Part 6 (2/2)
”Pottage,” corrected f.a.n.n.y.
”Well, sir,” said Mr. Faringfield, rising, and holding himself very stiffly, ”I'll think upon it.” Whereupon he went into the library, and closed the door after him.
'Tis certain that he had both the strength and the inclination to chastise his son for these insulting rum-incited speeches, and to cast him out to s.h.i.+ft for his own future; instead of enduring heedlessly the former, and offering to consider the latter. His strength was equal to his pride, and he was no colder without than he was pa.s.sionate within. But there was one thing his strength of mind fell short of facing, and that was the disgrace to the family, which the eldest son might bring were he turned looser, unprovided for, in New York. 'Twas the fear of such disgrace that always led Mr. Faringfield to send Ned far away; and made him avoid any scene of violence which the youth, now that he was a man and grown bold, might precipitate in discussions such as the father had but now cut short.
”Now I call that frigid,” complained Edward to his mother, staring at the door behind which Mr. Faringfield had disappeared. ”Here was I, in for a pleasant confab with my father, concerning my future; and before I can put in a word, out he flings, and there's an end of it. 'Tisn't fatherly, I protest! Well, well, I might have known! He was always stony-hearted; never would discuss matters. That's the grat.i.tude I get for putting the case to him in a reasonable, docile, filial fas.h.i.+on.
However, he said he'd think upon it. That means I shall stay here, and take a holiday, till he makes up his mind where to s.h.i.+p me to next.
'Twon't be England, I fancy, mother. I wouldn't object to France, egad! I could learn to eat frogs as soon as another man, if it came to that. Well, I need a holiday, after working so hard in that cursed devil's paradise I've just come from. I suppose I can depend on you for a little pocket-money, ma'am, till dad comes to a conclusion?”
During the next fortnight, as he pa.s.sed most of his time in the taverns and the coffee-house, save when he attended horse-races on Long Island, or chased foxes upon Tom's horse, or lent the honour of his presence to c.o.c.k-fights; Mr. Edward found his mother's resources inadequate to his demands, and so levied tribute not only upon f.a.n.n.y and Tom but also upon Mr. Cornelius, who still abode in the Faringfield house, and upon Philip Winwood. To Phil his manner was more than civil; 'twas most conciliating and flattering, in a pleasantly jocular way.
Ere Mr. Faringfield had announced his mind, the visitor had worn out his welcome in most of his tavern haunts, and become correspondingly tired of New York. One evening, as Philip was leaving the warehouse, a negro boy handed him a note, in which Mr. Ned begged him to come immediately, on a matter of importance, to the King's Arms tavern.
There he found Edward seated at a small table in a corner of the tap-room. Ned would have it that Phil should send home his excuses, by the negro, and sup at the tavern; which, for the sake of peace, though unwillingly, Philip finally consented to do.
Edward was drinking rum, in a kind of hot punch of his own mixing.
Phil, though fond of madeira at home, now contented himself with ale; and the two were soon at work upon a fried chicken prepared in the Maryland fas.h.i.+on.
”You know, Phil,” says Ned at last, having talked in a lively strain upon a mult.i.tude of matters, none of which Philip perceived to be important, ”'fore gad, I always liked you! Tis so, as the Lord's my judge. Nay, you think I took a d.a.m.ned odd way of showing it. But we're not all alike. Now look you! Hearken unto me, as the parson says. I can say a good word for you in a certain ear.”
”Whose?” queried Phil, wondering in what ear he needed a good word said.
”Whose, eh? Now whose would it be? Come, come, I'll speak to the point. I'm no man for palaver. 'Tis an ear you've whispered more than one sweet thing into, I'll warrant. You're young, Philip, young: you think you can fall in love and n.o.body find it out. Why, I hadn't been landed two hours, and asked the news, when I was told that you and Bert Russell were over ears in love with my sister.”
Phil merely looked his astonishment.
”Now, sir, you mayn't think it,” says Mr. Ned, ”but my word has some weight with f.a.n.n.y.”
”f.a.n.n.y?” echoed Philip. ”What has she to do with it?”
”Why, everything, I fancy. The lady usually has--”
”But f.a.n.n.y isn't the lady.”
”What? Then who the devil is?”
”I don't think 'tis a matter need be talked of now,” said Phil.
”But I'd like to know--'gad, it can't be the other sister! Madge--that spitfire! Well, well! Your face speaks, if your tongue won't. Who'd have thought any man would go soft over such a vixen? Well, I can't help you there, my lad!”
”I haven't asked your help,” says Phil with a smile.
”Now, it's a pity,” says Ned, dolefully, ”for I thought by doing you a good turn I might get you to do me another.”
”Oh, I see! Why, then, as for my doing you a good turn if it's possible, speak out. What is it?”
”Now, I call that n.o.ble of you, Phil; d.a.m.ned n.o.ble! I do need a good turn, and that's a fact. You see I didn't tell my father exactly the truth as to my leaving the Barbadoes. Not that I don't scorn a lie, but I was considerate of the old gentleman's feelings. I couldn't endure to shock him in his tenderest place. You understand?”
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