"No; I don't," said Ralph Newton.
Sir Thomas rubbed his face and scratched his head; but did not know how to give advice. "You have made your bed, and you must lie upon it," he said.
"Exactly;—but which way am I to get into it, and which way shall I get out?" Sir Thomas could only rub his face and scratch his head. "I thought it best to come and tell you everything," said Ralph. That was all very well, but Sir Thomas would not advise him to marry the breeches-maker's daughter.
"It is a matter," Sir Thomas said at last, "in which you must be guided by your own feelings. I wish it were otherwise. I can say no more." Then Ralph took his leave, and wandered all round St. James's Park and the purlieus of Westminster till midnight, endeavouring to make up his mind, and building castles in the air, as to what he would do with himself, and how he would act, if he had not brought himself into so hopeless a mess of troubles.
CHAPTER IX.
ONTARIO MOGGS.
On the following morning Ralph Newton was in Conduit Street exactly at the hour named. He had not even then made up his mind;—but he thought that he might get an extension of the time allowed him for decision. After all, it was hardly a month yet since the proposition was made to him. He found Mr. Neefit in the back shop, measuring a customer. "I'll be with you in two minutes," said Mr. Neefit, just putting his head through the open door, and then going back to his work; "3—1—1/8, Waddle; Sir George isn't quite as stout as he was last year. Oh, no, Sir George; we won't tie you in too tight. Leave it to us, Sir George. The last pair too tight? Oh, no; I think not, Sir George. Perhaps your man isn't as careful in cleaning as he ought to be. Gentlemen's servants do get so careless, it quite sickens one!" So Mr. Neefit went on, and as Sir George was very copious in the instructions which he had to give,—all of which, by-the-bye, were absolutely thrown away,—Ralph Newton became tired of waiting. He remembered too that he was not there as a customer, but almost as a member of the family, and the idea sickened him. He bethought himself that on his first visit to Conduit Street he had seen his Polly in the shop, cutting up strips wherewith her father would measure gentlemen's legs. She must then have been nearly fifteen, and the occupation, as he felt, was not one fitting for the girl who was to be his wife. "Now, Mr. Newton," said Mr. Neefit, as Sir George at last left the little room. The day was hot, and Mr. Neefit had been at work in his shirt sleeves. Nor did he now put on his coat. He wiped his brow, put his cotton handkerchief inside his braces, and shook hands with our hero. "Well, Mr. Newton," he said, "what do you think of it? I couldn't learn much about it, but it seemed to me that you and Polly got on famous that night. I thought we'd have seen you out there again before this."
"I couldn't come, Mr. Neefit, as long as there was a doubt."
"Oh, as to doubts,—doubts be bothered. Of course you must run your chance with Polly like any other man."