"Only, my dear, he's one of that sort that have to be fixed."
"It's so hard to fix them, mamma."
"It needn't be hard to fix him,—that is, if you'll only be steady. He's not sharp and hard and callous, like some of them. He doesn't mean any harm, and if he once speaks out, he isn't one that can't be kept to time. His manners are nice. I don't think the property is involved; but I'll find out from papa; and he's just the man to think his wife the pink of perfection." Lady Eardham had read our hero's character not inaccurately.
CHAPTER LIII.
THE END OF POLLY NEEFIT.
Rumours, well-supported rumours, as to the kind of life which Mr. Neefit was leading reached Alexandra Cottage, filling Mrs. Neefit's mind with dismay, and making Polly very angry indeed. He came home always somewhat the worse for drink, and would talk of punching the heads both of Mr. Newton and of Mr. Ontario Moggs. Waddle, who was very true to his master's interests, had taken an opportunity of seeing Mrs. Neefit, and of expressing a very distinct idea that the business was going to the mischief. Mrs. Neefit was of opinion that in this emergency the business should be sold, and that they might safely remove themselves to some distant country,—to Tunbridge, or perhaps to Ware. Polly, however, would not accede to her mother's views. The evil must, she thought, be cured at once. "If father goes on like this, I shall just walk straight out of the house, and marry Moggs at once," Polly said. "Father makes no account of my name, and so I must just look out for myself." She had not as yet communicated these intentions to Ontario, but she was quite sure that she would be supported in her views by him whenever she should choose to do so.
Once or twice Ontario came down to the cottage, and when he did so, Mr. Neefit was always told of the visit. "I ain't going to keep anything from father, mother," Polly would say. "If he chooses to misbehave, that isn't my fault. I mean to have Mr. Moggs, and it's only natural I should like to see him." Neefit, when informed of these visits, after swearing that Moggs junior was a sneaking scoundrel to come to his house in his absence, would call upon Moggs senior, and swear with many threats that his daughter should have nothing but what she stood up in. Moggs senior would stand quite silent, cutting the skin on his hand with his shoemaker's knife, and would simply bid the infuriated breeches-maker good morning, when he left the shop. But, in truth, Mr. Moggs senior had begun to doubt. "I'd leave it awhile, Onty, if I was you," he said. "May be, after all, he'll give her nothing."
"I'll take her the first day she'll come to me,—money or no money," said Moggs junior.
Foiled ambition had, in truth, driven the breeches-maker to madness. But there were moments in which he was softened, melancholy, and almost penitent. "Why didn't you have him when he come down to Margate," he said, with the tears running down his cheek, that very evening after eating his rump-steak in Mr. Newton's rooms. The soda-water and brandy, with a little gin-and-water after it, had reduced him to an almost maudlin condition, so that he was unable to support his parental authority.