How to respond? Here is the crux of the story. There are, to be sure, interviews between Dr. Wortle and his bishop, and Dr. Wortle seriously contemplates a suit for libel against the gossip sheet, which will bring the bishop into court. But perhaps the most pertinent interviews are those between Dr. Wortle and the colleague whom he selects as his confidante and advisor, Mr. Puddicombe, rector of a neighboring parish. Mr. Puddicombe effectively plays the role of Jiminy Cricket, the conscience of Dr. Wortle. In Chapter XIII, "Mr. Puddicombe's Boot," Dr. Wortle first goes to Mr. Puddicombe with his resolution to reply to the "Broughton Gazette," which has written, "Parents, if they feel themselves to be aggrieved, can remedy the evil by withdrawing their sons."
Mr. Puddicombe tells Dr. Wortle that he has fallen into a misfortune and advises restraint:
"It was a misfortune, that this lady whom you had taken into your establishment should have proved not to be the gentleman's wife. When I am taking a walk through the fields and get one of my feet deeper than usual into the mud, I always endeavour to bear it as well as I may before the eyes of those who meet me rather than make futile efforts to get rid of the dirt and look as though nothing had happened. The dirt, when it is rubbed and smudged and scraped, is more palpably dirt than the honest mud."
Would that each of us had a Mr. Puddicombe to keep us out of trouble!
There is an obligatory little romantic subplot, with a romance between Dr. Wortle's seventeen year old daughter Mary and a noble young boarding student, Lord Carstairs, age eighteen years. Are they too young for an engagement before he even enrolls at Oxford? Will the young lord's father Lord Bracy accept the daughter of a clergyman into his family? After a moderate amount of reflection, these issues sort themselves out.
Mr. Peacocke's journey to America to seek the grave or the person of Ferdinand Lefroy occupies the two American chapters. Peacocke goes in the company of Ferdinand's brother Robert, an unscrupulous but ingenious scoundrel whose inventions are matched by the determination and bravery of the intrepid Mr. Peacocke. These adventures provide an opportunity for Trollope to vent some of his observations about American manners:
He found his wife's brother-in-law seated in the bar of the public house—that everlasting resort for American loungers—with a cigar as usual stuck in his mouth, loafing away his time as only American frequenters of such establishments know how to do. In England such a man would probably be found in such a place with a glass of some alcoholic mixture beside him, but such is never the case with an American. If he wants a drink he goes to the bar and takes it standing—will perhaps take two or three, one after another; but when he has settled himself down to loaf, he satisfies himself with chewing a cigar, and covering a circle around him with the results. With this amusement he will remain contented hour after hour—nay, throughout the entire day if no harder work be demanded of him.
This is one of those Fantastic Premise books, in which a credible story is built around the Fantastic Premise—in this case, the Enoch Arden story of the man who goes off to fight, is presumed dead, and returns home to find his wife married to someone else. Not so fantastic, perhaps; considering the time, distance, and inadequate communication techniques of the period, it is only surprising that such occurrences did not take place more often. The story carries itself along with a good pace; but the greatest reason to read the book is to follow the struggles of Dr. Wortle, sucked into challenges to his pride, wrestling with how to dig himself out.
And for readers who like to close a book with a take-home lesson, one could do worse than to remember what to do and what not to do with muddy boots.