resolutely from under a neat cap and fresh ribbon. Why, I know some women can
smile, and look at ease, when they sit down in a dentist's chair.
"Law bless me, Mr. Hunt," then says the artless creature, "who ever would have
thought of seeing you, I do declare!" And she makes a nice cheery little
curtsey, and looks quite gay, pleased, and pretty; and so did Judith look gay,
no doubt, and smile, and prattle before Holofernes; and then of course she said,
"Won't you step in?" And then Hunt swaggered up the steps of the house, and
entered the little parlour, into which the kind reader has often been conducted,
with its neat little ornaments, its pictures, its glistening corner cupboard,
and its well-scrubbed, shining furniture.
"How is the captain?" asks the man (alone in the company of this Little Sister,
the fellow's own heart began to beat, and his bloodshot eyes to glisten).
He had not heard about poor Pa? "That shows how long you have been away!" Mrs.
Brandon remarks, and mentions the date of her father's fatal illness. Yes: she
was alone now, and had to care for herself; and straightway, I have no doubt,
Mrs. Brandon asked Mr. Hunt whether he would "take" anything. Indeed, that good
little woman was for ever pressing her friends to "take" something, and would
have thought the laws of hospitality violated unless she had made this offer.
Hunt was never known to refuse a proposal of this sort. He would take a taste of
something��of something warm. He had had fever and ague at New York, and the
malady hung about him. Mrs. Brandon was straightway very much interested to hear
about Mr. Hunt's complaint, and knew that a comfortable glass was very
efficacious in removing threatening fever. Her nimble, neat little hands mixed
him a cup. He could not but see what a trim little housekeeper she was. "Ah,
Mrs. Brandon, if I had had such a kind friend watching over me, I should not be
such a wreck as I am!" he sighed. He must have advanced to a second, nay, a
third glass, when he sighed and became sentimental regarding his own unhappy
condition; and Brandon owned to her friends afterwards that she made those
glasses very strong.
Having "taken something" in considerable quantities, then, Hunt condescended to
ask how his hostess was getting on, and how were her lodgers? How she was
getting on? Brandon drew the most cheerful picture of herself and her
circumstances. The apartments let well, and were never empty. Thanks to good Dr.
Goodenough and other friends, she had as much professional occupation as she
could desire. Since you know who has left the country, she said, her mind had
been ever so much easier. As long as he was near, she never felt secure. But he
was gone, and bad luck go with him! said this vindictive Little Sister.
"Was his son still lodging up-stairs?" asked Mr. Hunt.
On this, what does Mrs. Brandon do but begin a most angry attack upon Philip and
his family. He lodge there? No, thank goodness! She had had enough of him and
his wife, with her airs and graces, and the children crying all night, and the
furniture spoiled, and the bills not even paid! "I wanted him to think that me
and Philip was friends no longer; and heaven forgive me for telling stories! I
know this fellow means no good to Philip; and before long I will know what he
means, that I will," she vowed.
For, on the very day when Mr. Hunt paid her a visit, Mrs. Brandon came to see
Philip's friends, and acquaint them with Hunt's arrival. We could not be sure
that he was the bearer of the forged bill with which poor Philip was threatened.
As yet Hunt had made no allusion to it. But, though we are far from sanctioning
deceit or hypocrisy, we own that we were not very angry with the Little Sister
for employing dissimulation in the present instance, and inducing Hunt to
believe that she was by no means an accomplice of Philip. If Philip's wife
pardoned her, ought his friends to be less forgiving? To do right, you know you
must not do wrong; though I own this was one of the cases in which I am inclined
not to deal very hardly with the well-meaning little criminal.
Now, Charlotte had to pardon (and for this fault, if not for some others,
Charlotte did most heartily pardon) our little friend, for this reason, that
Brandon most wantonly maligned her. When Hunt asked what sort of wife Philip had
married? Mrs. Brandon declared that Mrs. Philip was a pert, odious little thing;
that she gave herself airs, neglected her children, bullied her husband, and
what not; and, finally, Brandon vowed that she disliked Charlotte, and was very
glad to get her out of the house: and that Philip was not the same Philip since
he married her, and that he gave himself airs, and was rude, and in all things
led by his wife; and to get rid of them was a good riddance.
Hunt gracefully suggested that quarrels between landladies and tenants were not
unusual; that lodgers sometimes did not pay their rent punctually; at others
were unreasonably anxious about the consumption of their groceries, liquors, and
so forth; and little Brandon, who, rather than steal a pennyworth from her
Philip, would have cut her hand off, laughed at her guest's joke, and pretended
to be amused with his knowing hints that she was a rogue. There was not a word
he said but she received it with a gracious acquiescence: she might shudder
inwardly at the leering familiarity of the odious tipsy wretch, but she gave no
outward sign of disgust or fear. She allowed him to talk as much as he would, in
hopes that he would come to a subject which deeply interested her. She asked
about the doctor and what he was doing, and whether it was likely that he would
ever be able to pay back any of that money which he had taken from his son? And
she spoke with an indifferent tone, pretending to be very busy over some work at
which she was stitching.
"Oh, you are still hankering after him," says the chaplain, winking a bloodshot
eye.
"Hankering after that old man! What should I care for him? As if he haven't done
me harm enough already!" cries poor Caroline.
"Yes. But women don't dislike a man the worse for a little ill-usage," suggests
Hunt. No doubt the fellow had made his own experiments on woman's fidelity.
"Well, I suppose," says Brandon, with a toss of her head, "women may get tired
as well as men, mayn't they? I found out that man, and wearied of him years and
years ago. Another little drop out of the green bottle, Mr. Hunt! It's very good
for ague-fever, and keeps the cold fit off wonderful!"
And Hunt drank, and he talked a little more��much more: and he gave his opinion
of the elder Firmin, and spoke of his chances of success, and of his rage for
speculations, and doubted whether he would ever be able to lift his head
again��though he might, he might still. He was in the country where, if ever a
man could retrieve himself, he had a chance. And Philip was giving himself airs,
was he? He was always an arrogant chap, that Mr. Philip. And he had left her
house? and was gone ever so long? and where did he live now?
Then I am sorry to say Mrs. Brandon asked, how should she know where P
hilip
lived now? She believed it was near Gray's Inn, or Lincoln's Inn, or somewhere;
and she was for turning the conversation away from this subject altogether: and
sought to do so by many lively remarks and ingenious little artifices which I
can imagine, but which she only in part acknowledged to me��for you must know
that as soon as her visitor took leave��to turn into the "Admiral Byng"
public-house, and renew acquaintance with the worthies assembled in the parlour
of that tavern, Mrs. Brandon ran away to a cab, drove in it to Philip's house in
Milman Street, where only Mrs. Philip was at home��and after a banale
conversation with her, which puzzled Charlotte not a little, for Brandon would
not say on what errand she came, and never mentioned Hunt's arrival and visit to
her��the Little Sister made her way to another cab, and presently made her
appearance at the house of Philip's friends in Queen Square. And here she
informed me, how Hunt had arrived, and how she was sure he meant no good to
Philip, and how she had told certain��certain stories which were not founded in
fact ��to Mr. Hunt; for the telling of which fibs I am not about to endeavour to
excuse her.
Though the interesting clergyman had not said one word regarding that bill of
which Philip's father had warned him, we believed that the document was in
Hunt's possession, and that it would be produced in due season. We happened to
know where Philip dined, and sent him word to come to us.
"What can he mean?" the people asked at the table ��a bachelors' table at the
Temple (for Philip's good wife actually encouraged him to go abroad from time to
time, and make merry with his friends). "What can this mean?" and they read out
the scrap of paper which he had cast down as he was summoned away.
Philip's correspondent wrote: "Dear Philip,��I believe the BEARER OF THE
BOWSTRING has arrived; and has been with the L. S. this very day."
The L. S?��the bearer of the bowstring? Not one of the bachelors dining in
Parchment Buildings could read the riddle. Only after receiving the scrap of
paper Philip had jumped up and left the room; and a friend of ours, a sly wag
and Don Juan of Pump Court, offered to take odds that there was a lady in the
case.
At the hasty little council which was convened at our house on the receipt of
the news, the Little Sister, whose instinct had not betrayed her, was made
acquainted with the precise nature of the danger which menaced Philip; and
exhibited a fine hearty wrath when she heard how he proposed to meet the enemy.
He had a certain sum in hand. He would borrow more of his friends, who knew that
he was an honest man. This bill he would meet, whatever might come; and avert at
least this disgrace from his father.
What? Give in to those rogues? Leave his children to starve, and his poor wife
to turn drudge and house-servant, who was not fit for anything but a fine lady?
(There was no love lost, you see, between these two ladies, who both loved Mr.
Philip). It was a sin and a shame! Mrs. Brandon averred, and declared she
thought Philip had been a man of more spirit. Philip's friend has before stated
his own private sentiments regarding the calamity which menaced Firmin. To pay
this bill was to bring a dozen more down upon him. Philip might as well resist
now as at a later day. Such, in fact, was the opinion given by the reader's very
humble servant at command.
My wife, on the other hand, took Philip's side. She was very much moved at his
announcement that he would forgive his father this once at least, and endeavour
to cover his sin.
"As you hope to be forgiven yourself, dear Philip, I am sure you are doing
right," Laura said; "I am sure Charlotte will think so."
"Oh, Charlotte, Charlotte!" interposes the Little Sister, rather peevishly; "of
course, Mrs. Philip thinks whatever her husband tells her!"
"In his own time of trial Philip has been met with wonderful succour and
kindness," Laura urged. "See how one thing after another has contributed to help
him! When he wanted, there were friends always at his need. If he wants again, I
am sure my husband and I will share with him." (I may have made a wry face at
this; for with the best feelings towards a man, and that kind of thing, you know
it is not always convenient to be lending him five or six hundred pounds without
security). "My dear husband and I will share with him," goes on Mrs. Laura;
"won't we, Arthur? Yes, Brandon, that we will. Be sure, Charlotte and the
children shall not want because Philip covers his father's wrong, and hides it
from the world! God bless you, dear friend!" and what does this woman do next,
and before her husband's face? Actually she goes up to Philip; she takes his
hand��and��Well, what took place before my own eyes, I do not choose to write
down.
"She's encouraging him to ruin the children for the sake of that��that wicked
old brute!" cries Mrs. Brandon. "It's enough to provoke a saint, it is!" And she
seizes up her bonnet from the table, and claps it on her head, and walks out of
our room in a little tempest of wrath.
My wife, clasping her hands, whispers a few words, which say: "Forgive us our
trespasses, as we forgive them who trespass against us."
"Yes," says Philip, very much moved. "It is the Divine order. You are right,
dear Laura. I have had a weary time; and a terrible gloom of doubt and sadness
over my mind whilst I have been debating this matter, and before I had
determined to do as you would have me. But a great weight is off my heart since
I have been enabled to see what my conduct should be. What hundreds of
struggling men as well as myself have met with losses, and faced them! I will
pay this bill, and I will warn the drawer to��to spare me for the future."
Now that the Little Sister had gone away in her fit of indignation, you see I
was left in a minority in the council of war, and the opposition was quite too
strong for me. I began to be of the majority's opinion. I daresay I am not the
only gentleman who has been led round by a woman. We men of great strength of
mind very frequently are. Yes: my wife convinced me with passages from her
text-book, admitting of no contradiction according to her judgment, that
Philip's duty was to forgive his father.
"And how lucky it was we did not buy the chintzes that day!" says Laura with a
laugh. "Do you know there were two which were so pretty that Charlotte could not
make up her mind which of the two she would take?"
Philip roared out one of his laughs, which made the windows shake. He was in
great spirits. For a man who was going to ruin himself, he was in the most
enviable good-humour. Did Charlotte know about this ��this claim which was
impending over him? No. It might make her anxious,��poor little thing. Philip
had not told her. He had thought of concealing the matter from her. What need
was there to disturb her rest, poor innocent child? You see, we all treated Mrs.
Charlotte more or less like a child. Philip played with her. J. J., the painter,
coaxed and dandled her, so to speak. The Littl
e Sister loved her, but certainly
with a love that was not respectful; and Charlotte took everybody's good-will
with a pleasant meekness and sweet smiling content. It was not for Laura to give
advice to man and wife (as if the woman was not always giving lectures to Philip
and his young wife!); but in the present instance she thought Mrs. Philip
certainly ought to know what Philip's real situation was; what danger was
menacing; "and how admirable and right, and Christian��and you will have your
reward for it, dear Philip!" interjects the enthusiastic lady��"your conduct has
been!"
When we came, as we straightway did in a cab, to Charlotte's house, to expound
the matter to her, goodness bless us! she was not shocked, or anxious, or
frightened at all. Mrs. Brandon had just been with her, and told her of what was
happening, and she had said, "Of course, Philip ought to help his father; and
Brandon had gone away quite in a tantrum of anger, and had really been quite
rude; and she should not pardon her, only she knew how dearly the Little Sister
loved Philip; and of course they must help Dr. Firmin; and what dreadful,
dreadful distress he must have been in to do as he did! But he had warned
Philip, you know," and so forth. "And as for the chintzes, Laura, why I suppose
we must go on with the old shabby covers. You know, they will do very well till
next year." This was the way in which Mrs. Charlotte received the news which
Philip had concealed from her, lest it should terrify her. As if a loving woman
was ever very much frightened at being called upon to share her husband's
misfortune!
As for the little case of forgery, I don't believe the young person could ever
be got to see the heinous nature of Dr. Firmin's offence. The desperate little
logician seemed rather to pity the father than the son in the business. "How
dreadfully pressed he must have been when he did it, poor man!" she said. "To be
sure, he ought not to have done it at all; but think of his necessity! That is
what I said to Brandon. Now, there's little Philip's cake in the cupboard which
you brought him. Now suppose papa was very hungry, and went and took some
without asking Philly, he wouldn't be so very wrong, I think, would he? A child
is glad enough to give for his father, isn't he? And when I said this to
Brandon, she was so rude and violent, I really have no patience with her! And
she forgets that I am a lady, and" So it appeared the Little Sister had made a
desperate attempt to bring over Charlotte to her side, was still minded to
rescue Philip in spite of himself, and had gone off in wrath at her defeat.
We looked to the doctor's letters, and ascertained the date of the bill. It had
crossed the water and would be at Philip's door in a very few days. Had Hunt
brought it? The rascal would have it presented through some regular channel, no
doubt; and Philip and all of us totted up ways and means, and strove to make the
slender figures look as big as possible, as the thrifty housewife puts a patch
here and a darn there, and cuts a little slice out of this old garment, so as to
make the poor little frock serve for winter wear. We had so much at the
banker's. A friend might help with a little advance. We would fairly ask a loan
from the Review. We were in a scrape, but we would meet it. And so with resolute
hearts, we would prepare to receive the Bearer of the Bowstring.
CHAPTER IX. THE BEARER OF THE BOWSTRING.
The poor Little Sister trudged away from Milman Street, exasperated with Philip,
with Philip's wife, and with the determination of the pair to accept the
hopeless ruin impending over them. "Three hundred and eighty-six pounds four and
threepence," she thought, "to pay for that wicked old villain! It is more than
poor Philip is worth, with all his savings and his little sticks of furniture. I
know what he will do: he will borrow of the money-lenders, and give those bills,
The Adventures of Philip Page 69
