“Glad to see him! Glad to see Mr. Fairfax! Glad to welcome any friend of my nephew’s to Clifton. How-do-you-do, sir? Knew your relative, Lord Fairfax, of Greenway Courthouse. Excessively fond of hunting. Kept bachelor’s hall. Very great mistake, that—very! Hope you won’t follow his example! Fine man, however, and I honor his memory! Come in, sir! come in! Come in, Archy! My—dear—boy—I’m—so—del—ighted to see you!”
Whenever he spoke to his nephew, he seemed to dwell upon each separate syllable with a cordiality impossible to describe.
He was a large, old gentleman, clothed in a fresh, fragrant suit of pale blue linen, with his hair as white as cotton, his fresh, rosy complexion, fine teeth, and clear, kind, blue eyes, making a most refreshing picture of simplicity, cheerfulness, and cleanliness of soul and body in old age. He was of a sanguine temperament, and under great provocation, could get into a passion, too. And what old father of a family, with two grown daughters, and a young wife, all under eighteen years of age, and all beauties, has not enough combustible material to burn the house down, or set his own temper on fire?—yet such was the kindness of his heart, that even when in violent anger, stamping up and down the floor, grasping desperately at his own white temple locks with both hands, and vociferating in stentorian tones—it was all, as Frank afterwards said, shooting with blank cartridges—he never said a word, or did a thing, to wound a single soul.
“I trust the ladies are all well, sir,” said Captain Clifton, as he followed his uncle.
“Yes—yes—that is to say, Carry is well, but not well pleased. She expected you yesterday—didn’t consider the storm any excuse for your absence. Ah! you dog—you sad dog—at your age would I have kept a lady waiting? Nay, would I do it now? But come, shall I present you to the ladies now, or do you prefer first the refreshment of the bath and a change of dress? Your own and your friend’s baggage arrived this morning by the wagon, and has been conveyed to your rooms.”
“Oh, a change of dress, by all means!” suggested Frank.
“Dandy—Dandy!” exclaimed the old gentleman, raising his strong voice, till the servant appeared, “show Mr. Fairfax to General Washington’s room.”
General Washington had slept one night at Clifton, and from that time to this, the room he occupied has been “General Washington’s room.”
The servant conducted Mr. Fairfax up stairs. And then the old gentleman, turning to his nephew, took his hands again, and said—
“My dear boy, once more I must say, I’m—so—glad—to—see you! You are at home, you know. So go and find your room, and ring and give your orders, my son, for you are so. And I will go and let the ladies know that you have come, though I dare say they know it already.”