“My dear young man,” said the father, “once, when the fortune was of our side, I should have been glad to hear this. I should have been proud of you as a husband for Bessy. Now, it can’t be.”
“Why not? Indeed, dear sir, I”.—
“We have not a shilling, Mr. Pennibacker. Not a shilling. We have just scraped together a loan—a gratuity—alms—whatever the world may call it, to take ourselves out of the way. I will not quarter my family upon your relations. Quarter! Why, ’twould be the town-talk that that cunning old fox Carraways had gulled a foolish boy—the Man of Money’s son—to marry a beggar girl. And all to end his own days in clover. No, sir; no. You’re very good, Basil; you mean this honestly, nobly; I’m sure you do; but you’ll think better of it; and with the prospects that await you—with the part you have to play in the world—in a little while, you’ll thank me for refusing you.”
“No, sir, no: for your refusal—though I can fully value the integrity of its meaning—will change into consent, when you become assured that no influence, no argument of wealth or station, can make me debtor to Mr. Jericho for a single shilling. I will provide for my wife—for Bessy”—
“You are very good,” said Carraways, melting somewhat at the passion of the youth, “very good; but the fact is, my dear lad—and make your mind up once and all to hear it—the fact is, Bessy is already provided for.”
“Provided! Already!” cried Basil, and the young man turned pale as a corpse, and shook from head to limb.
Carraways was yet more affected by the youth’s emotion. Kindly he took Basil’s hand—“I mean, my good boy—don’t mistake me, I wouldn’t be mistaken; for I can live back my life”—and the old man’s eyes glistened, and his voice trembled—“live it back in my memory to the very moment, when I asked for Bessy’s mother,—and I—I can feel for you, my lad; believe it, Basil; I can, boy—I can,” and Carraways stood shaking Basil’s hand, his eyes swimming the while,—begging him to dismiss the matter from his mind, and be “a good boy and a man.”
“I entreat you, good sir—I entreat you, by the precious memories you speak of—tell me what it is you mean! Bessy provided”—
“I mean with a—a ship,” said Carraways, with forced cheerfulness.
“A ship?” exclaimed Basil.