The Small House at Allington - Anthony Trollope (i want to read a book txt) 📗

but I do say it. I’ve always been pulling the devil by the tail, and never yet got as much as a good hold on to that. And I’ll tell you why; I never got a chance when I was young. If I could have got any big fellow, a star, you know, to let me paint his portrait when I was your age⁠—such a one, let us say, as your friend Sir Raffle⁠—”

“What a star!” said Cradell.

“Well, I suppose he’s pretty much known in the world, isn’t he? Or Lord Derby, or Mr. Spurgeon. You know what I mean. If I’d got such a chance as that when I was young, I should never have been doing jobs of scene-painting at the minor theatres at so much a square yard. You’ve got the chance now, but I never had it.”

Whereupon Mr. Lupex finished his first measure of gin-and-water.

“It’s a very queer thing⁠—life is,” continued Lupex; and, though he did not at once go to work boldly at the mixing of another glass of toddy, he began gradually, and as if by instinct, to finger the things which would be necessary for that operation. “A very queer thing. Now, remember, young gentlemen, I’m not denying that success in life will depend upon good conduct;⁠—of course it does; but, then, how often good conduct comes from success! Should I have been what I am now, do you suppose, if some big fellow had taken me by the hand when I was struggling to make an artist of myself? I could have drunk claret and champagne just as well as gin-and-water, and worn ruffles to my shirt as gracefully as many a fellow who used to be very fond of me, and now won’t speak to me if he meets me in the streets. I never got a chance⁠—never.”

“But it’s not too late yet, Mr. Lupex,” said Eames.

“Yes, it is, Eames⁠—yes, it is.” And now Mr. Lupex had grasped the gin-bottle. “It’s too late now. The game’s over, and the match is lost. The talent is here. I’m as sure of that now as ever I was. I’ve never doubted my own ability⁠—never for a moment. There are men this very day making a thousand a year off their easels who haven’t so good and true an eye in drawing as I have, or so good a feeling in colours. I could name them; only I won’t.”

“And why shouldn’t you try again?” said Eames.

“If I were to paint the finest piece that ever delighted the eye of man, who would come and look at it? Who would have enough belief in me to come as far as this place and see if it were true? No, Eames; I know my own position and my own ways, and I know my own weakness. I couldn’t do a day’s work now, unless I were certain of getting a certain number of shillings at the end of it. That’s what a man comes to when things have gone against him.”

“But I thought men got lots of money by scene-painting?”

“I don’t know what you may call lots, Mr. Cradell; I don’t call it lots. But I’m not complaining. I know who I have to thank; and if ever I blow my own brains out I shan’t be putting the blame on the wrong shoulders. If you’ll take my advice,”⁠—and now he turned round to Eames⁠—“you’ll beware of marrying too soon in life.”

“I think a man should marry early, if he marries well,” said Eames.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” continued Lupex. “It isn’t about Mrs. L. I’m speaking. I’ve always regarded my wife as a very fascinating woman.”

“Hear, hear, hear!” said Cradell, thumping the table.

“Indeed she is,” said Eames.

“And when I caution you against marrying, don’t you misunderstand me. I’ve never said a word against her to any man, and never will. If a man don’t stand by his wife, whom will he stand by? I blame no one but myself. But I do say this; I never had a chance;⁠—I never had a chance;⁠—never had a chance.” And as he repeated the words for the third time, his lips were already fixed to the rim of his tumbler.

At this moment the door of the dining-room was opened, and Mrs. Lupex put in her head.

“Lupex,” she said, “what are you doing?”

“Yes, my dear. I can’t say I’m doing anything at the present moment. I was giving a little advice to these young gentlemen.”

“Mr. Cradell, I wonder at you. And, Mr. Eames, I wonder at you, too⁠—in your position! Lupex, come upstairs at once.” She then stepped into the room and secured the gin-bottle.

“Oh, Mr. Cradell, do come here,” said Amelia, in her liveliest tone, as soon as the men made their appearance above. “I’ve been waiting for you this half-hour. I’ve got such a puzzle for you.” And she made way for him to a chair which was between herself and the wall. Cradell looked half afraid of his fortunes as he took the proffered seat; but he did take it, and was soon secured from any positive physical attack by the strength and breadth of Miss Roper’s crinoline.

“Dear me! Here’s a change,” said Mrs. Lupex, out loud.

Johnny Eames was standing close, and whispered into her ear, “Changes are so pleasant sometimes! Don’t you think so? I do.”

XLVIII Nemesis

Crosbie had now settled down to the calm realities of married life, and was beginning to think that the odium was dying away which for a week or two had attached itself to him, partly on account of his usage of Miss Dale, but more strongly in consequence of the thrashing which he had received from John Eames. Not that he had in any way recovered his former tone of life, or that he ever hoped to do so. But he was able to go in and out of his club without embarrassment. He could talk with his wonted voice, and act with his wonted authority at his office. He could tell his friends, with