Barchester Towers - Anthony Trollope (ebook reader below 3000 .txt) 📗

do, but city prayers were vain against the great rural potentate. Not only did Mr. Plomacy order his exit but, raising his stick to show the way which led to the gate that had been left in the custody of that false Cerberus Barrell, proceeded himself to see the edict of banishment carried out.

The goddess Mercy, however, the sweetest goddess that ever sat upon a cloud, and the dearest to poor, frail, erring man, appeared on the field in the person of Mr. Greenacre. Never was interceding goddess more welcome.

“Come, man,” said Mr. Greenacre, “never stick at trifles such a day as this. I know the lad well. Let him bide at my axing. Madam won’t miss what he can eat and drink, I know.”

Now Mr. Plomacy and Mr. Greenacre were sworn friends. Mr. Plomacy had at his own disposal as comfortable a room as there was in Ullathorne House, but he was a bachelor, and alone there, and, moreover, smoking in the house was not allowed even to Mr. Plomacy. His moments of truest happiness were spent in a huge armchair in the warmest corner of Mrs. Greenacre’s beautifully clean front kitchen. ’Twas there that the inner man dissolved itself and poured itself out in streams of pleasant chat; ’twas there that he was respected and yet at his ease; ’twas there, and perhaps there only, that he could unburden himself from the ceremonies of life without offending the dignity of those above him, or incurring the familiarity of those below. ’Twas there that his long pipe was always to be found on the accustomed chimney-board, not only permitted but encouraged.

Such being the state of the case, it was not to be supposed that Mr. Plomacy could refuse such a favour to Mr. Greenacre; but nevertheless he did not grant it without some further show of austere authority.

“Eat and drink, Mr. Greenacre! No. It’s not what he eats and drinks, but the example such a chap shows, coming in where he’s not invited⁠—a chap of his age, too. He too that never did a day’s work about Ullathorne since he was born. Plasterer! I’ll plaster him!”

“He worked long enough for me, then, Mr. Plomacy. And a good hand he is at setting tiles as any in Barchester,” said the other, not sticking quite to veracity, as indeed mercy never should. “Come, come, let him alone today and quarrel with him tomorrow. You wouldn’t shame him before his lass there?”

“It goes against the grain with me, then,” said Mr. Plomacy. “And take care, you Stubbs, and behave yourself. If I hear a row, I shall know where it comes from. I’m up to you Barchester journeymen; I know what stuff you’re made of.”

And so Stubbs went off happy, pulling at the forelock of his shock head of hair in honour of the steward’s clemency and giving another double pull at it in honour of the farmer’s kindness. And as he went he swore within his grateful heart that if ever Farmer Greenacre wanted a day’s work done for nothing, he was the lad to do it for him. Which promise it was not probable that he would ever be called on to perform.

But Mr. Plomacy was not quite happy in his mind, for he thought of the unjust steward and began to reflect whether he had not made for himself friends of the mammon of unrighteousness. This, however, did not interfere with the manner in which he performed his duties at the bottom of the long board; nor did Mr. Greenacre perform his the worse at the top on account of the good wishes of Stubbs the plasterer. Moreover the guests did not think it anything amiss when Mr. Plomacy, rising to say grace, prayed that God would make them all truly thankful for the good things which Madame Thorne in her great liberality had set before them!

All this time the quality in the tent on the lawn were getting on swimmingly⁠—that is, if champagne without restriction can enable quality folk to swim. Sir Harkaway Gorse proposed the health of Miss Thorne, and likened her to a blood racehorse, always in condition and not to be tired down by any amount of work. Mr. Thorne returned thanks, saying he hoped his sister would always be found able to run when called upon, and then gave the health and prosperity of the De Courcy family. His sister was very much honoured by seeing so many of them at her poor board. They were all aware that important avocations made the absence of the earl necessary. As his duty to his prince had called him from his family hearth, he, Mr. Thorne, could not venture to regret that he did not see him at Ullathorne; but nevertheless he would venture to say⁠—that was, to express a wish⁠—an opinion, he meant to say⁠—And so Mr. Thorne became somewhat gravelled, as country gentlemen in similar circumstances usually do; but he ultimately sat down, declaring that he had much satisfaction in drinking the noble earl’s health, together with that of the countess, and all the family of De Courcy Castle.

And then the Honourable George returned thanks. We will not follow him through the different periods of his somewhat irregular eloquence. Those immediately in his neighbourhood found it at first rather difficult to get him on his legs, but much greater difficulty was soon experienced in inducing him to resume his seat. One of two arrangements should certainly be made in these days: either let all speechmaking on festive occasions be utterly tabooed and made as it were impossible; or else let those who are to exercise the privilege be first subjected to a competing examination before the civil-service examining commissioners. As it is now, the Honourable Georges do but little honour to our exertions in favour of British education.

In the dining-room the bishop went through the honours of the day with much more neatness and propriety. He also drank Miss Thorne’s health, and did it in a manner becoming the bench which he adorned. The party there was perhaps a little more dull, a