CHAPTER XLIV.
"I SUPPOSE I MUST LET YOU HAVE IT."
Crosbie had been preparing the exact words with which he assailed Mr.Butterwell for the last quarter of an hour, before they were uttered.There is always a difficulty in the choice, not only of the wordswith which money should be borrowed, but of the fashion after whichthey should be spoken. There is the slow deliberate manner, in usingwhich the borrower attempts to carry the wished-for lender along withhim by force of argument, and to prove that the desire to borrowshows no imprudence on his own part, and that a tendency to lendwill show none on the part of the intended lender. It may be saidthat this mode fails oftener than any other. There is the piteousmanner,--the plea for commiseration. "My dear fellow, unless you willsee me through now, upon my word I shall be very badly off." And thismanner may be divided again into two. There is the plea piteous witha lie, and the plea piteous with a truth. "You shall have it againin two months as sure as the sun rises." That is generally the pleapiteous with a lie. Or it may be as follows: "It is only fair tosay that I don't quite know when I can pay it back." This is theplea piteous with a truth, and upon the whole I think that this isgenerally the most successful mode of borrowing. And there is theassured demand,--which betokens a close intimacy. "Old fellow, canyou let me have thirty pounds? No? Just put your name, then, on theback of this, and I'll get it done in the City." The worst of thatmanner is, that the bill so often does not get itself done in theCity. Then there is the sudden attack,--that being the manner towhich Crosbie had recourse in the present instance. That there areother modes of borrowing by means of which youth becomes indebted toage, and love to respect, and ignorance to experience, is a matterof course. It will be understood that I am here speaking only ofborrowing and lending between the Butterwells and Crosbies of theworld. "I have come to you in great distress," said Crosbie. "Iwonder whether you can help me. I want you to lend me five hundredpounds." Mr. Butterwell, when he heard the words, dropped the paperwhich he was reading from his hand, and stared at Crosbie over hisspectacles.
"Five hundred pounds," he said. "Dear me, Crosbie; that's a large sumof money."
"Yes, it is,--a very large sum. Half that is what I want at once; butI shall want the other half in a month."
"I thought that you were always so much above the world in moneymatters. Gracious me;--nothing that I have heard for a long time hasastonished me more. I don't know why, but I always thought that youhad your things so very snug."
Crosbie was aware that he had made one very great step towardssuccess. The idea had been presented to Mr. Butterwell's mind, andhad not been instantly rejected as a scandalously iniquitous idea, asan idea to which no reception could be given for a moment. Crosbiehad not been treated as was the needy knife-grinder, and had groundto stand upon while he urged his request. "I have been so pressedsince my marriage," he said, "that it has been impossible for me tokeep things straight."
"But Lady Alexandrina--"
"Yes; of course; I know. I do not like to trouble you with my privateaffairs;--there is nothing, I think, so bad as washing one's dirtylinen in public;--but the truth is, that I am only now free from therapacity of the De Courcys. You would hardly believe me if I told youwhat I've had to pay. What do you think of two hundred and forty-fivepounds for bringing her body over here, and burying it at De Courcy?"
"I'd have left it where it was."
"And so would I. You don't suppose I ordered it to be done. Poor dearthing. If it could do her any good, God knows I would not begrudgeit. We had a bad time of it when we were together, but I would havespared nothing for her, alive or dead, that was reasonable. But tomake me pay for bringing the body over here, when I never had ashilling with her! By George, it was too bad. And that oaf John DeCourcy,--I had to pay his travelling bill too."
"He didn't come to be buried;--did he?"
"It's too disgusting to talk of, Butterwell; it is indeed. And whenI asked for her money that was settled upon me,--it was only twothousand pounds,--they made me go to law, and it seems there was notwo thousand pounds to settle. If I like, I can have another lawsuitwith the sisters, when the mother is dead. Oh, Butterwell, I havemade such a fool of myself. I have come to such shipwreck! Oh,Butterwell, if you could but know it all."
"Are you free from the De Courcys now?"
"I owe Gazebee, the man who married the other woman, over a thousandpounds. But I pay that off at two hundred a year, and he has a policyon my life."
"What do you owe that for?"
"Don't ask me. Not that I mind telling you;--furniture, and the leaseof a house, and his bill for the marriage settlement,--d---- him."
"God bless me. They seem to have been very hard upon you."
"A man doesn't marry an earl's daughter for nothing, Butterwell. Andthen to think what I lost! It can't be helped now, you know. As a manmakes his bed he must lie on it. I am sometimes so mad with myselfwhen I think over it all,--that I should like to blow my brains out."
"You must not talk in that way, Crosbie. I hate to hear a man talklike that."
"I don't mean that I shall. I'm too much of a coward, I fancy." Aman who desires to soften another man's heart, should always abusehimself. In softening a woman's heart, he should abuse her. "But lifehas been so bitter with me for the last three years! I haven't had anhour of comfort;--not an hour. I don't know why I should trouble youwith all this, Butterwell. Oh,--about the money; yes; that's justhow I stand. I owed Gazebee something over a thousand pounds, whichis arranged as I have told you. Then there were debts, due by mywife,--at least some of them were, I suppose,--and that horrid,ghastly funeral,--and debts, I don't doubt, due by the cursed oldcountess. At any rate, to get myself clear I raised something overfour hundred pounds, and now I owe five which must be paid, partto-morrow, and the remainder this day month."
"And you've no security?"
"Not a rag, not a shred, not a line, not an acre. There's my salary,and after paying Gazebee what comes due to him, I can manage to letyou have the money within twelve months,--that is, if you can lend itme. I can just do that and live; and if you will assist me with themoney, I will do so. That's what I've brought myself to by my ownfolly."
"Five hundred pounds is such a large sum of money."
"Indeed it is."
"And without any security!"
"I know, Butterwell, that I've no right to ask for it. I feel that.Of course I should pay you what interest you please."
"Money's about seven now," said Butterwell.
"I've not the slightest objection to seven per cent.," said Crosbie.
"But that's on security," said Butterwell.
"You can name your own terms," said Crosbie.
Mr. Butterwell got out of his chair, and walked about the room withhis hands in his pockets. He was thinking at that moment what Mrs.Butterwell would say to him. "Will an answer do to-morrow morning?"he said. "I would much rather have it to-day," said Crosbie. Then Mr.Butterwell took another turn about the room. "I suppose I must letyou have it," he said.
"Butterwell," said Crosbie, "I'm eternally obliged to you. It'shardly too much to say that you've saved me from ruin."
"Of course I was joking about interest," said Butterwell. "Fiveper cent. is the proper thing. You'd better let me have a littleacknowledgment. I'll give you the first half to-morrow."
They were genuine tears which filled Crosbie's eyes, as he seizedhold of the senior's hands. "Butterwell," he said, "what am I to sayto you?"
"Nothing at all,--nothing at all."
"Your kindness makes me feel that I ought not to have come to you."
"Oh, nonsense. By-the-by, would you mind telling Thompson to bringthose papers to me which I gave him yesterday? I promised Optimist Iwould read them before three, and it's past two now." So saying hesat himself down at his table, and Crosbie felt that he was bound toleave the room.
Mr. Butterwell, when he was left alone, did not read the papers whichThompson brought him; but sat, instead, thinking of his five hundredpou
nds. "Just put them down," he said to Thompson. So the papers wereput down, and there they lay all that day and all the next. ThenThompson took them away again, and it is to be hoped that somebodyread them. Five hundred pounds! It was a large sum of money, andCrosbie was a man for whom Mr. Butterwell in truth felt no verystrong affection. "Of course he must have it now," he said tohimself. "But where should I be if anything happened to him?" Andthen he remembered that Mrs. Butterwell especially disliked Mr.Crosbie,--disliked him because she knew that he snubbed her husband."But it's hard to refuse, when one man has known another for morethan ten years." Then he comforted himself somewhat with thereflection, that Crosbie would no doubt make himself more pleasantfor the future than he had done lately, and with a second reflection,that Crosbie's life was a good life,--and with a third, as to his owngreat goodness, in assisting a brother officer. Nevertheless, as hesat looking out of the omnibus-window, on his journey home to Putney,he was not altogether comfortable in his mind. Mrs. Butterwell was avery prudent woman.
But Crosbie was very comfortable in his mind on that afternoon. Hehad hardly dared to hope for success, but he had been successful. Hehad not even thought of Butterwell as a possible fountain of supply,till his mind had been brought back to the affairs of his office,by the voice of Sir Raffle Buffle at the corner of the street. Theidea that his bill would be dishonoured, and that tidings of hisinsolvency would be conveyed to the Commissioners at his Board,had been dreadful to him. The way in which he had been treated byMusselboro and Dobbs Broughton had made him hate City men, and whathe supposed to be City ways. Now there had come to him a relief whichsuddenly made everything feel light. He could almost think of Mr.Mortimer Gazebee without disgust. Perhaps after all there might besome happiness yet in store for him. Might it not be possible thatLily would yet accept him in spite of the chilling letter,--thefreezing letter which he had received from Lily's mother? Of onething he was quite certain. If ever he had an opportunity of pleadinghis own cause with her, he certainly would tell her everythingrespecting his own money difficulties.
In that last resolve I think we may say that he was right. If Lilywould ever listen to him again at all, she certainly would not bedeterred from marrying him by his own story of his debts.
The Last Chronicle of Barset Page 46
