christ

Church men; but the Greshams, it seems, were always at Cambridge.”

 

“Would it not be better to send him abroad at once?”

 

“Much better, I would think,” said the Lady Arabella; “but you know,

I never interfere: perhaps you would speak to Mr Gresham.”

 

The countess smiled grimly, and shook her head with a decidedly

negative shake. Had she said out loud to the young man, “Your father

is such an obstinate, pig-headed, ignorant fool, that it is no use

speaking to him; it would be wasting fragrance on the desert air,”

she could not have spoken more plainly. The effect on Frank was this:

that he said to himself, speaking quite as plainly as Lady de Courcy

had spoken by her shake of the face, “My mother and aunt are always

down on the governor, always; but the more they are down on him the

more I’ll stick to him. I certainly will take my degree: I will read

like bricks; and I’ll begin to-morrow.”

 

“Now will you take some beef, aunt?” This was said out loud.

 

The Countess de Courcy was very anxious to go on with her lesson

without loss of time; but she could not, while surrounded by guests

and servants, enunciate the great secret: “You must marry money,

Frank; that is your one great duty; that is the matter to be borne

steadfastly in your mind.” She could not now, with sufficient weight

and impress of emphasis, pour this wisdom into his ears; the more

especially as he was standing up to his work of carving, and was deep

to his elbows in horse-radish, fat, and gravy. So the countess sat

silent while the banquet proceeded.

 

“Beef, Harry?” shouted the young heir to his friend Baker. “Oh! but I

see it isn’t your turn yet. I beg your pardon, Miss Bateson,” and he

sent to that lady a pound and a half of excellent meat, cut out with

great energy in one slice, about half an inch thick.

 

And so the banquet went on.

 

Before dinner Frank had found himself obliged to make numerous small

speeches in answer to the numerous individual congratulations of his

friends; but these were as nothing to the one great accumulated onus

of an oration which he had long known that he should have to sustain

after the cloth was taken away. Someone of course would propose his

health, and then there would be a clatter of voices, ladies and

gentlemen, men and girls; and when that was done he would find

himself standing on his legs, with the room about him, going round

and round and round.

 

Having had a previous hint of this, he had sought advice from his

cousin, the Honourable George, whom he regarded as a dab at speaking;

at least, so he had heard the Honourable George say of himself.

 

“What the deuce is a fellow to say, George, when he stands up after

the clatter is done?”

 

“Oh, it’s the easiest thing in life,” said the cousin. “Only remember

this: you mustn’t get astray; that is what they call presence of

mind, you know. I’ll tell you what I do, and I’m often called up, you

know; at our agriculturals I always propose the farmers’ daughters:

well, what I do is this—I keep my eye steadfastly fixed on one of

the bottles, and never move it.”

 

“On one of the bottles!” said Frank; “wouldn’t it be better if I made

a mark of some old covey’s head? I don’t like looking at the table.”

 

“The old covey’d move, and then you’d be done; besides there isn’t

the least use in the world in looking up. I’ve heard people say, who

go to those sort of dinners every day of their lives, that whenever

anything witty is said; the fellow who says it is sure to be looking

at the mahogany.”

 

“Oh, you know I shan’t say anything witty; I’ll be quite the other

way.”

 

“But there’s no reason you shouldn’t learn the manner. That’s the way

I succeeded. Fix your eye on one of the bottles; put your thumbs in

your waistcoat pockets; stick out your elbows, bend your knees a

little, and then go ahead.”

 

“Oh, ah! go ahead; that’s all very well; but you can’t go ahead if

you haven’t got any steam.”

 

“A very little does it. There can be nothing so easy as your speech.

When one has to say something new every year about the farmers’

daughters, why one has to use one’s brains a bit. Let’s see: how will

you begin? Of course, you’ll say that you are not accustomed to this

sort of thing; that the honour conferred upon you is too much for

your feelings; that the bright array of beauty and talent around

you quite overpowers your tongue, and all that sort of thing. Then

declare you’re a Gresham to the backbone.”

 

“Oh, they know that.”

 

“Well, tell them again. Then of course you must say something about

us; or you’ll have the countess as black as old Nick.”

 

“Abut my aunt, George? What on earth can I say about her when she’s

there herself before me?”

 

“Before you! of course; that’s just the reason. Oh, say any lie you

can think of; you must say something about us. You know we’ve come

down from London on purpose.”

 

Frank, in spite of the benefit he was receiving from his cousin’s

erudition, could not help wishing in his heart that they had all

remained in London; but this he kept to himself. He thanked his

cousin for his hints, and though he did not feel that the trouble

of his mind was completely cured, he began to hope that he might go

through the ordeal without disgracing himself.

 

Nevertheless, he felt rather sick at heart when Mr Baker got up to

propose the toast as soon as the servants were gone. The servants,

that is, were gone officially; but they were there in a body, men

and women, nurses, cooks, and ladies’ maids, coachmen, grooms, and

footmen, standing in two doorways to hear what Master Frank would

say. The old housekeeper headed the maids at one door, standing

boldly inside the room; and the butler controlled the men at the

other, marshalling them back with a drawn corkscrew.

 

Mr Baker did not say much; but what he did say, he said well. They

had all seen Frank Gresham grow up from a child; and were now

required to welcome as a man amongst them one who was well qualified

to carry on the honour of that loved and respected family. His

young friend, Frank, was every inch a Gresham. Mr Baker omitted to

make mention of the infusion of de Courcy blood, and the countess,

therefore, drew herself up on her chair and looked as though she were

extremely bored. He then alluded tenderly to his own long friendship

with the present squire, Francis Newbold Gresham the elder; and sat

down, begging them to drink health, prosperity, long life, and an

excellent wife to their dear young friend, Francis Newbold Gresham

the younger.

 

There was a great jingling of glasses, of course; made the merrier

and the louder by the fact that the ladies were still there as

well as the gentlemen. Ladies don’t drink toasts frequently; and,

therefore, the occasion coming rarely was the more enjoyed. “God

bless you, Frank!” “Your good health, Frank!” “And especially a

good wife, Frank!” “Two or three of them, Frank!” “Good health and

prosperity to you, Mr Gresham!” “More power to you, Frank, my boy!”

“May God bless you and preserve you, my dear boy!” and then a merry,

sweet, eager voice from the far end of the table, “Frank! Frank! Do

look at me, pray do Frank; I am drinking your health in real wine;

ain’t I, papa?” Such were the addresses which greeted Mr Francis

Newbold Gresham the younger as he essayed to rise up on his feet for

the first time since he had come to man’s estate.

 

When the clatter was at an end, and he was fairly on his legs, he

cast a glance before him on the table, to look for a decanter. He

had not much liked his cousin’s theory of sticking to the bottle;

nevertheless, in the difficulty of the moment, it was well to have

any system to go by. But, as misfortune would have it, though the

table was covered with bottles, his eye could not catch one. Indeed,

his eye first could catch nothing, for the things swam before him,

and the guests all seemed to dance in their chairs.

 

Up he got, however, and commenced his speech. As he could not follow

his preceptor’s advice as touching the bottle, he adopted his own

crude plan of “making a mark on some old covey’s head,” and therefore

looked dead at the doctor.

 

“Upon my word, I am very much obliged to you, gentlemen and ladies,

ladies and gentlemen, I should say, for drinking my health, and

doing me so much honour, and all that sort of thing. Upon my word I

am. Especially to Mr Baker. I don’t mean you, Harry, you’re not Mr

Baker.”

 

“As much as you’re Mr Gresham, Master Frank.”

 

“But I am not Mr Gresham; and I don’t mean to be for many a long year

if I can help it; not at any rate till we have had another coming of

age here.”

 

“Bravo, Frank;