The only reply to this, if reply it can be called, was an angry “Psha!” and, turning on his heel, Mr. Coleman strode with great dignity towards the window, though the effect was considerably marred by his stumbling against an ottoman which stood in the way, and hurting his shin to an extent which entailed rubbing, albeit a sublunary and un-Spartan operation, as a necessary consequence. A pause ensued, which at length became so awkward that I was about to hazard some wretched commonplace or other, for the sake of breaking the silence, when Mrs. Coleman addressed me with:—
“You'll take some luncheon, Mr. Lawless, I'm sure. Freddy, ring the bell!”
“He'll be ready enough to do that,” growled Mr. Coleman; “you could not have asked a fitter person.”
“Of course he will, a dear fellow,” replied Mrs. Coleman; “he's always ready to oblige anybody.”
“I disapprove greatly of such extreme facility of disposition,” observed Mr. Coleman; “it lays a young man open to every temptation that comes in his way; and, for want of a proper degree of firmness and self-respect, he gets led into all kinds of follies and excesses.”
"Now, my dear Mr. Coleman,” returned his wife, “I cannot bear to hear you talk in that way; you are too hard upon poor Freddy and his young friends; I'm certain they meant no harm;—if they did ring the bells by way of a joke, I daresay they had drunk rather more champagne than was prudent, and scarcely knew what they were about; and really all they seem to have done was to make people get up a little sooner than usual, and that is rather a good thing than otherwise, for I'm sure if you did but know the trouble I have sometimes in getting the maids out of bed in the morning—and that lazy fine gentleman of a footman too, he's just as bad.—Why, what's the matter now?”
“I really am astonished at you, Mrs. Coleman,” exclaimed her husband, walking hurriedly across the room—although this time he took good care to avoid the ottoman, “encouraging that boy of yours in such scandalous and ungentlemanly proceedings as those he was engaged in last night! No harm, indeed! I only hope (that is, I don't hope it at all, for he deserves to be punished, and I wish he may) that the laws of his country may think there's no harm in it. Mr. Dullmug, the mayor, intends, very properly in my opinion, to appeal to those laws; that is a thing, I am proud to say, no Englishman ever does in vain. You may smile, sir,” he continued, detecting Freddy in the act of telegraphing to me his dissent from the last doctrine propounded. “You may ridicule your old father's opinion, but you'll find it no laughing matter to clear yourself, and justify your conduct, in a court of justice. They may bring it in conspiracy, for I daresay you plotted it all beforehand; they may bring it in riot and illegal assembly, for there were three of you engaged in it; they may bring it in treason, for you incited his majesty's subjects to commit a broach of the peace, and interfered with the proper officers in the discharge of their duty: 'pon my word I don't know that they may not bring it in murder, for the poor child that had the measles in the town died between six and seven o'clock this morning, and no doubt the confusion had something to do with accelerating its death. So, sir, if you're not hanged, you're certain to be transported; and don't ask me to assist you; I've lived by supporting the law for fifty years, and I'm not going in my old age to lend my countenance to those who break it, and set it at nought, though my own son be one of them. I have spoken my mind plainly, Mr. Fairlegh, more so perhaps than I should have done before a guest in my own house, but it is a matter upon which I feel deeply. I wish you good-morning, sir.” So saying, he turned away, and stalked majestically out of the room, closely followed, not to say imitated, by the cat, who held her tail erect, so as to form a right angle with the line of her back, and walked with a hypocritical air of meek dignity and chastened self-approval.
“That's what I call pleasant and satisfactory,” exclaimed Freddy, after a pause, during which each member of the party exchanged glances of consternation with somebody else. “Who would ever have imagined the possibility of the governor's turning cantankerous—assuming the character of the Roman father upon the shortest possible notice, and thirsting to sacrifice his son on the altar of the outraged laws of his country! What an interesting victim I shall make, to be sure! Lucy must lend me that wreath of roses she looked so pretty in last night, to wear at the fatal ceremony. And my dear mother shall stand near, tearing out those revered locks of hers by handfuls.” (The reader should perhaps be informed that Mrs. Coleman rejoiced in a false front of so open and ingenuous a nature, that from its youth upwards it never could have been guilty of deceiving any one.) “May I ring and tell John to have all the carving knives sharpened? it would be more satisfactory to my feelings not to be slaughtered with a blunt weapon.”
“Don't talk in that way, Frederick,” cried Mrs. Coleman. “I'm sure your father would never think of doing such dreadful things; but I believe you're only making fun of him, which isn't at all right of you. I'm not a bit surprised at his being angry with you, when you know how steady he always says he was as a young man (not that I ever quite believe it, though); he never went ringing bells, however late he might stay out at night, that I heard of (though I should never have known it if he had, very likely). I don't myself see any great harm in it, you know, Mr. Fairless, particularly after your saving poor Clara Saville, and Freddy from drowning, when you were all boys together—indeed I shall always have the highest opinion of you for it, only I wish you had never done it at all, either of you, because of making your father so angry, you I mean, Frederick.”
“Have you received any account of Miss Saville this morning?” inquired I, anxious to change the conversation; for I could see that Freddy, despite his assumed indifference, was a good deal annoyed at the serious light in which the old gentleman seemed to look upon our escapade. “I should be glad to know that she was none the worse for all the alarm she must have suffered.”