“Ciudad Rodrigo, perhaps,” said I, scarcely able to repress a laugh.
“Well, sir, since that he’ll hear of nothing but going into the army; ay, and into the dragoons too. Now, Captain, isn’t it mighty expensive in the dragoons?”
“Why, no, not particularly so,—at least in the regiment I served with.”
“I promised him I’d ask you; the boy’s mad, that’s the fact. I wish, Captain, you’d just reason with him a little; he’ll mind what you say, there’s no fear of that. And you see, though I’d like to do what’s fair, I’m not going to cut off the girls for the sake of the boys; with the blessing of Providence, they’ll never be able to reproach me for that. What I say is this: treat me well, and I’ll treat you the same. Marry the man my choice would pick out for you, and it’s not a matter of a thousand or two I’ll care for. There was Bodkin—you remember him?” said he, with a grin; “he proposed for Mary, but since the quarrel with you, she could never bear the sight of him, and Alley wouldn’t come down to dinner if he was in the house. Mary’s greatly altered; I wish you heard her sing ‘I’d mourn the hopes that leave me.’ Queer girl she is; she was little more than a child when you were here, and she remembers you just as if it was yesterday.”
While Mr. Blake ran on at this rate, now dilating upon my own manifold virtues and accomplishments, now expatiating upon the more congenial theme,—the fascinations of his fair daughters, and the various merits of his sons,—I could not help feeling how changed our relative position was since our last meeting; the tone of cool and vulgar patronage he then assumed towards the unformed country lad was now converted into an air of fawning and deferential submission, still more distasteful.
Young as I was, however, I had already seen a good deal of the world; my soldiering had at least taught me something of men, and I had far less difficulty in deciphering the intentions and objects of my worthy relative, than I should have had in the enigmatical mazes of the parchment bond of which he was the bearer. After all, to how very narrow an extent in life are we fashioned by our own estimate of ourselves! My changed condition affected me but little until I saw how it affected others; that the position I occupied should seem better now that life had lost the great stimulus of ambition, was somewhat strange; and that flattery should pay its homage to the mourning coat which it would have refused to my soldier’s garb, somewhat surprised me. Still my bettered fortunes shone only brightly by reflected light; for in my own heart I was sad, spiritless, and oppressed.
Feeling somewhat ashamed at the coldness with which I treated a man so much my elder, I gradually assumed towards Mr. Blake a manner less reserved. He quickly availed himself of the change, and launched out into an eloquent exposé of my advantages and capabilities; the only immediate effect of which was to convince me that my property and my prospects must have been very accurately conned over and considered by that worthy gentleman before he could speak of the one or the other with such perfect knowledge.
“When you get rid of these little encumbrances, your rent-roll will be close on four thousand a year. There’s Bassett, sure, by only reducing his interest from ten to five per cent, will give you a clear eight hundred per annum; let him refuse, and I’ll advance the money. And, besides, look at Freney’s farm; there’s two hundred acres let for one third of the value, and you must look to these tilings; for, you see, Captain, we’ll want you to go into Parliament; you can’t help coming forward at the next election, and by the great gun of Athlone, we’ll return you.”
Here Mr. Blake swallowed a full bumper of sherry, and getting up a little false enthusiasm for the moment, grasped me by both hands and shook me violently; this done, like a skilful general, who, having fired the last shot of his artillery, takes care to secure his retreat, he retired towards the door, where his hat and coat were lying.
“I’ve a hundred apologies to make for encroaching upon your time; but, upon my soul, Captain, you are so agreeable, and the hours have passed away so pleasantly—May I never, if it is not one o’clock!—but you must forgive me.”