CHAPTER I.
Leonard Ludgate was the only son and heir of a London haberdasher, who had made some money by constant attendance to his shop. “Out of debt out of danger,” was the father’s old-fashioned saying. The son’s more liberal maxim was, “Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow.” Whilst he was under his father’s eye, it was not in his power to live up to his principles; and he longed for the time when he should be relieved from his post behind the counter: a situation which he deemed highly unworthy a youth of his parts and spirit. To imprison his elegant person behind a counter in Cranbourne-alley was, to be sure, in a cruel father’s power; but his tyranny could not extend to his mind; and, whilst he was weighing minikin pins, or measuring out penny ribbon, his soul, leaving all these meaner things, was expatiating in Bond-street or Hyde-park. Whilst his fingers mechanically adjusted the scales, or carelessly slipped the yard, his imagination was galloping a fine bay with Tom Lewis, or driving Miss Belle Perkins in a gig.
Now Tom Lewis was a dashing young citizen, whom old Ludgate could not endure; and Miss Belle Perkins a would-be fine lady, whom he advised his son never to think of for a wife. But the happy moment at length arrived, when our hero could safely show how much he despised both the advice and the character of his father; when he could quit his nook behind the counter, throw aside the yard, assume the whip, and affect the fine gentleman. In short, the happy moment came when his father died.
Leonard now shone forth in all the glory which the united powers of tailor, hatter, and hosier, could spread around lug person. Miss Belle Perkins, who had hitherto looked down upon our hero as a reptile of Cranbourne-alley, beheld his metamorphosis with surprise and admiration. And she, who had formerly been heard to say, “she would not touch him with a pair of tongs,” now unreluctantly gave him her envied hand at a ball at Bagnigge Wells. Report farther adds that, at tea, Miss Belle whispered loud enough to be heard, that since his queer father’s death, Leonard Ludgate had turned out quite a genteeler sort of person than could have been expected.
“Upon this hint he spake.” His fair one, after assuming all proper and becoming airs upon the occasion, suffered herself to be prevailed upon to call, with her mother and a friend, at Mr. Ludgate’s house in Cranbourne-alley, to see whether it could be possibly inhabited by a lady of her taste and consequence.
As Leonard handed her out of her hackney-coach, she exclaimed, “Bless us, and be we to go up this paved lane, and through the shop, before we can get to the more creditabler apartments?”
“I’m going to cut a passage off the shop, which I’ve long had in contemplation,” replied our hero; “only I can’t get light into it cleverly.”
“Oh! a lamp in the style of a chandaleer will do vastly well by night, which is the time one wants one’s house to put the best foot foremost, for company; and by day we can make a shift, somehow or other, I dare say. Any thing’s better than trapesing through a shop; which is a thing I’ve never been used to, and cannot reconcile myself to by any means.”
Leonard immediately acceded to this scheme of the dark passage by day, and the chandaleer by night; and he hurried his fair one through the odious shop to the more creditabler apartments. She was handed above, about, and underneath. She found every particle of the house wanted modernizing immensely, and was altogether smaller than she could ever have conceived beforehand. Our hero, ambitious at once to show his gallantry, spirit, and taste, incessantly protested he would adopt every improvement Miss Belle Perkins could suggest; and he declared that the identical same ideas had occurred to him a hundred and a hundred times, during his poor father’s lifetime: but he could never make the old gentleman enter into any thing of the sort, his notions of life being utterly limited, to say no worse. “He had one old saw, for ever grating in my ears, as an answer to everything that bore the stamp of gentility, or carried with it an air of spirit: hey, Allen!” continued our hero, looking over his shoulder at a young man who was casting up accounts; “hey, Allen—you remember the old saw?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the young man, “if you mean, ‘Out of debt out of danger:’ I hope I shall never forget it.”
“I hope so too; as you have your fortune to make, it is very proper for you: but for one that has a fortune ready made to spend, I am free to confess I think my principle worth a million of it: and my maxim is, ‘Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow:’ hey, ladies?” concluded Leonard, appealing with an air secure of approbation to his fair mistress and her young companion.
“Why that suits my notions, I must own candidly,” said Belle; “but here’s one beside me, or behind me—Where are you, Lucy?” pursued the young lady, addressing herself to her humble companion: “here’s one, who is more of your shop-man’s way of thinking than yours, I fancy. ‘Out of debt out of danger’ is just a sober saying to your mind, an’t it, Lucy?”
Lucy did not deny the charge. “Well, child,” said Miss Perkins, “it’s very proper, for you have no fortune of your own to spend.”
“It is, indeed,” said Lucy, with modest firmness; “for as I have none of my own, if it were my maxim to spend to-day and spare to-morrow, I should be obliged to spend other people’s money, which I never will do as long as I can maintain myself independently.”
“How proud we are!” cried Miss Perkins, sarcastically. Leonard assented to the sarcasm by his looks; but Allen declared he liked proper pride, and seemed to think that Lucy’s was of this species.
An argument might have ensued, if a collation, as Mr. Ludgate called it, had not appeared at this critical moment. Of what it consisted, and how genteelly and gallantly our hero did the honours of his collation, we forbear to relate; but one material circumstance we must not omit, as on this, perhaps more than even on his gentility and gallantry, depended the fortune of the day. In rummaging over a desk to find a corkscrew, young Ludgate took occasion to open and shake a pocket-book, from which fell a shower of bank notes. What effect they produced upon his fair one, and on her mother, can be best judged of by the event. Miss Belle Perkins, after this domiciliary visit, consented to go with our hero on Sunday to Kensington Gardens, Monday to Sadler’s Wells, Tuesday on the water, Wednesday to the play, Thursday the Lord knows to what ball, Friday to Vauxhall, and on Saturday to—the altar!
Some people thought the young lady and gentleman rather precipitate; but these were persons who, as the bride justly observed, did not understand any thing in nature of a love match. Those who have more liberal notions, and a more extensive knowledge of the human heart, can readily comprehend how a lady may think a man so odious at one minute, that she could not touch him with a pair of tongs, and so charming the next, that she would die a thousand deaths for him, and him alone. Immediately after the ceremony was performed, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate went down in the hoy to Margate, to spend their honeymoon in style. Their honeymoon, alas! could not be prolonged beyond the usual bounds. Even the joys of Margate could not be eternal, and the day came too soon when our happy pair were obliged to think of returning home. Home! With what different sensations different people pronounce and hear that word pronounced! Mrs. Leonard Ludgate’s home in Cranbourne-alley appeared to her, as she scrupled not to declare, an intolerable low place, after Margate. The stipulated alterations, her husband observed, had been made in the house, but none of them had been executed to her satisfaction. The expedient of the dark passage was not found to succeed: a thorough wind, from the front and back doors, ran along it when either or both were left open to admit light; and this wicked wind, not content with running along the passage, forced its way up and down stairs, made the kitchen chimney smoke, and rendered even the more creditabler apartments scarcely habitable. Chimney doctors were in vain consulted: the favourite dark passage was at length abandoned, and the lady, to her utter discomfiture, was obliged to pass through the shop.
To make herself amends for this mortification, she insisted upon throwing down the partition between the dining-room and her own bedchamber, that she might have one decent apartment at least fit for a rout. It was to no purpose that her friend Lucy, who was called in to assist in making up furniture, represented that this scheme of throwing bedchamber and dining-room into one would be attended with some inconveniences; for instance, that Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate would be obliged, in consequence of this improvement, to sleep in half of the maid’s garret, or to sit up all night. This objection was overruled by Mrs. Ludgate, whose genius, fertile in expedients, made every thing easy, by the introduction of a bed in the dining-room, in the shape of a sofa. The newly-enlarged apartment, she observed, would thus answer the double purposes of show and utility; and, as soon as the supper and card tables should be removed, the sofa-bed might be let down. She asserted that the first people in London manage in this way. Leonard could not contradict his lady, because she had a ready method of silencing him, by asking how he could possibly know any thing of life who had lived all his days, except Sundays, in Cranbourne-alley? Then, if any one of his father’s old notions of economy by chance twinged his conscience, Belle very judiciously asked how he ever came to think of her for a wife? “Since you have got a genteel wife,” said she, “it becomes you to live up to her notions, and to treat her as she and her friends have a right to expect. Before I married you, sir, none of the Perkins’s were in trade themselves, either directly or indirectly; and many’s the slights and reproaches I’ve met with from my own relations and former acquaintances, since my marriage, on account of the Ludgates being all tradesfolks; to which I always answer, that my Leonard is going to wash his hands of trade himself, and to make over all concern in the haberdashery line and shop to the young man below stairs, who is much better suited to such things.”
By such speeches as these, alternately piquing and soothing the vanity of her Leonard, our accomplished wife worked him to her purposes. She had a rout once a week; and her room was so crowded, that there was scarcely a possibility of breathing. Yet, notwithstanding all this, she one morning declared, with a burst of tears, she was the most miserable woman in the world. And why? Because her friend, Mrs. Pimlico, Miss Coxeater that was, had a house in Weymouth-street; whilst she was forced to keep on being buried in Cranbourne-alley. Mr. Ludgate was moved by his wife’s tears, and by his own ambition, and took a house in Weymouth-street. But before they had been there six weeks, the fair one was again found bathed in tears. And why? “Because,” said Belle, “because, Mr. Ludgate, the furniture of this house is as old as Methusalem’s; and my friend, Mrs. Pimlico, said yesterday that it was a shame to be seen: and so to be sure it is, compared with her own, which is spick and span new. Yet why should she pretend to look down upon me in point of furniture, or any thing? Who was she, before she was married? Little Kitty Coxeater, as we always called her at the dancing school; and nobody ever thought of comparing her, in point of gentility, with Belle Perkins! Why, she is as ugly as sin! though she is my friend, I must acknowledge that; and, if she had all the clothes in the world, she would never know how to put any of them on; that’s one comfort. And, as every body says, to be sure she never would have got a husband but for her money. And, after all, what sort of a husband has she got? A perfumer, indeed! a man with a face like one of his own wash-balls, all manner of colours. I declare, I would rather have gone without to the end of my days than have married Mr. Pimlico.”
“I cannot blame you there, my dear,” said Mr. Ludgate; “for to be sure Mr. Pimlico, much as he thinks of himself and his country house, has as little the air of—the air of fashion as can be well conceived.”
Leonard Ludgate made an emphatic pause in this speech; and surveyed himself in a looking-glass with much complacency, whilst he pronounced the word fashion. He, indeed, approved so much of his wife’s taste and discernment, in preferring him to Mr. Pimlico, that he could not at this moment help inclining to follow her judgment respecting the furniture. He acceded to her position, that the Ludgates ought to appear at least no shabbier than the Pimlicos. The conclusion was inevitable: Leonard, according to his favourite maxim of “Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow,” agreed that they might new furnish the house this year, and pay for it the next. This was immediately done; and the same principle was extended through all their household affairs, as far as the tradesmen concerned would admit of its being carried into practice.
By this means, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were not for some time sensible of the difficulties they were preparing for themselves. They went on vying with the Pimlicos, and with all their new acquaintance, who were many of them much richer than themselves; and of this vain competition there was no end. Those who estimate happiness not by the real comforts or luxuries which they enjoy, but by comparison between themselves and their neighbours, must be subject to continual mortification and discontent. Far from being happier than they were formerly, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were much more miserable after their removal to Weymouth-street. Was it not better to be the first person in Cranbourne-alley than the last in Weymouth-street? New wants and wishes continually arose in their new situation. They must live like other people. Everybody, that is, everybody in Weymouth-street, did so and so; and, therefore, they must do the same. They must go to such a place, or they must have such a thing, not because it was in itself necessary or desirable, but because everybody, that is, everybody of their acquaintance, did or had the same. Even to be upon a footing with their new neighbours was a matter of some difficulty; and then merely to be upon an equality, merely to be admitted and suffered at parties, is awkward and humiliating. Noble ambition prompted them continually to aim at distinction. The desire to attain il poco piu—the little more, stimulates to excellence, or betrays to ruin, according to the objects of our ambition. No artist ever took more pains to surpass Raphael or Correggio than was taken by Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate to outshine Mr. and Mrs. Pimlico. And still what they had done seemed nothing: what they were to do occupied all their thoughts. No timid economical fears could stop or even startle them in the road to ruin. Faithful to his maxim, our hero denied himself nothing. If, for a moment, the idea that any thing was too expensive suggested itself, his wife banished care by observing, “We need not pay for it now. What signifies it, since we need not think of paying for it till next year?” She had abundance of arguments of similar solidity, adapted to all occasions. Sometimes the thing in question was such a trifle it could not ruin anybody. “‘Tis but a guinea! ‘Tis but a few shillings!” Sometimes it was a sort of thing that could not ruin anybody, because “‘Tis but for once and away!” ‘Tis but is a most dangerous thing! How many guineas may be spent upon ‘tis but, in the course of one year, in such a city as London!
Bargains! excellent bargains! were also with our heroine admirable pleas for expense. “We positively must buy this, my dear; for it would be a sin to let such a bargain slip through one’s fingers. Mrs. Pimlico paid twice as much for what is not half as good. ‘Twould be quite a shame to one’s good sense to miss such a bargain!” Mrs. Ludgate was one of those ladies who think it is more reasonable to buy a thing because it is a bargain than because they want it: she farther argued, “If we don’t want it, we may want it:” and this was a satisfactory plea.
Under the head bargains we must not forget cheap days. Messrs. Run and Raffle advertised a sale of old shop goods, with the catching words—cheap days! Everybody crowded to throw away their money on cheap days; and, amongst the rest, Mrs. Ludgate.
One circumstance was rather disagreeable in these cheap days: ready money was required; and this did not suit those who lived by the favourite maxim of the family. Yet there was a reason that counterbalanced their objection in Mrs. Ludgate’s mind: “Mrs. Pimlico was going to Messrs. Run and Raffle’s and what would she think, if I wasn’t to be there? She’d think, to be sure, that we were as poor as Job.” So, to demonstrate that she had ready money to throw away, Mrs. Ludgate must go on the cheap days.
“Belle,” said her husband, “ready money’s a serious thing.”
“Yes, Leonard, but, when nothing else will be taken, you know, one can’t do without it.”
“But, if one has not it, I tell you, one must do without it,” said Leonard peevishly.
“Lord, Mr. Ludgate, if you have not it about you, can’t you send to Cranbourne-alley, to Mr. Allen, for some for me? ‘Tis but a few guineas I want; and ‘twould be a shame to miss such bargains as are to be had for nothing, at Run and Raffle’s. And these cheap days are extraordinary things. It can’t ruin any body to spend a guinea or two, once and away, like other people.”
At the conclusion of her eloquent speech, Mrs. Ludgate rang the bell; and, without waiting for any assent from her husband but silence, bade the footman run to the shop, and desire Allen to send her ten guineas immediately.
Mr. Ludgate looked sullen, whistled, and then posted himself at the parlour window to watch for the ambassador’s return. “I wonder,” continued Mrs. Ludgate, “I wonder, Leonard, that you let Allen leave you so bare of cash of late! It is very disagreeable to be always sending out of the house, this way, for odd guineas. Allen, I think, uses you very ill; but I am sure I would not let him cheat me, if I was you. Pray, when you gave up the business of the shop to him, was not you to have half the profits for your good-will, and name, and all that!”
“Yes.”
“And little enough! But why don’t you look after Allen, then, and make him pay us what he owes us?”
“I’ll see about it to-morrow, child.”
“About how much do you think is owing to us?” pursued Mrs. Ludgate.
“I can’t tell, ma’am.”
“I wish then you’d settle accounts to-morrow, that I might have some ready money.”
The lady seemed to take it for granted that her having ready money would be the necessary and immediate consequence of settling accounts with Allen; her husband could have set her right in this particular, and could have informed her that not a farthing was due to him; that, on the contrary, he had taken up money in advance, on the next half year’s expected profits; but Mr. Ludgate was ashamed to let his wife know the real state of his affairs: indeed, he was afraid to look them in the face himself. “Here’s the boy coming back!” cried he, after watching for some time in silence at the window.
Leonard went to the street-door to meet him; and Belle followed close, crying, “Well! I hope Allen has sent me the money?”
“I don’t know,” said the breathless boy. “I have a letter for my master, here, that was written ready, by good luck, afore I got there.”
Leonard snatched the letter; and his wife waited to see whether the money was enclosed.
“The rascal has sent me no money, I see, but a letter, and an account as long as my arm.”
“No money!” cried Belle; “that’s using us very oddly and ill, indeed; and I wonder you submit to such conduct! I declare I won’t bear it! Go back, I say, Jack; go, run this minute, and tell Allen he must come up himself; for I, Mrs. Ludgate, wants to speak with him.”
“No, my dear, no; nonsense! don’t go, Jack. What signifies your sending to speak with Allen? What can you do? How can you settle accounts with him? What should women know of business? I wish women would never meddle with things they don’t understand.”
“Women can understand well enough when they want money,” cried the sharp lady; “and the short and the long of it is, Mr. Ludgate, that I will see and settle accounts with Allen myself; and bring him to reason, if you won’t; and this minute, too.”
“Bless me! upon my faith, Allen’s better than we thought: here’s bank-notes within the account,” said Mr. Ludgate.
“Ay, I thought he could not be so very impertinent as to refuse when I sent to him myself. But this is only one five pound note: I sent for ten. Where is the other?”
“I want the other myself,” said her husband.
The tone was so peremptory, that she dared not tempt him further; and away she went to Messrs. Run and Raffle’s, where she had the pleasure of buying a bargain of things that were of no manner of use to her, and for which she paid twice as much as they were worth. These cheap days proved dear days to many.
Whilst Mrs. Ludgate spent the morning at Messrs. Run and Raffle’s, her husband was with Tom Lewis, lounging up and down Bond-street. Tom Lewis being just one step above him in gentility, was invited to parties where Ludgate could not gain admittance, was bowed to by people who never bowed to Leonard Ludgate, could tell to whom this livery or that carriage belonged, knew who everybody was, and could point out my lord this, and my lady that, in the park or at the play. All these things made him a personage of prodigious consequence in the eyes of our hero, who looked upon him as the mirror of fashion. Tom knew how to take advantage of this admiration, and borrowed many a guinea from him in their morning walks: in return, he introduced Mr. Ludgate to some of his friends, and to his club.
New occasions, or rather new necessities, for expense occurred every day, in consequence of his connexion with Lewis. Whilst he aimed at being thought a young man of spirit, he could not avoid doing as other people did. He could not think of economy! That would be shabby! On his fortune rested his claims to respect from his present associates; and, therefore, it was his constant aim to raise their opinion of his riches. For some time, extravagance was not immediately checked by the want of money, because he put off the evil day of payment. At last, when bills poured in upon him, and the frequent calls of tradesmen began to be troublesome, he got rid of the present difficulty by referring them to Allen. “Go to Allen; he must settle with you: he does all my business.”
Allen sent him account after account, stating the sums he paid by his order. Ludgate thrust the unread accounts into his escritoire, and thought no more of the matter. Allen called upon him, to beg he would come to some settlement, as he was getting more and more, every day, into his debt. Leonard desired to have an account, stated in full, and promised to look over it on Monday: but Monday came, and then it was put off till Tuesday; and so on, day after day.
The more reason he had to know that his affairs were deranged, the more carefully he concealed all knowledge of them from his wife. Her ignorance of the truth not only led her daily into fresh extravagance, but was, at last, the cause of bringing things to a premature explanation. After spending the morning at Messrs. Run and Raffle’s, she returned home with a hackney-coach full of bargains. As she came into the parlour, loaded with things that she did not want, she was surprised by the sight of an old friend, whom she had lately treated entirely as a stranger. It was Lucy, who had in former days been her favourite companion. But Lucy had chosen to work, to support herself independently, rather than to be a burden to her friends; and Mrs. Ludgate could not take notice of a person who had degraded herself so far as to become a workwoman at an upholsterer’s. She had consequently never seen Lucy since this event took place, except when she went to Mr. Beech the upholsterer’s, to order her new furniture. She then was in company with Mrs. Pimlico: and, when she saw Lucy at work in a back parlour with two or three other young women, she pretended not to know her. Lucy could scarcely believe that this was done on purpose; and, at all events, she was not mortified by the insult. She was now come to speak to Mrs. Ludgate about the upholsterer’s bill.
“Ha! Lucy, is it you?” said Mrs. Ludgate, as soon as she entered. “I’ve never seen you in Weymouth-street before! How comes it you never called, if it was only to see our new house? I’m sure I should always be very happy to have you here—when we’ve nobody with us; and I’m quite sorry as I can’t ask you to stay and take a bit of mutton with us to-day, because I’m engaged to dine in Bond-street, with Mrs. Pimlico’s cousin, pretty Mrs. Paget, the bride whom you’ve heard talk of, no doubt. So you’ll excuse me if I run away from you, to make myself a little decent; for it’s horrid late!”
After running off this speech, with an air and a volubility worthy of her betters, she set before Lucy some of her bargains, and was then retreating to make herself decent; but Lucy stopped her, by saying, “My dear Mrs. Ludgate, I am sorry to detain you, but Mr. Beech, the upholsterer, knowing I have been acquainted with you, has sent me to speak to you about his bill. He is in immediate want of money, because he is fitting out one of his sons for the East Indies.”
“Well! but his son’s nothing to me! I sha’n’t think of paying the bill yet, I can assure him; and you may take it back, and tell him so.”
“But,” said Lucy, “if I take back such an answer, I am afraid Mr. Beech will send the bill to Mr. Ludgate; and that was what you particularly desired should not be done.”
“Why, no; that’s what I can’t say I should particularly wish, just at present,” said Mrs. Ludgate, lowering her tone “because, to tell you a bit of a secret, Lucy, I’ve run up rather an unconsciable bill, this year, with my milliner and mantua-maker; and I would not have all them bills come upon him all in a lump, and on a sudden, as it were; especially as I laid out more on the furniture than he counts. So, my dear Lucy, I’ll tell you what you must do: you must use your influence with Beech to make him wait a little longer. I’m sure he may wait well enough; and he shall be paid next month.”
Lucy declared that her influence, on the present occasion, would be of no avail; but she had the good-nature to add, “If you are sure the bill can be paid next month, I will leave my two years’ salary in Mr. Beech’s hands till then; and this will perhaps satisfy him, if he can get bills from other people paid, to make up the money for his son. He said thirty guineas from you on account would do, for the present; and that sum is due to me.”
“Then, my dearest Lucy, for Heaven’s sake, do leave it in his hands! You were a good creature to think of it; but you always were a good creature.”
“Your mother used to be kind to me, when I was a child; and I am sure I ought not to forget it,” said Lucy, the tears starting into her eyes: “and you were once kind to me; I do not forget that,” continued Lucy, wiping the tears from her cheeks.—“But do not let me detain you; you are in a hurry to dress to go to Mrs. Pimlico’s.”
“No—pray—I am not in a hurry now,” said Mrs. Ludgate, who had the grace to blush at this instant. “But, if you must go, do take this hat along with you. I assure you it’s quite the rage: I got it this morning at Run and Raffle’s, and Mrs. Pimlico and Mrs. Paget have got the same.”
Lucy declined accepting the hat, notwithstanding this strong and, as Mrs. Ludgate would have thought it, irresistible recommendation. “Now you must have it: it will become you a thousand times better than that you have on,” cried Mrs. Ludgate, insisting the more the more Lucy withdrew; “and, besides, you must wear it for my sake. You won’t? Then I take it very ill of you that you are so positive; for I assure you, whatever you may think, I wish to be as kind to you now as ever. Only, you know, one can’t always, when one lives in another style, be at home as often as one wishes.”
Lucy relieved her ci-devant friend from the necessity of making any more awkward apologies, by moving quickly towards the door. “Then you won’t forget,” continued Mrs. Ludgate, following her into the passage, “you won’t forget the job you are to do for me with Beech?”
“Certainly I shall not. I will do what I have promised: but I hope you will be punctual about the payment next month,” said Lucy, “because I believe I shall be in want of my money at that time. It is best to tell you exactly the truth.”
“Certainly! certainly! you shall have your money before you want it, long and long; and my only reason for borrowing it from you at all is, that I don’t like to trouble Mr. Ludgate, till he has settled accounts with Allen, who keeps all our money from us in a strange way; and, in my opinion, uses Leonard exceedingly ill and unfairly.”
“Allen!” cried Lucy, stopping short. “Oh, Belle! how can you say so? How can you think so? But you know nothing of him, else you could not suspect him of using any one ill, or unfairly; much less your husband, the son of his old friend.”
“Bless me! how she runs on! and how she colours! I am sure I didn’t know I was upon such tender ground! I did not know Allen was such a prodigious favourite!”
“I only do him justice in saying that I am certain he could not do an unfair or unhandsome action.”
“I know nothing of the matter, I protest; only this—that short accounts, they say, make long friends; and I hope I sha’n’t affront any body by saying, it would be very convenient if he could be got to settle with Mr. Ludgate, who, I am sure, is too much the gentleman to ask any thing from him but his own; which, indeed, if it was not for me, he’d be too genteel to mention. But, as I said before, short accounts make long friends; and, as you are so much Allen’s friend, you can hint that to him.”
“I shall not hint, but say it to him as plainly as possible,” replied Lucy; “and you may be certain that he will come to settle accounts with Mr. Ludgate before night.” “I am sure I shall be mighty glad of it; and so will Mr. Ludgate,” said Belle; and thus they parted.
Mrs. Ludgate with triumph announced to her husband, upon his return home, that she had brought affairs to a crisis with Allen; and that he would come to settle his accounts this evening. The surprise and consternation which appeared in Mr. Ludgate’s countenance, convinced the lady that her interference was highly disagreeable.