Volume I Part 2 (2/2)

With smiles and conscious blushes, the elder sister addressed the vicar. ”Oh, dear Mr. Dodd, we do so want you to do us a favour,” she faltered.

”Granted, my dear young lady, granted before it is asked.”

Mrs. Dodd vainly sought to fix her husband with a freezing look, and gazed appealingly at old Mrs. Wurzel, but that experienced matron had been present at many similar scenes, and was rather amused than otherwise, to watch the discomfiture of the vicar's imperious wife. Mrs.

Wurzel's eagle eye detected the little parcel which the younger Miss Sleek hesitatingly attempted to hold towards the vicar. ”It is our own work, dear Mr. Dodd,” she said, ”and we hope, we do hope, we do _so_ hope that you will accept them.”

”And wear them too,” chimed in her sister.

In an elaborate box, from which Miss Sleek rapidly tore the paper in which it was wrapped, and hurriedly opened, lay a dozen bands of the latest ecclesiastical fas.h.i.+on.

”Oh ladies, dear ladies, so you equip your faithful knight for the fray; accept my grateful thanks, my very grateful thanks,” sighed the vicar.

”So pleased you like them, dear Mr. Dodd,” chorused the stockbroker's daughters.

The triumphs of decorative millinery were pa.s.sed from hand to hand.

”They never made these,” muttered old Mrs. Wurzel to herself, as she critically held one up to the light. ”The minxes,” she inwardly added.

Mrs. Wurzel was quite right; they had been supplied, regardless of cost, from Messrs. Rochet and Stole's well-known establishment.

”Ah,” purred Lucy Warrender, ”the ladies used to arm their knights with their own fair hands in the days of chivalry.”

The parson laughed. ”And have the days of chivalry departed, ladies?”

he said, protruding his head, much as the unconscious aldermanic turtle is said to protrude his, when awaiting the fatal stroke.

Conny Sleek, the younger and bolder of the two, looked at her sister; the elder girl nodded maliciously.

Conny stepped smilingly forward, and proceeded to affix the band around the vicar's ma.s.sive throat.

Fat Jack Dodd was in his glory; ”Jumbo” was in the seventh heaven of bliss. A smile of beat.i.tude spread over his enormous countenance during the process. But it suddenly disappeared, as a sharp slam of the door announced the sudden departure of his indignant wife, the outraged Cecilia. Will it ever dawn on Mrs. Dodd's mind, that parsons, even married parsons, are but men?

CHAPTER IV.

WALLS END CASTLE.

Walls End Castle was the seat of John, Earl of Pit Town. It had come into the family through the marriage of a former earl with the heiress of the great Chudleigh family. It was one of England's show places. The great park which surrounded it was one of the most celebrated in all England, celebrated alike for its size and its beauty. The entry to the park was never denied to artists; and they, their easels, and their umbrellas, might be seen at the various well-known ”bits” all through the summer and autumn. The boys of the Elizabethan Grammar School had also the privilege of roaming in the park; and time had been when the people of the neighbouring town and the public generally were admitted; but excursionists had arrived in crowds, they had destroyed the poetry of the place with pieces of greasy newspaper, broken bottles, ham bones, and the remains of their Homeric banquets. They had shouted and whistled in the great picture galleries, they had written their names upon the window panes, they had committed all the innumerable offences that such people do commit; but the final straw which determined the present earl to exclude them, was their having played at the game of Kiss-in-the-ring, one Whit-Monday, directly under the windows of the n.o.ble owner. After that memorable day, Lord Pit Town kept his castle and his park to himself.

His lords.h.i.+p during the earlier part of his reign never came near Walls End Castle. The widowed earl travelled continuously in Southern Europe.

He travelled, and he collected pictures, statuary, gems, plate, china--nothing came amiss to him. But John, Earl of Pit Town, was wise in his generation; he remembered that ”if you sup with the devil, it is best to use a long spoon.” He never purchased without an expert's aid; consequently the immense collection he had gradually acc.u.mulated was free from rubbish. Nothing doubtful or ”reputed” ever arrived in the huge packing-cases consigned to Walls End Castle. For years his lords.h.i.+p was seldom seen in London, the great house in Grosvenor Square was never opened. When Lord Pit Town was in England, he stayed at Long's Hotel.

Friends he had none; his doctor and his courier were the people who saw most of him. But as years rolled on his lords.h.i.+p grew tired of travel, his well-known figure, in the short blue cloak and velvet collar, was seen no more in the great picture galleries of Europe. Lord Pit Town now commenced the work of his life, the building of the new galleries at Walls End Castle. Winter and summer the little old man, for he was over sixty now, might be seen in the blue cloak, inspecting the growth of the vast galleries with a critical eye. Emilius Wolff, his German architect, was his constant companion. The great Mr. Buskin paid him a yearly visit; on these occasions Dr. Wolff (for Wolff was a doctor of philosophy) joined his lords.h.i.+p and the great art-critic at dinner. At length the great Pit Town collection was housed as it deserved to be.

Its princ.i.p.al feature was the picture gallery. This was a vast building of cla.s.sical design, resembling a Grecian temple. Dr. Wolff was a Berliner, and the tradition of Berlin is that a picture gallery should resemble a Greek temple. The vast galleries were probably among the best in Europe. They were lighted and heated to perfection. But the great galleries had one peculiarity; at irregular intervals along the wall were blank s.p.a.ces of varying size; in the centre of each s.p.a.ce was a label in his lords.h.i.+p's own writing: on these labels were inscribed the names of various great painters. It was now the only business of the Earl of Pit Town to gradually fill these s.p.a.ces, each with a representative masterpiece of the artist indicated. Possibly John, Earl of Pit Town, notwithstanding his boundless wealth, could hardly hope to complete such a work in his own lifetime. The great Mr. Abrahams had an unlimited commission to secure at any price, a long list of great works.

There was but one condition attached, any purchase must be above suspicion. But even the great Mr. Abrahams, on one notable occasion at least, had been deceived. A new acquisition, purchased from the collection of a wealthy amateur in the Rue Drouot, had arrived at Walls End Castle. A furious controversy concerning this picture had arisen among art critics. Herr Vandenbossche had defended the authenticity of the work, but old Mr. Creeps had demolished him in an exhaustive article in the _Friday Review_. Old Mr. Creeps was considerably astonished at receiving an almost affectionate letter from Lord Pit Town. His lords.h.i.+p thanked him for the article, and requested what he termed ”the exceeding great pleasure of receiving you here;” the letter was dated from Walls End Castle. Old Mr. Creeps accepted the invitation for a couple of days.

On his arrival at the local railway station he was met by his lords.h.i.+p in person. Lord Pit Town, one of the proudest and most exclusive of men, treated old Mr. Creeps with marked deference. At dinner, at which John Buskin and Dr. Wolff were present, conversation ran purely upon art matters. Old Mr. Creeps, the critic, had never enjoyed himself so much; the sitting was prolonged till the small hours. Next day, at noon, the council of four sat in solemn conclave upon Lord Pit Town's latest purchase. Old Mr. Creeps triumphantly proved his case. Lord Pit Town looked at Mr. Buskin. Mr. Buskin nodded. ”Well, Wolff?” remarked his lords.h.i.+p.

”It is onhappy, most onhappy,” replied the doctor of philosophy, ”but I fear it is drue, too drue.”

<script>