“Mat, indeed!” said Frank, grumbling with some reason; for Mat was a surly old fellow, who tied a most indefensible neckcloth, and always contrived to have a great patch on his boots,—besides, he called Frank “Master,” and obstinately refused to trot down hill,—“Mat, indeed! let Mat take the message, and George go with me.”
But Miss Jemima had also her reasons for rejecting Mat. Mat’s foible was not servility, and he always showed true English independence in all houses where he was not invited to take his ale in the servants’ hall. Mat might offend Signor Riccabocca, and spoil all. An animated altercation ensued, in the midst of which the squire and his wife entered the yard, with the intention of driving in the conjugal gig to the market town. The matter was referred to the natural umpire by both the contending parties.
The squire looked with great contempt on his son. “And what do you want a groom at all for? Are you afraid of tumbling off the pony?”
FRANK.—“No, Sir; but I like to go as a gentleman, when I pay a visit to a gentleman!”
SQUIRE (in high wrath).—“You precious puppy! I think I’m as good a gentleman as you any day, and I should like to know when you ever saw me ride to call on a neighbour with a fellow jingling at my heels, like that upstart Ned Spankie, whose father kept a cotton mill. First time I ever heard of a Hazeldean thinking a livery coat was necessary to prove his gentility!”
MRS. HAZELDEAN (observing Frank colouring, and about to reply).—“Hush, Frank, never answer your father,—and you are going to call on Mr. Leslie?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I am very much obliged to my father for letting me,” said Frank, taking the squire’s hand.
“Well, but, Frank,” continued Mrs. Hazeldean, “I think you heard that the Leslies were very poor.”
FRANK.—“Eh, Mother?”
MRS. HAZELDEAN.—“And would you run the chance of wounding the pride of a gentleman as well born as yourself by affecting any show of being richer than he is?”