Neefit was never called upon, in the way of his own trade, to make funereal garments. Men, when they are bereaved of their friends, do not ride in black breeches. But he had all a tailor's respect for a customer with a dead relation. He felt that it would not become him to make an application to the young Squire on a subject connected with marriage, till the tombstone over the old Squire should have been properly adjusted. He was a patient man, and could wait. And he was a man not good at writing letters. His customer and future son-in-law would turn up soon; or else, the expectant father-in-law might drop down upon him at the Moonbeam or elsewhere. As for a final escape, Polly Neefit's father hardly feared that any such attempt would be made. The young man had acted on the square, and had made his offer in good faith.
Such was Mr. Neefit's state of mind when he received the young Squire's letter. The letter almost knocked him down. There was a decision about it, a confidence that all was over between them except the necessary payment of the money, an absence of all doubt as to "Miss Polly," which he could not endure. And then that order for more breeches, included in the very same paragraph with Polly, was most injurious. It must be owned that the letter was a cruel, heart-rending, bad letter. For an hour or so it nearly broke Mr. Neefit's heart. But he resolved that he was not going to be done. The young Squire should marry his daughter, or the whole transaction should be published to the world. He would do such things and say such things that the young Squire should certainly not have a good time of it. He said not a word to Polly of the letter that night, but he did speak of the young Squire. "When that young man comes again, Miss Polly," he said, "I shall expect you to take him."
"I don't know anything about that, father," said Polly. "He's had his answer, and I'm thinking he won't ask for another." Upon this the breeches-maker looked at his daughter, but made no other reply.
During the two or three following days Neefit made some inquiries, and found that his customer was at the Moonbeam. It was now necessary that he should go to work at once, and, therefore, with many misgivings, he took Waddle into his confidence. He could not himself write such a letter as then must be written;—but Waddle was perfect at the writing of letters. Waddle shrugged his shoulders, and clearly did not believe that Polly would ever get the young Squire. Waddle indeed went so far as to hint that his master would be lucky in obtaining payment of his money,—but, nevertheless, he gave his mind to the writing of the letter. The letter was written as follows:—
Conduit Street, 14th December, 186—.
Dear Sir,—
Yours of the 9th instant has come to hand, and I beg to say with compliments how shocked we were to hear of the Squire's accident. It was terribly sudden, and we all felt it very much; as in the way of our business we very often have to.
As to the money that can stand. Between friends such things needn't be mentioned. Any accommodation of that kind was and always will be ready when required. As to that other matter, a young gentleman like you won't think that a young lady is to be taken at her first word. A bargain is a bargain, and honourable is honourable, which nobody knows as well as you who was always disposed to be upon the square. Our Polly hasn't forgotten you,—and isn't going.
It should be acknowledged on Mr. Waddle's behalf, that that last assurance was inserted by the unassisted energy of Mr. Neefit himself.
We shall expect to see you without delay, here or at Hendon, as may best suit; but pray remember that things stand just as they was. Touching other matters, as needn't be named here, orders will be attended to as usual if given separate.
Yours very truly and obedient,
Thomas Neefit.
This letter duly reached the young Squire, and did not add to his happiness at the Moonbeam. That he should ever renew his offer to Polly Neefit was, he well knew, out of the question; but he could see before him an infinity of trouble should the breeches-maker be foolish enough to press him to do so. He had acted "on the square." In compliance with the bargain undoubtedly made by him, he had twice proposed to Polly, and had Polly accepted his offer on either of these occasions, there would,—he now acknowledged to himself,—have been very great difficulty in escaping from the difficulty. Polly had thought fit to refuse him, and of course he was free. But, nevertheless, there might be trouble in store for him. He had hardly begun to ask himself in what way this trouble might next show itself, when Neefit was at the Moonbeam. Three days after the receipt of his letter, when he rode into the Moonbeam yard on his return from hunting, there was Mr. Neefit waiting to receive him.
He certainly had not answered Mr. Neefit's letter, having told himself that he might best do so by a personal visit in Conduit Street; but now that Neefit was there, the personal intercourse did not seem to him to be so easy. He greeted the breeches-maker very warmly, while Pepper, Cox, and Mr. Horsball, with sundry grooms and helpers, stood by and admired. Something of Mr. Neefit's money, and of Polly's charms as connected with the young Squire, had already reached the Moonbeam by the tongue of Rumour; and now Mr. Neefit had been waiting for the last four hours in the little parlour within the Moonbeam bar. He had eaten his mutton chop, and drunk three or four glasses of gin and water, but had said nothing of his mission. Mrs. Horsball, however, had already whispered her suspicions to her husband's sister, a young lady of forty, who dispensed rum, gin, and brandy, with very long ringlets and very small glasses.
"You want to have a few words with me, old fellow," said Ralph to the breeches-maker, with a cheery laugh. It was a happy idea that of making them all around conceive that Neefit had come after his money. Only it was not successful. Men are not dunned so rigorously when they have just fallen into their fortunes. Neefit, hardly speaking above his breath, with that owlish, stolid look, which was always common to him except when he was measuring a man for a pair of breeches, acknowledged that he did. "Come along, old fellow," said Ralph, taking him by the arm. "But what'll you take to drink first?" Neefit shook his head, and accompanied Ralph into the house. Ralph had a private sitting-room of his own, so that there was no difficulty on that score. "What's all this about?" he said, standing with his back to the fire, and still holding Neefit by the arm. He did it very well, but he did not as yet know the depth of Neefit's obstinacy.