“How? why wet as muck; my head all bumps, my cheek all cut, my nose big as two! forced to wear a plaister; half ruined in vinegar. Got a great cold; put me in a fever; never been well since.”
“But have you had no advice, Sir? Should not you send for a physician?”
“What to do, hay? fill me with jallop? can get it myself, can't I? Had one once; was taken very bad, thought should have popt off; began to flinch, sent for the doctor, proved nothing but a cheat! cost me a guinea, gave it at fourth visit, and he never came again!—-warrant won't have no more!”
Then perceiving upon the table some dust from the black lead pencil, “What's here?” cried he, angrily, “who's been cutting the pencil? wish they were hanged; suppose it's the boy; deserves to be horsewhipped: give him a good banging.”
Cecilia immediately cleared him, by acknowledging she had herself been the culprit.
“Ay, ay,” cried he, “thought as much all the time! guessed how it was; nothing but ruin and waste; sending for money, nobody knows why; wanting 600 pounds—what to do? throw it in the dirt? Never heard the like! Sha'n't have it, promise you that,” nodding his head, “shan't have no such thing!”
“Sha'n't have it?” cried Cecilia, much surprised, “why not, Sir?”
“Keep it for your husband; get you one soon: won't have no juggling. Don't be in a hurry; one in my eye.”
Cecilia then began a very earnest expostulation, assuring him she really wanted the money, for an occasion which would not admit of delay. Her remonstrances, however, he wholly disregarded, telling her that girls knew nothing of the value of money, and ought not to be trusted with it; that he would not hear of such extravagance, and was resolved not to advance her a penny. Cecilia was both provoked and confounded by a refusal so unexpected, and as she thought herself bound in honour to Mr Harrel not to make known the motive of her urgency, she was for some time totally silenced: till recollecting her account with the bookseller, she determined to rest her plea upon that, persuaded that he could not, at least, deny her money to pay her own bills. He heard her, however, with the utmost contempt; “Books?” he cried, “what do you want with books? do no good; all lost time; words get no cash.” She informed him his admonitions were now too late, as she had already received them, and must therefore necessarily pay for them. “No, no,” cried he, “send 'em back, that's best; keep no such rubbish, won't turn to account; do better without 'em.” “That, Sir, will be impossible, for I have had them some time, and cannot expect the bookseller to take them again.” “Must, must,” cried he, “can't help himself; glad to have 'em too. Are but a minor, can't be made pay a farthing.” Cecilia with much indignation heard such fraud recommended, and told him she could by no means consent to follow his advice. But she soon found, to her utter amazement, that he steadily refused to give her any other, or to bestow the slightest attention upon her expostulations, sturdily saying that her uncle had left her a noble estate, and he would take care to see it put in proper hands, by getting her a good and careful husband.
“I have no intention, no wish, Sir,” cried she, “to break into the income or estate left me by my uncle; on the contrary, I hold them sacred, and think myself bound in conscience never to live beyond them: but the L10,000 bequeathed me by my Father, I regard as more peculiarly my own property, and therefore think myself at liberty to dispose of it as I please.”