The Three Clerks by Anthony Trollope

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'And the d---- go along with him,' said Miss Geraghty, who had
still about her a twang of the County Clare, from whence she
came.

'With all my heart,' said Mrs. Davis; 'I shall save my hundred
pounds: but if you'll be led by me you'll not throw Peppermint
over till you're sure of the other; and, take my word for it,
you're----'

'I hate Peppermint.'

'Nonsense; he's an honest good sort of man, and a deal more
likely to keep you out of want than the other.'

Hereupon Norah began to cry, and to wipe her beautiful eyes with
the glass-cloth. Hers, indeed, was a cruel position. Her face was
her fortune, and her fortune she knew was deteriorating from day
to day. She could not afford to lose the lover that she loved,
and also the lover that she did not love. Matrimony with her was
extremely desirable, and she was driven to confess that it might
very probably be either now or never. Much as she hated
Peppermint, she was quite aware that she would take him if she
could not do better. But then, was it absolutely certain that she
must lose the lover that so completely suited her taste? Mrs.
Davis said it was. Norah herself, confiding, as it is so natural
that ladies should do, a little too much in her own beauty,
thought that she couldn't but have a chance left. She also had
her high aspirations; she desired to rise in the world, to leave
goes of gin and screws of tobacco behind her, and to reach some
position more worthy of the tastes of a woman. 'Excelsior,'
translated doubtless into excellent Irish, was her motto also. It
would be so great a thing to be the wife of Charles Tudor, Esq.,
of the Civil Service, and more especially as she dearly and truly
loved the same Charles Tudor in her heart of hearts.

She knew, however, that it was not for her to indulge in the
luxury of a heart, if circumstances absolutely forbade it. To eat
and drink and clothe herself, and, if possible, to provide eating
and drinking and clothes for her future years, this was the
business of life, this was the only real necessity. She had
nothing to say in opposition to Mrs. Davis, and therefore she
went on crying, and again wiped her eyes with the glass-cloth.

Mrs. Davis, however, was no stern monitor, unindulgent to the
weakness of human nature. When she saw how Norah took to heart
her sad fate, she resolved to make one more effort in her favour.
She consequently dressed herself very nicely, put on her best
bonnet, and took the unprecedented step of going off to the
Internal Navigation, and calling on Charley in the middle of his
office.

Charley was poking over the Kennett and Avon lock entries, with
his usual official energy, when the office messenger came up and
informed him that a lady was waiting to see him.

'A lady!' said Charley: 'what lady?' and he immediately began
thinking of the Woodwards, whom he was to meet that afternoon at
Chiswick.

'I'm sure I can't say, sir: all that she said was that she was a
lady,' answered the messenger, falsely, for he well knew that the
woman was Mrs. Davis, of the 'Cat and Whistle.'

Now the clerks at the Internal Navigation were badly off for a
waiting-room; and in no respect can the different ranks of
different public offices be more plainly seen than in the
presence or absence of such little items of accommodation as
this. At the Weights and Measures there was an elegant little
chamber, carpeted, furnished with leathern-bottomed chairs, and a
clock, supplied with cream-laid note-paper, new pens, and the
_Times_ newspaper, quite a little Elysium, in which to pass
half an hour, while the Secretary, whom one had called to see,
was completing his last calculation on the matter of the decimal
coinage. But there were no such comforts at the Internal
Navigation. There was, indeed, a little room at the top of the
stairs, in which visitors were requested to sit down; but even
here two men were always at work--at work, or else at play.

Into this room Mrs. Davis was shown, and there Charley found her.
Long and intimately as the young navvy had been acquainted with
the landlady of the 'Cat and Whistle,' he had never before seen
her arrayed for the outer world. It may be doubted whether Sir
John Falstaff would, at the first glance, have known even Dame
Quickly in her bonnet, that is, if Dame Quickly in those days had
had a bonnet. At any rate Charley was at fault for a moment, and
was shaking hands with the landlady before he quite recognized
who she was.

The men in the room, however, had recognized her, and Charley
well knew that they had done so.

'Mr. Tudor,' she began, not a bit abashed, 'I want to know what
it is you are a-going to do?'

Though she was not abashed, Charley was, and very much so.
However, he contrived to get her out of the room, so that he
might speak to her somewhat more privately in the passage. The
gentlemen at the Internal Navigation were well accustomed to this
mode of colloquy, as their tradesmen not unfrequently called,
with the view of having a little conversation, which could not
conveniently be held in the public room.

'And, Mr. Tudor, what are you a-going to do about that poor girl
there?' said Mrs. Davis, as soon as she found herself in the
passage, and saw that Charley was comfortably settled with his
back against the wall.

'She may go to Hong-Kong for me.' That is what Charley should
have said. But he did not say it. He had neither the sternness of
heart nor the moral courage to enable him to do so. He was very
anxious, it is true, to get altogether quit of Norah Geraghty;
but his present immediate care was confined to a desire of
getting Mrs. Davis out of the office.

'Do!' said Charley. 'Oh, I don't know; I'll come and settle
something some of these days; let me see when--say next Tuesday.'

'Settle something,' said Mrs. Davis. 'If you are an honest man,
as I take you, there is only one thing to settle; when do you
mean to marry her?'

'Hush!' said Charley; for, as she was speaking, Mr. Snape came
down the passage leading from Mr. Oldeschole's room. 'Hush!' Mr.
Snape as he passed walked very slowly, and looked curiously round
into the widow's face. 'I'll be even with you, old fellow, for
that,' said Charley to himself; and it may be taken for granted
that he kept his word before long.

'Oh! it is no good hushing any more,' said Mrs. Davis, hardly
waiting till Mr. Snape's erect ears were out of hearing. 'Hushing
won't do no good; there's that girl a-dying, and her grave'll be
a-top of your head, Mr. Tudor; mind I tell you that fairly; so
now I want to know what it to you're a-going to do.' And then
Mrs. Davis lifted up the lid of a market basket which hung on her
left arm, took out her pocket-handkerchief, and began to wipe her
eyes.

Unfortunate Charley! An idea occurred to him that he might bolt
and leave her. But then the chances were that she would make her
way into his very room, and tell her story there, out before them
all. He well knew that this woman was capable of many things if
her temper were fairly roused. And yet what could he say to her
to induce her to go out from that building, and leave him alone
to his lesser misfortunes?

'She's a-dying, I tell you, Mr. Tudor,' continued the landlady,
'and if she do die, be sure of this, I won't be slow to tell the
truth about it. I'm the only friend she's got, and I'm not going
to see her put upon. So just tell me this in two words--what is
it you're a-going to do?' And then Mrs. Davis replaced her
kerchief in the basket, stood boldly erect in the middle of the
passage, waiting for Charley's answer.

Just at this moment Mr. Snape again appeared in the passage,
going towards Mr. Oldeschole's room. The pernicious old man! He
hated Charley Tudor; and, to tell the truth, there was no love
lost between them. Charley, afflicted and out of spirits as he
was at the moment, could not resist the opportunity of being
impertinent to his old foe: 'I'm afraid you'll make yourself very
tired, Mr. Snape, if you walk about so much,' said he. Mr. Snape
merely looked at him, and then hard at Mrs. Davis, and passed on
to Mr. Oldeschole's room.

'Well, Mr. Tudor, will you be so good as to tell me what it is
you're going to do about this poor girl?'

'My goodness, Mrs. Davis, you know how I am situated--how can you
expect me to give an answer to such a question in such a place as
this? I'll come to the 'Cat and Whistle' on Tuesday.'

'Gammon!' said the eloquent lady. 'You know you means gammon.'

Charley, perhaps, did mean gammon; but he protested that he had
never been more truthfully in earnest in his life. Mr. Oldeschole's
door opened, and Mrs. Davis perceiving it, whipped out her
handkerchief in haste, and again began wiping her eyes, not
without audible sobs. 'Confound the woman!' said Charley to
himself; 'what on earth shall I do with her?'

Mr. Oldeschole's door opened, and out of it came Mr. Oldeschole,
and Mr. Snape following him. What means the clerk had used to
bring forth the Secretary need not now be inquired. Forth they
both came, and passed along the passage, brushing close by
Charley and Mrs. Davis; Mr. Oldeschole, when he saw that one of
the clerks was talking to a woman who apparently was crying,
looked very intently on the ground, and passed by with a quick
step; Mr. Snape looked as intently at the woman, and passed very
slowly. Each acted according to his lights.

'I don't mean gammon at all, Mrs. Davis--indeed, I don't--I'll be
there on Tuesday night certainly, if not sooner--I will indeed--I
shall be in a desperate scrape if they see me here talking to you
any longer; there is a rule against women being in the office at
all.'

'And there's a rule against the clerks marrying, I suppose,' said
Mrs. Davis.

The colloquy ended in Charley promising to spend the Saturday
evening at the 'Cat and Whistle,' with the view of then and there
settling what he meant to do about 'that there girl'; nothing
short of such an undertaking on his part would induce Mrs. Davis
to budge. Had she known her advantage she might have made even
better terms. He would almost rather have given her a written
promise to marry her barmaid, than have suffered her to remain
there till Mr. Oldeschole should return and see her there again.
So Mrs. Davis, with her basket and pocket-handkerchief, went her
way about her marketing, and Charley, as he returned to his room,
gave the strictest injunctions to the messenger that not, on any
ground or excuse whatever, was any woman to be again allowed to
see him at the office.

When, therefore, on the fine summer morning, with the early
daylight all bright around him, Charley walked home from Mrs.
Val's party, he naturally felt sad enough. He had one sixpence
left in his pocket; he was engaged to spend the evening of the
following day with the delightful Norah at the 'Cat and Whistle,'
then and there to plight her his troth, in whatever formal and
most irretrievable manner Mrs. Davis might choose to devise; and
as he thought of these things he had ringing in his ears the last
sounds of that angel voice, 'You will be steady, Charley, won't
you? I know you will, dear Charley--won't you now?'

Steady! Would not the best thing for him be to step down to
Waterloo Bridge and throw himself over? He still had money enough
left to pay the toll--though not enough to hire a pistol. And so
he went home and got into bed.

On that same day, the day that was to witness Charley's betrothal
to Miss Geraghty, and that of M. Jaquetanape with Miss Golightly,
Alaric Tudor had an appointment with Sir Gregory Hardlines at the
new office of the Civil Service Examination Board. Alaric had
been invited to wait upon the great man, in terms which made him
perfectly understand that the communication to be made was one
which would not be unpleasing or uncomplimentary to himself.
Indeed, he pretty well guessed what was to be said to him. Since
his promotion at the Weights and Measures he had gone on rising
in estimation as a man of value to the Civil Service at large.
Nearly two years had now passed since that date, and in these
pages nothing has been said of his official career during the
time. It had, however, been everything that he or his friends
could have wished it to be. He had so put himself forward as
absolutely to have satisfied the actual chief clerk of his
office, and was even felt by some of the secretaries to be
treading very closely on their heels.

And yet a great portion of his time had been spent, not at the
Weights and Measures, but in giving some sort of special
assistance to Sir Gregory's Board. The authorities at the Weights
and Measures did not miss him; they would have been well content
that he should have remained for ever with Sir Gregory.

He had also become somewhat known to the official world, even
beyond the confines of the Weights and Measures, or the
Examination Board, He had changed his club, and now belonged to
the Downing. He had there been introduced by his friend Undy to
many men, whom to know should be the very breath in the nostrils
of a rising official aspirant. Mr. Whip Vigil, of the Treasury,
had more than once taken him by the hand, and even the Chancellor
of the Exchequer usually nodded to him whenever that o'ertasked
functionary found a moment to look in at the official club.

Things had not been going quite smoothly at the Examination
Board. Tidings had got about that Mr. Jobbles was interfering
with Sir Gregory, and that Sir Gregory didn't like it. To be
sure, when this had been indiscreetly alluded to in the House by
one of those gentlemen who pass their leisure hours in looking
out for raws in the hide of the Government carcass, some other
gentleman, some gentleman from the Treasury bench, had been able
to give a very satisfactory reply. For why, indeed, should any
gentleman sit on the Treasury bench if he be not able, when so
questioned, to give very satisfactory replies? Giving satisfactory
replies to ill-natured questions is, one may say, the constitutional
work of such gentlemen, who have generally well learned how
to do so, and earned their present places by asking the selfsame
questions themselves, when seated as younger men in other
parts of the House.

But though the answer given in this instance was so eminently
satisfactory as to draw down quite a chorus of triumphant
acclamations from the official supporters of Government,
nevertheless things had not gone on at the Board quite as
smoothly as might have been desirable. Mr. Jobbles was enthusiastically
intent on examining the whole adult male population of Great Britain,
and had gone so far as to hint that female competitors might, at
some future time, be made subject to his all-measuring rule and
compass. Sir Gregory, however, who, having passed his early
days in an office, may, perhaps, be supposed to have had some
slight prejudice remaining in favour of ancient customs, was not
inclined to travel so quickly. Moreover, he preferred following his
own lead, to taking any other lead whatever that Mr. Jobbles might
point out as preferable.

Mr. Jobbles wanted to crush all patronage at a blow; any system
of patronage would lamentably limit the number of candidates
among whom his examination papers would be distributed. He longed
to behold, crowding around him, an attendance as copious as Mr.
Spurgeon's, and to see every head bowed over the posing questions
which he should have dictated. No legion could be too many for
him. He longed to be at this great work; but his energies were
crushed by the opposition of his colleagues. Sir Gregory thought
--and Sir Warwick, though he hardly gave a firm support to Sir
Gregory, would not lend his countenance to Mr. Jobbles--Sir
Gregory thought that enough would be done for the present, if
they merely provided that every one admitted into the Service
should be educated in such a manner as to be fit for any
profession or calling under the sun; and that, with this slight
proviso, the question of patronage might for the present remain
untouched. 'Do you,' he would have said to the great officers of
Government, 'appoint whom you like. In this respect remain quite
unfettered. I, however, I am the St. Peter to whom are confided
the keys of the Elysium. Do you send whatever candidates you
please: it is for me merely to say whether or not they shall
enter.' But Mr. Jobbles would have gone much farther. He would
have had all mankind for candidates, and have selected from the
whole mass those most worthy of the high reward. And so there was
a split at the Examination Board, which was not to be healed even
by the very satisfactory reply given by the Treasury gentleman in
the House of Commons.

Neither Sir Gregory nor his rival were men likely to give way,
and it soon appeared manifest to the powers that be, that
something must be done. It therefore came to light that Mr.
Jobbles had found that his clerical position was hardly
compatible with a seat at a lay board, and he retired to the more
congenial duties of a comfortable prebendal stall at Westminster.
'So that by his close vicinity,' as was observed by a newspaper
that usually supported the Government, 'he might be able to be of
material use, whenever his advice should be required by the Board
of Commissioners.' Sir Gregory in the meantime was instructed to
suggest the name of another colleague; and, therefore, he sent
for Alaric Tudor.

Alaric, of course, knew well what had been going on at the Board.
He had been Sir Gregory's confidential man all through; had
worked out cases for him, furnished him with arguments, backed
his views, and had assisted him, whenever such a course had been
necessary, in holding Mr. Jobbles' head under the pump. Alaric
knew well on which side his bread was buttered, and could see
with a glance which star was in the ascendant; he perfectly
understood the points and merits of the winning horse. He went in
to win upon Sir Gregory, and he won. When Mr. Jobbles made his
last little speech at the Board, and retired to his house in the
Dean's yard, Alaric felt tolerably certain that he himself would
be invited to fill the vacant place.

And he was so invited. 'That is L1,200 a year, at any rate,' said
he to himself, as with many words of submissive gratitude he
thanked his patron for the nomination. 'That is L1,200 a year. So
far, so good. And now what must be the next step? Excelsior! It
is very nice to be a Commissioner, and sit at a Board at Sir
Gregory's right hand: much nicer than being a junior clerk at the
Weights and Measures, like Harry Norman. But there are nicer
things even than that; there are greater men even than Sir
Gregory; richer figures than even L1,200 a year!'

So he went to his old office, wrote his resignation, and walked
home meditating to what next step above he should now aspire to
rise. 'Excelsior!' he still said to himself, 'Excelsior!'

At the same moment Charley was leaving the Internal Navigation,
and as he moved with unusual slowness down the steps, he
bethought himself how he might escape from the fangs of his
Norah; how, if such might still be possible, he might fit himself
for the love of Katie Woodward. Excelsior! such also was the
thought of his mind; but he did not dare to bring the word to
utterance. It was destined that his thoughts should be interrupted
by no very friendly hand.

CHAPTER XXVIII

OUTERMAN _v_ TUDOR

Charley sat at his office on the Saturday afternoon, very
meditative and unlike himself. What was he to do when his office
hours were over? In the first place he had not a shilling in the
world to get his dinner. His habit was to breakfast at home at
his lodgings with Harry, and then to dine, as best he might, at
some tavern, if he had not the good fortune to be dining out. He
had a little dinner bill at a house which he frequented in the
Strand; but the bill he knew had reached its culminating point.
It would, he was aware, be necessary that it should be decreased,
not augmented, at the next commercial transaction which might
take place between him and the tavern-keeper.

This was not the first time by many in which he had been in a
similar plight--but his resource in such case had been to tell
the truth gallantly to his friend Mrs. Davis; and some sort of
viands, not at all unprepossessing to him in his hunger, would
always be forthcoming for him at the 'Cat and Whistle.' This
supply was now closed to him. Were he, under his present
circumstances, to seek for his dinner from the fair hands of
Norah Geraghty, it would be tantamount to giving himself up as
lost for ever.

This want of a dinner, however, was a small misfortune in
comparison with others which afflicted him. Should or should he
not keep his promise to Mrs. Davis, and go to the 'Cat and
Whistle' that evening? That was the question which disturbed his
equanimity, and hindered him from teasing Mr. Snape in his usual
vivacious manner.

And here let it not be said that Charley must be altogether
despicable in being so weak; that he is not only a vulgar rake in
his present habits, but a fool also, and altogether spiritless,
and of a low disposition. Persons who may so argue of him, who so
argue of those whom they meet in the real living world, are
ignorant of the twists and turns, and rapid changes in character
which are brought about by outward circumstances. Many a youth,
abandoned by his friends to perdition on account of his folly,
might have yet prospered, had his character not been set down as
gone, before, in truth, it was well formed. It is not one calf
only that should be killed for the returning prodigal. Oh,
fathers, mothers, uncles, aunts, guardians, and elderly friends
in general, kill seven fatted calves if seven should unfortunately
be necessary!

And then there was a third calamity. Charley had, at this moment,
in his pocket a certain document, which in civil but still
somewhat peremptory language invited him to meet a very
celebrated learned pundit, being no less than one of Her
Majesty's puisne judges, at some court in Westminster, to explain
why he declined to pay to one Nathaniel Outerman, a tailor, the
sum of &c., &c., &c.; and the document then went on to say, that
any hesitation on Charley's part to accept this invitation would
be regarded as great contempt shown to the said learned pundit,
and would be treated accordingly. Now Charley had not paid the
slightest attention to this requisition from the judge. It would,
he conceived, have been merely putting his head into the lion's
mouth to do so. But yet he knew that such documents meant
something; that the day of grace was gone by, and that Mr.
Nathaniel Outerman would very speedily have him locked up.

So Charley sat meditative over his lock entries, and allowed even
his proposed vengeance on Mr. Snape to be delayed.

'I say, Charley,' said Scatterall, coming over and whispering to
him, 'you couldn't lend me half a crown, could you?'

Charley said nothing, but looked on his brother navvy in a manner
that made any other kind of reply quite unnecessary.

'I was afraid it was so,' said Scatterall, in a melancholy voice.
And then, as if by the brilliance of his thought he had suddenly
recovered his spirits, he made a little proposition.

'I'll tell you what you might do, Charley. I put my watch up the
spout last week. It's a silver turnip, so I only got fifteen
shillings; yours is a Cox and Savary, and it's gold. I'm sure
you'd get L3 for it easily--perhaps L3 3s. Now, if you'll do
that, and take my turnip down, I'll let you have the turnip to
wear, if you'll let me have ten shillings of the money. You see,
you'd get clear--let me see how much.' And Scatterall went to
work with a sheet of foolscap paper, endeavouring to make some
estimate of what amount of ready cash Charley might have in his
pocket on completion of this delicate little arrangement.

'You be d--,' said Charley.

'You'll not do it, then?' said Dick.

Charley merely repeated with a little more emphasis the speech
which he had just before made.

'Oh, very well,' said Scatterall; 'there couldn't have been a
fairer bargain; at least it was all on your side; for you would
have had the watch to wear, and nearly all the money too.'

Charley still repeated the same little speech. This was uncivil;
for it had evidently been looked on by Scatterall as unsatisfactory.

'Oh, very well,' said that gentleman, now in a state of mild
anger--' only I saw that you had a fine new purse, and I thought
you'd wish to have something to put in it.'

Charley again repeated his offensive mandate; but he did it in a
spirit of bravado, in order to maintain his reputation. The
allusion to the purse made him sadder than ever. He put his hand
into his breast-pocket, and felt that it was near his heart: and
then he fancied that he again heard her words--'You will be
steady; won't you, dear Charley?'

At four o'clock, he was by no means in his usual hurry to go
away, and he sat there drawing patterns on his blotting-paper,
and chopping up a stick of sealing-wax with his penknife, in a
very disconsolate way. Scatterall went. Corkscrew went. Mr.
Snape, having carefully brushed his hat and taken down from its
accustomed peg the old cotton umbrella, also took his departure;
and the fourth navvy, who inhabited the same room, went also. The
iron-fingered hand of time struck a quarter past four on the
Somerset House clock, and still Charley Tudor lingered at his
office. The maid who came to sweep the room was thoroughly
amazed, and knew that something must be wrong.