Lord Bellingham, however, seemed to be ashamed of any soft or generous impulse, and harangued Archy upon the subject of his daughter and her son as if the real sorrow was not Langton's death, but the loss of a possible heir to the Bellingham estates—and as for the title, he seemed to regard Archy's indifference to it as something sacrilegious.
"All titles are not honorable, sir," said Archy. "There is Sir Henry Clinton, the British commander at New York. He is called the Prince of Blunderers. Nothing pleasant about that, sir."
Lord Bellingham showed his appreciation of this news about Sir Henry Clinton by giving a savage kick to a chair near him, which in its turn knocked over a table with candles on it, and only Archy's quickness prevented a fire on the spot. When quiet was restored, this young American, in perfect good faith, and thinking himself rather a clever fellow for hitting upon a solution of the question of the estates, came near bringing a hurricane of wrath down on himself.
"There are two girls, sir. Langton has often told me of his sisters, and you could give the estates to them."
"Girls!" almost shrieked Lord Bellingham, and then relapsed into a state of silent fury at the idea that Bellingham should go to two girls. Archy looked deeply hurt at the way his remark had been received, and left his grandfather's presence with an air of haughtiness ridiculously like the old man's, which caused Colonel Baskerville to laugh heartily at the scene. But Archy made no more suggestions as to the disposition of the Bellingham estates.
At the end of December the assizes were held at York, and Lord Bellingham, as Lord-lieutenant of the North Riding, was to attend them in state.
"And I should be glad, my dear Archibald, to have your company in the coach," said the old gentleman, in a tone of dulcet softness, having forgiven Archy his maladroit speech.
Archy, who would walk ten miles any day to see a fine show, readily agreed. Nothing was said about clothes; but when Archy carefully examined his blue uniform that night, he found that it was indeed on its last legs. His elbows were out, his knees were but little better, and, worse than all, he was shooting up so tall and filling out so fast that he had completely outgrown both jacket and trousers. There was no help for it; Archy laid his beloved shabby uniform away carefully, and next morning appeared at breakfast in the handsome brown riding-suit.
Colonel Baskerville noted it with an approving nod.
"I fully reckoned on your getting a broken head, sooner or later, for wearing your American uniform. It was foolhardy; but I perceive, nephew, you are inclined to be foolhardy."