The Three Clerks by Anthony Trollope

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'And so he ought,' said Linda. 'He ought to do whatever Harry
tells him.'

'Well, Linda, I don't know why he ought,' said Katie. 'They are
not brothers, you know, nor yet even cousins.'

'But Harry is very--so very--so very superior, you know,' said
Linda.

'I don't know any such thing,' said Katie.

'Oh! Katie, don't you know that Charley is such a rake?'

'But rakes are just the people who don't do whatever they are
told; so that's no reason. And I am quite sure that Charley is
much the cleverer.'

'And I am quite sure he is not--nor half so clever; nor nearly so
well educated. Why, don't you know the navvies are the most
ignorant young men in London? Charley says so himself.'

'That's his fun,' said Katie: 'besides, he always makes little of
himself. I am quite sure Harry could never have made all that
about Macassar and Crinoline out of his own head.'

'No! because he doesn't think of such nonsensical things. I
declare, Miss Katie, I think you are in love with Master
Charley.'

Katie, who was still sitting at the dressing-table, blushed up to
her forehead; and at the same time her eyes were suffused with
tears. But there was no one to see either of those tell-tale
symptoms, for Linda was in bed.

'I know he saved my life,' said Katie, as soon as she could trust
herself to speak without betraying her emotion--'I know he
jumped into the river after me, and very, very nearly drowned
himself; and I don't think any other man in the world would have
done so much for me besides him.'

'Oh, Katie! Harry would in a moment.'

'Not for me; perhaps he might for you--though I'm not quite sure
that he would.' It was thus that Katie took her revenge on her
sister.

'I'm quite sure he would for anybody, even for Sally.' Sally was
an assistant in the back kitchen. 'But I don't mean to say,
Katie, that you shouldn't feel grateful to Charley; of course you
should.'

'And so I do,' said Katie, now bursting out into tears, overdone
by her emotion and fatigue; 'and so I do--and I do love him, and
will love him, if he's ever so much a rake! But you know, Linda,
that is very different from being in love; and it was very ill-
natured of you to say so, very.'

Linda was out of bed in a trice, and sitting with her arm round
her sister's neck.

'Why, you darling little foolish child, you! I was only
quizzing,' said she. 'Don't you know that I love Charley too?'

'But you shouldn't quiz about such a thing as that. If you'd
fallen into the river, and Harry had pulled you out, then you'd
know what I mean; but I'm not at all sure that he could have done
it.'

Katie's perverse wickedness on this point was very nearly giving
rise to another contest between the sisters. Linda's common
sense, however, prevailed, and giving up the point of Harry's
prowess, she succeeded at last in getting Katie into bed. 'You
know mamma will be so angry if she hears us,' said Linda, 'and I
am sure you will be ill to-morrow.'

'I don't care a bit about being ill to-tomorrow; and yet I do
too,' she added, after a pause, 'for it's Sunday. It would be so
stupid not to be able to go out to-morrow.'

'Well, then, try to go to sleep at once'--and Linda carefully
tucked the clothes around her sister.

'I think it shall be a purse,' said Katie.

'A purse will certainly be the best; that is, if you don't like
the slippers,' and Linda rolled herself up comfortably in the
bed.

'No--I don't like the slippers at all. It shall be a purse. I can
do that the quickest, you know. It's so stupid to give a thing
when everything about it is forgotten, isn't it?'

'Very stupid,' said Linda, nearly asleep.

'And when it's worn out I can make another, can't I?'

'H'm'm'm,' said Linda, quite asleep.

And then Katie went asleep also, in her sister's arms.

Early in the morning--that is to say, not very early, perhaps
between seven and eight--Mrs. Woodward came into their room, and
having inspected her charges, desired that Katie should not get
up for morning church, but lie in bed till the middle of the day.

'Oh, mamma, it will be so stupid not going to church after
tumbling into the river; people will say that all my clothes are
wet.'

'People will about tell the truth as to some of them,' said Mrs.
Woodward; 'but don't you mind about people, but lie still and go
to sleep if you can. Linda, do you come and dress in my room.'

'And is Charley to lie in bed too?' said Katie. 'He was in the
river longer than I was.'

'It's too late to keep Charley in bed,' said Linda, 'for I see
him coming along the road now with a towel; he's been bathing.'

'Oh, I do so wish I could go and bathe,' said Katie.

Poor Katie was kept in bed till the afternoon. Charley and Harry,
however, were allowed to come up to her bedroom door, and hear
her pronounce herself quite well.

'How d'ye do, Mr. Macassar?' said she.

'And how d'ye do, my Lady Crinoline?' said Harry. After that
Katie never called Charley Mr. Macassar again.

They all went to church, and Katie was left to sleep or read, or
think of the new purse that she was to make, as best she might.

And then they dined, and then they walked out; but still without
Katie. She was to get up and dress while they were out, so as to
receive them in state in the drawing-room on their return. Four
of them walked together; for Uncle Bat now usually took himself
off to his friend at Hampton Court on Sunday afternoon. Mrs.
Woodward walked with Charley, and Harry and Linda paired
together.

'Now,' said Charley to himself, 'now would have been the time to
have told Mrs. Woodward everything, but for that accident of
yesterday. Now I can tell her nothing; to do so now would be to
demand her sympathy and to ask for assistance;' and so he
determined to tell her nothing.

But the very cause which made Charley dumb on the subject of his
own distresses made Mrs. Woodward inquisitive about them. She
knew that his life was not like that of Harry--steady, sober, and
discreet; but she felt that she did not like him, or even love
him the less on this account. Nay, it was not clear to her that
these failings of his did not give him additional claims on her
sympathies. What could she do for him? how could she relieve him?
how could she bring him back to the right way? She spoke to him
of his London life, praised his talents, encouraged him to
exertion, besought him to have some solicitude, and, above all,
some respect for himself. And then, with that delicacy which such
a woman, and none but such a woman, can use in such a matter, she
asked him whether he was still in debt.

Charley, with shame we must own it, had on this subject been
false to all his friends. He had been false to his father and his
mother, and had never owned to them the half of what he owed; he
had been false to Alaric, and false to Harry; but now, now, at
such a moment as this, he would not allow himself to be false to
Mrs. Woodward.

'Yes,' he said, 'he was in debt--rather.'

Mrs. Woodward pressed him to say whether his debts were heavy--
whether he owed much.

'It's no use thinking of it, Mrs. Woodward,' said he; 'not the
least. I know I ought not to come down here; and I don't think I
will any more.'

'Not come down here!' said Mrs. Woodward. 'Why not? There's very
little expense in that. I dare say you'd spend quite as much in
London.'

'Oh--of course--three times as much, perhaps; that is, if I had
it--but I don't mean that.'

'What do you mean?' said she.

Charley walked on in silence, with melancholy look, very
crestfallen, his thumbs stuck into his waistcoat pockets.

'Upon my word I don't know what you mean,' said Mrs. Woodward. 'I
should have thought coming to Hampton might perhaps--perhaps have
kept you--I don't exactly mean out of mischief.' That, however,
in spite of her denial, was exactly what Mrs. Woodward did mean.

'So it does--but--' said Charley, now thoroughly ashamed of
himself.

'But what?' said she.

'I am not fit to be here,' said Charley; and as he spoke his
manly self-control all gave way, and big tears rolled down his
cheeks.

Mrs. Woodward, in her woman's heart, resolved, that if it might
in any way be possible, she would make him fit, fit not only to
be there, but to hold his head up with the best in any company in
which he might find himself.

She questioned him no further then. Her wish now was not to
torment him further, but to comfort him. She determined that she
would consult with Harry and with her uncle, and take counsel
from them as to what steps might be taken to save the brand from
the burning. She talked to him as a mother might have done,
leaning on his arm, as she returned; leaning on him as a woman
never leans on a man whom she deems unfit for her society. All
this Charley's heart and instinct fully understood, and he was
not ungrateful.

But yet he had but little to comfort him. He must return to town
on Monday; return to Mr. Snape and the lock entries, to Mr.
M'Ruen and the three Seasons--to Mrs. Davis, Norah Geraghty, and
that horrid Mr. Peppermint. He never once thought of Clementina
Golightly, to whom at that moment he was being married by the
joint energies of Undy Scott and his cousin Alaric.

And what had Linda and Norman been doing all this time? Had they
been placing mutual confidence in each other? No; they had not
come to that yet. Linda still remembered the pang with which she
had first heard of Gertrude's engagement, and Harry Norman had
not yet been able to open his seared heart to a second love.

In the course of the evening a letter was brought to Captain
Cuttwater, which did not seem to raise his spirits.

'Whom is your letter from, uncle?' said Mrs. Woodward.

'From Alaric,' said he, gruffly, crumpling it up and putting it
into his pocket. And then he turned to his rum and water in a
manner that showed his determination to say nothing more on the
matter.

In the morning Harry and Charley returned to town. Captain
Cuttwater went up with them; and all was again quiet at Surbiton
Cottage.

CHAPTER XXIV

MR. M'BUFFER ACCEPTS THE CHILTERN HUNDREDS

It was an anxious hour for the Honourable Undecimus Scott when he
first learnt that Mr. M'Buffer had accepted the Stewardship of
the Chiltern Hundreds. The Stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds!
Does it never occur to anyone how many persons are appointed to
that valuable situation? Or does anyone ever reflect why a Member
of Parliament, when he wishes to resign his post of honour,
should not be simply gazetted in the newspapers as having done
so, instead of being named as the new Steward of the Chiltern
Hundreds? No one ever does think of it; resigning and becoming a
steward are one and the same thing, with this difference,
however, that one of the grand bulwarks of the British constitution
is thus preserved.

Well, Mr. M'Buffer, who, having been elected by the independent
electors of the Tillietudlem burghs to serve them in Parliament,
could not, in accordance with the laws of the constitution, have
got himself out of that honourable but difficult position by any
scheme of his own, found himself on a sudden a free man, the
Queen having selected him to be her steward for the district in
question. We have no doubt but that the deed of appointment set
forth that her Majesty had been moved to this step by the firm
trust she had in the skill and fidelity of the said Mr. M'Buffer;
but if so her Majesty's trust would seem to have been somewhat
misplaced, as Mr. M'Buffer, having been a managing director of a
bankrupt swindle, from which he had contrived to pillage some
thirty or forty thousand pounds, was now unable to show his face
at Tillietudlem, or in the House of Commons; and in thus
retreating from his membership had no object but to save
himself from the expulsion which he feared. It was, however, a
consolation for him to think that in what he had done the
bulwarks of the British constitution had been preserved.

It was an anxious moment for Undy. The existing Parliament had
still a year and a half, or possibly two years and a half, to
run. He had already been withdrawn from the public eye longer
than he thought was suitable to the success of his career. He
particularly disliked obscurity for he had found that in his case
obscurity had meant comparative poverty. An obscure man, as he
observed early in life, had nothing to sell. Now, Undy had once
had something to sell, and a very good market he had made of it.
He was of course anxious that those halcyon days should return.
Fond of him as the electors of Tillietudlem no doubt were,
devoted as they might be in a general way to his interests still,
still it was possible that they might forget him, if he remained
too long away from their embraces. 'Out of sight out of mind' is
a proverb which opens to us the worst side of human nature. But
even at Tillietudlem nature's worst side might sometimes show
itself.

Actuated by such feelings as these, Undy heard with joy the
tidings of M'Buffer's stewardship, and determined to rush to the
battle at once. Battle he knew there must be. To be brought in
for the district of Tillietudlem was a prize which had never yet
fallen to any man's lot without a contest. Tillietudlem was no
poor pocket borough to be disposed of, this way or that way,
according to the caprice or venal call of some aristocrat. The
men of Tillietudlem knew the value of their votes, and would only
give them according to their consciences. The way to win these
consciences, to overcome the sensitive doubts of a free and
independent Tillietudlem elector, Undy knew to his cost.

It was almost a question, as he once told Alaric, whether all
that he could sell was worth all that he was compelled to buy.
But having put his neck to the collar in this line of life, he
was not now going to withdraw. Tillietudlem was once more vacant,
and Undy determined to try it again, undaunted by former outlays.
To make an outlay, however, at any rate, in electioneering
matters, it is necessary that a man should have in hand some
ready cash; at the present moment Undy had very little, and
therefore the news of Mr. M'Buffer's retirement to the German
baths for his health was not heard with unalloyed delight.

He first went into the city, as men always do when they want
money; though in what portion of the city they find it, has never
come to the author's knowledge. Charley Tudor, to be sure, did
get L5 by going to the 'Banks of Jordan;' but the supply likely
to be derived from such a fountain as that would hardly be
sufficient for Undy's wants. Having done what he could in the
city, he came to Alaric, and prayed for the assistance of all his
friend's energies in the matter. Alaric would not have been, and
was not unwilling to assist him to the extent of his own
immediate means; but his own immediate means were limited, and
Undy's desire for ready cash was almost unlimited.

There was a certain railway or proposed railway in Ireland, in
which Undy had ventured very deeply, more so indeed than he had
deemed it quite prudent to divulge to his friend; and in order to
gain certain ends he had induced Alaric to become a director of
this line. The line in question was the Great West Cork, which
was to run from Skibbereen to Bantry, and the momentous question
now hotly debated before the Railway Board was on the moot point
of a branch to Ballydehob. If Undy could carry the West Cork and
Ballydehob branch entire, he would make a pretty thing of it; but
if, as there was too much reason to fear, his Irish foes should
prevail, and leave--as Undy had once said in an eloquent speech
at a very influential meeting of shareholders--and leave the
unfortunate agricultural and commercial interest of Ballydehob
steeped in Cimmerian darkness, the chances were that poor Undy
would be well nigh ruined.

Such being the case, he had striven, not unsuccessfully, to draw
Alaric into the concern. Alaric had bought very cheaply a good
many shares, which many people said were worth nothing, and had,
by dint of Undy's machinations, been chosen a director on the
board. Undy himself meanwhile lay by, hoping that fortune might
restore him to Parliament, and haply put him on that committee
which must finally adjudicate as to the great question of the
Ballydehob branch.

Such were the circumstances under which he came to Alaric with
the view of raising such a sum of money as might enable him to
overcome the scruples of the Tillietudlem electors, and place
himself in the shoes lately vacated by Mr. M'Buffer.

They were sitting together after dinner when he commenced the
subject. He and Mrs. Val and Clementina had done the Tudors the
honour of dining with them; and the ladies had now gone up into
the drawing-room, and were busy talking over the Chiswick affair,
which was to come off in the next week, and after which Mrs. Val
intended to give a small evening party to the most _elite_
of her acquaintance.

'We won't have all the world, my dear,' she had said to Gertrude,
'but just a few of our own set that are really nice. Clementina
is dying to try that new back step with M. Jaquetanape, so we
won't crowd the room.' Such were the immediate arrangements of
the Tudor and Scott party.

'So M'Buffer is off at last,' said Scott, as he seated himself
and filled his glass, after closing the dining-room door. 'He
brought his pigs to a bad market after all.'

'He was an infernal rogue,' said Alaric.

'Well, I suppose he was,' said Undy; 'and a fool into the bargain
to be found out.'

'He was a downright swindler,' said Alaric.

'After all,' said the other, not paying much attention to
Alaric's indignation, 'he did not do so very badly. Why, M'Buffer
has been at it now for thirteen years. He began with nothing; he
had neither blood nor money; and God knows he had no social
merits to recommend him. He is as vulgar as a hog, as awkward as
an elephant, and as ugly as an ape. I believe he never had a
friend, and was known at his club to be the greatest bore that
ever came out of Scotland; and yet for thirteen years he has
lived on the fat of the land; for five years he has been in
Parliament, his wife has gone about in her carriage, and every
man in the city has been willing to shake hands with him.'

'And what has it all come to?' said Alaric, whom the question of
M'Buffer's temporary prosperity made rather thoughtful.

'Well, not so bad either; he has had his fling for thirteen
years, and that's something. Thirteen good years out of a man's
life is more than falls to the lot of every one. And then, I
suppose, he has saved something.'

'And he is spoken of everywhere as a monster for whom hanging is
too good.'

'Pshaw! that won't hang him. Yesterday he was a god; to-day he is
a devil; to-morrow he'll be a man again; that's all.'

'But you don't mean to tell me, Undy, that the consciousness of
such crimes as those which M'Buffer has committed must not make a
man wretched in this world, and probably in the next also?'

'Judge not, and ye shall not be judged,' said Undy, quoting
Scripture as the devil did before him; 'and as for consciousness
of crime, I suppose M'Buffer has none at all. I have no doubt he
thinks himself quite as honest as the rest of the world. He
firmly believes that all of us are playing the same game, and
using the same means, and has no idea whatever that dishonesty is
objectionable.'

'And you, what do you think about it yourself?'

'I think the greatest rogues are they who talk most of their
honesty; and, therefore, as I wish to be thought honest myself, I
never talk of my own.'

They both sat silent for a while, Undy bethinking himself what
arguments would be most efficacious towards inducing Alaric to
strip himself of every available shilling that he had; and Alaric
debating in his own mind that great question which he so often
debated, as to whether men, men of the world, the great and best
men whom he saw around him, really endeavoured to be honest, or
endeavoured only to seem so. Honesty was preached to him on every
side; but did he, in his intercourse with the world, find men to
be honest? Or did it behove him, a practical man like him, a man
so determined to battle with the world as he had determined, did
it behove such a one as he to be more honest than his neighbours?

He also encouraged himself by that mystic word, 'Excelsior!' To
him it was a watchword of battle, repeated morning, noon, and
night. It was the prevailing idea of his life. 'Excelsior'! Yes;
how great, how grand, how all-absorbing is the idea! But what if
a man may be going down, down to Tophet, and yet think the while
that he is scaling the walls of heaven?

'But you wish to think yourself honest,' he said, disturbing Undy
just as that hero had determined on the way in which he would
play his present hand of cards.

'I have not the slightest difficulty about that,' said Undy; 'and
I dare say you have none either. But as to M'Buffer, his going
will be a great thing for us, if, as I don't doubt, I can get his
seat.'

'It will be a great thing for you,' said Alaric, who, as well as
Undy, had his Parliamentary ambition.

'And for you too, my boy. We should carry the Ballydehob branch
to a dead certainty; and even if we did not do that, we'd bring
it so near it that the expectation of it would send the shares up
like mercury in fine weather. They are at L2 12s. 6d. now, and,
if I am in the House next Session, they'll be up to L7 10s.
before Easter; and what's more, my dear fellow, if we can't help
ourselves in that way, they'll be worth nothing in a very few
months.'

Alaric looked rather blank; for he had invested deeply in this
line, of which he was now a director, of a week's standing, or
perhaps we should say sitting. He had sold out all his golden
hopes in the Wheal Mary Jane for the sake of embarking his money
and becoming a director in this Irish Railway, and in one other
speculation nearer home, of which Undy had a great opinion, viz.:
the Limehouse Thames Bridge Company. Such being the case, he did
not like to hear the West Cork with the Ballydehob branch spoken
of so slightingly.

'The fact is, a man can do anything if he is in the House, and he
can do nothing if he is not,' said Undy. 'You know our old
Aberdeen saying, 'You scratch me and I'll scratch you.' It is not
only what a man may do himself for himself, but it is what others
will do for him when he is in a position to help them. Now, there
are those fellows; I am hand-and-glove with all of them; but
there is not one of them would lift a finger to help me as I am
now; but let me get my seat again, and they'll do for me just
anything I ask them. Vigil moves the new writ to-night; I got a
line from him asking me whether I was ready. There was no good to
be got by waiting, so I told him to fire away.'

'I suppose you'll go down at once?' said Alaric.

'Well, that as may be--at least, yes; that's my intention. But
there's one thing needful--and that is the needful.'

'Money?' suggested Alaric.

'Yes, money--cash--rhino--tin--ready--or by what other name the
goddess would be pleased to have herself worshipped; money, sir;
there's the difficulty, now as ever. Even at Tillietudlem money
will have its weight.'

'Can't your father assist you?' said Alaric.

'My father! I wonder how he'd look if he got a letter from me
asking for money. You might as well expect a goose to feed her
young with blood out of her own breast, like a pelican, as expect
that a Scotch lord should give money to his younger sons like an
English duke. What would my father get by my being member for
Tillietudlem? No; I must look nearer home than my father. What
can you do for me?'

'I?'

'Yes, you,' said Undy; 'I am sure you don't mean to say you'll
refuse to lend me a helping hand if you can. I must realize by
the Ballydehobs, if I am once in the House; and then you'd have
your money back at once.'

'It is not that,' said Alaric; 'but I haven't got it.'

'I am sure you could let me have a thousand or so,' said Undy. 'I
think a couple of thousand would carry it, and I could make out
the other myself.'

'Every shilling I have,' said Alaric, 'is either in the
Ballydehobs or in the Limehouse Bridge. Why don't you sell
yourself?'

'So I have,' said Undy; 'everything that I can without utter
ruin. The Ballydehobs are not saleable, as you know.'

'What can I do for you, then?'

Undy set himself again to think. 'I have no doubt I could get a
thousand on our joint names. That blackguard, M'Ruen, would do
it.'

'Who is M'Ruen?' asked Alaric.

'A low blackguard of a discounting Jew Christian. He would do it;
but then, heaven knows what he would charge, and he'd make so
many difficulties that I shouldn't have the money for the next
fortnight.'

'I wouldn't have my name on a bill in such a man's hands on any
account,' said Alaric.

'Well, I don't like it myself,' said Undy; 'but what the deuce am
I to do? I might as well go to Tillietudlem without my head as
without money.'

'I thought you'd kept a lot of the Mary Janes,' said Alaric.

'So I had, but they're gone now. I tell you I've managed L1,000
myself. It would murder me now if the seat were to go into other
hands. I'd get the Committee on the Limehouse Bridge, and we
should treble our money. Vigil told me he would not refuse the
Committee, though of course the Government won't consent to a
grant if they can help it.'