III.
The breakfast dragged past its close. Mr. Marrapit spoke. “The moments fly,” he observed.
Margaret said earnestly: “Oh, yes, father.”
“I was addressing George.”
“Ur!” said George, suddenly aroused.
Mr. Marrapit looked at his watch; repeated his observation.
George read his meaning. “I thought of going up by the later train to-day,” he explained.
“A dangerous thought. Crush it.” Mr. Marrapit continued: “Margaret, Mrs. Major, I observe you have concluded”; and when the two had withdrawn addressed himself again to George: “A dangerous thought. You recall our conversation of the day before yesterday?”
“Perfectly.”
“Yet by later trains, by idleness, you deliberately imperil your future?”
George did not answer the question. This was the very opportunity for which he had wished. “I would like to talk about my future,” he said.
“I dare not dwell upon it,” replied Mr. Marrapit.
“I have to. I shall pass all right this time. I want to know—the fact is, sir, I know I have slacked in the past; I am a man now, and I—I regret it. I fully realise my responsibilities. You may rely that I shall make a certainty of the October examination.”
“Commendable,” Mr. Marrapit criticised.
“I want to know what help I may expect when I qualify.”
“I cannot tell you.” Mr. Marrapit threw martyrdom into his tone. “I am so little,” he said, “in your confidence. Your expectations when qualified may be enormous. I am not favoured with them.” He sighed.
George said: “I mean what help I may expect from you.”
The piece of toast rising to Mr. Marrapit's mouth slowly returned towards his plate: “Reiterate that. From me?”
“From you,” said George.
The toast dropped from trembling fingers. “I?” Mr. Marrapit dragged the word to tremendous length. “I? Is it conceivable that you expect money from me?”
“I only ask.”
“I only shudder. Might I inquire the amount?”
“The Dean told me of a practice I could have for 400 pounds.”
“Tea!” exclaimed Mr. Marrapit on a gasp. “I must steady myself! Tea!” He paused; gulped a cup; with alarmed eyes stared at George.
The affair was going no better than George had expected. He remembered the face that was dear to him; nerved himself to continue. “I would pay it back,” he said. “Will you lend me the 400 pounds?”
“I must have air!” Mr. Marrapit staggered to the window. “I reel before this sudden assault. For nine years at ruinous cost I have supported you. Must I sell my house? Am I never to be free? Must I totter always through life with you upon my bowed back? I am Sinbad.”
“There's no need to exaggerate or make a scene.”
“Did I impel the scene?”
“I only asked you a question,” George reminded.
“You have aroused a spectre,” Mr. Marrapit answered.
“Well, I may understand that I need expect nothing?”
“I dare not answer you. I am shaken. I tremble.”
George rose. Though what hope he had possessed was driven by his uncle's attitude, he was as yet only upon the threshold of his love. Hence the refusal of what he suddenly desired for that love's sake was not so bitter an affair as afterwards it came to be. “This is ridiculous,” he said; moved to the door.
“To me a tragedy,” Mr. Marrapit declaimed from the window, “old as mankind; not therefore less bitter—the tragedy of ingratitude. At stupendous cost I have supported, educated, clothed you. You turn upon me for more. How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child! I am Lear.”
George tried a thrust: “I always understood my mother left you ample for me.”
“Adjust that impression. She left me less than a sufficiency—nothing approaching amplitude. To the best of my ability I have fulfilled my task. It has been hard. I do not complain. I do not ask you for repayment of any excess that may have been incurred. But I am embittered by yet further demands. I have been too liberal. Had I meted out strict justice as I have striven to mete out kindness, my grey hairs would not be speeding in poverty to the grave. I am Wolsey.”
Upon Wolsey George slammed the door; started for the station.