As the business of Hammond's Inn was not sufficient to keep it always lively, the absence of the children was very much felt. The mother was perhaps not less sensible of the privation than the father; as many an involuntary sigh testified. He lamented loudly; and, when there was no business to engage his attention, went listlessly about with his hands in his pockets, or sat gloomily at the door, puffing at his pipe, and spreading the fumes of his tobacco over the jessamine and wild roses that overran the porch. When company came, however, he was merrier; and, when he was invited to “make one,” he was apt to drink more freely than formerly.
In process of time, however, a circumstance occurred that diverted Hammond's attention into another channel. A few convivial fellows residing at Tutton, proposed to get up a club, to meet every Saturday night; the winter meetings to be held at an inn called the King's Arms, in the town, and the summer meetings at Hammond's Inn; the members to be elected by ballot. To this last rule, however, there was one exception, and that was in favor of Hammond himself.
“It was no use balloting him” they said; “nobody would give him a black ball.” He was pleased with this testimony to his popularity; and, in spite of some misgivings on the part of his wife, he addressed his mind heartily to the new project, and fitted up a room, to be held sacred every Saturday night for six months in the year to these convivial meetings.
The chief originator of this scheme was the host of the King's Arms, whose name was Jackson. He was what is called a jolly fellow; extremely fond of company, and able to sing a good song. The other members consisted of tradesmen residing in the town, and some of the upper servants of the neighboring nobility and gentry. Among these last was Mr. Grindlay.
Every body concerned was delighted with the new club; except, perhaps, the wives of the clubbists, who did not look forward to the Saturday nights with the same affection as their husbands. More than one of them was heard to say that it was a good thing Saturday came but once a week, and that if it came oftener, she, for one, wouldn't bear it. Hannah Hammond, although not a woman to express her feelings publicly, did not like this club, in spite of the profits derived from it. She saw that Hammond began to feel that the dull evenings at home contrasted very unpleasantly with the jolly nights at the club. As he and the host of the King's Arms grew more intimate, they were apt to console themselves with a few extra meetings. Sometimes Hammond made an excuse to go into the town, and sometimes Jackson came to him; but in the latter case Hannah gave her husband's visitor an indifferent welcome. Jackson seems to have kept his wife in better order; she had already discovered that drink is stronger than love. At first, Hammond yielded occasionally, either to frowns or persuasion; but as one ascendency grew, the other declined; and when he was not strong enough to brave his wife's wrath or entreaties, he eluded them, by slipping out when she was off her guard. Once away, he seldom reappeared until the next morning; and, as time advanced, two or three days would elapse before his return. Then, when he came, she scolded, and wept; but men get used to women's tears; and, like petrifying waters, they only harden their hearts as they fall.
So passed a few years; and the girl and boy were no longer children. Esther was a fine young woman of seventeen, and her brother eighteen months older. They had been some time away from the school, and George had been taken home to be instructed to follow his father's business, which had been the parents' original intention, when Hannah's mind was altered. She thought it was a calling that exposed a weak will to temptation, and she dreaded lest her son should get too familiar with his father's habits and associates; so, with Hammond's consent, she procured him a situation in a merchant's counting house; where, being steady and intelligent, he had every prospect of doing well.
She kept Esther at home to be her own assistant and consolation; for she needed both. She attributed all her troubles to Jackson, who had first enticed her husband to drink, and had never since allowed him time to be acted on by better influences. In proportion, therefore, as she loved her husband, she hated Jackson; and, in spite of all, she did love George dearly still. It was true, he was no longer Handsome George: his features were bloated, his figure swollen, his hair thin and grizzled, and his dress neglected and dirty; but he was the chosen husband of her youth; and, with Hannah, to love once was to love always.
Jackson had a son, an excellent lad, possessing all his father's good qualities, and none of his bad ones. He and young George had been at school together, and a friendship had arisen between [pg 523] them that promised to be enduring; the more so, that Esther Hammond and Henry Jackson were lovers—a secret, the discovery of which was at first very ill received by Hannah. That her Esther should marry the son of Jackson whom she hated, was not to be thought of.
“There's little reason to fear that Harry will take after his father, mother,” George would say. “Besides, you'd think it hard if any body made me suffer for father; and, for my part, I think it's enough to cure any body of a love of liquor, to see how it disguises people who would be so different if they could leave it alone.”
It was some time before this kind of argument prevailed with Hannah; but it had its effect at length, sustained as it was by the genuine merits of the candidate, by his evident abhorrence of his father's vice, and by his dutiful attentions to his mother. So, by-and-by, he became a welcome visitor to Mrs. Hammond and her daughter; and, all things concurring, it was tacitly understood among them, that some day or other, when they were both old enough, and when Henry should be in a situation to maintain a family, Esther was to be his wife.