“Now, James, let us hear about these new troubles. Something must be done, that is clear.”
“Yes, something must be done, Mary, and I can think of nothing for it but to leave this place. It is no longer a place for me to live in. The Southdown Road has proved too strong for me, it has conquered me.”
“Don't speak like that, James. We must try to bear our burdens, if not for our own sakes, for the sake of Him who died for us. He bore a very heavy cross for us.”
“There's no use in talking to me like that, Hester, you only provoke me. You forget what a cross two daughters are, and the Southdown Road has become intolerable. It is more than any man can bear; I will bear it no longer. I have borne it long enough, and am determined to get rid of it. I am afraid there's nothing for it but to sell the place and go and live in London.”
Aunt Hester cast her eyes into her satchel, afraid even to think that her brother had intentionally misinterpreted her words; but Aunt Mary laughed at the idea of the slonk-hill, as a latter-day Golgotha, with poor Uncle James staggering beneath the weight of the Southdown Road, young men and all, upon him. It was very irreverent. He burst into tears, Hester moved to leave the room, but was restrained by her sister.
“My position is a most unfortunate one; since the death of poor Julia I have had no one to turn to, there has been no restraining influence in this house. Here am I working all day long in the City for those girls, and when I come home in the evening I find my house full of people I don't know. I assure you, Mary, I don't know any of the people who come to my house. I am consulted in nothing. It is not fair—I say it is not fair; and at my death those girls will have thirty thousand pounds a-piece.”
“I knew you had the money, James, I knew you had,” exclaimed Aunt Mary, and even Aunt Hester could not help casting a look of admiration on her weeping brother.
“I say it is not fair; a man of my money should have a comfortable home to return to. Even the Southdown Road people have that; but no consideration is shown to me. My dinner is put back so that Sally may continue her flirtation with Meason in the slonk. Did any one ever hear of such a thing? A man's dinner put back so that—that—that—”
“Yes, we know all about the dinner being put back; that was three years ago.”
“Why,” Mr. Brookes asked himself, “had he invited his sisters to his help?” He was only adding bitterness to his bitter cup. “You have no sympathy, Mary,” he went on; “you cannot understand the difficulties of my position—these two girls are for ever quarrelling and fighting; sometimes they are not even on speaking terms, but I think I prefer their sullen looks to their violence. Sally threatened to knock her sister down if she interfered with her young men.”