“Thou shouldst have seen the effect of that,” said Sylvanus, highly delighted. “Since then Mary Jerram has not found her way to Fair Manor again.”
Thorsby was never without some jocose talk of this kind at his visits to the Grange. But time rolled on, and there were rumours that the charge of being a wild young man, which the Friends had made against him, was not entirely without foundation. His old jovial companions had drawn him again too much into their society and convivialities. Letty made no complaints on this head, though as time went on her own family thought they saw occasionally a more careful expression on her countenance. Nothing, however, could exceed the affectionate terms on which they seemed to be; nothing could betoken more love and admiration than Thorsby’s manner to his wife. There appeared no reserve, no concealment between them, and the Woodburns thought there could be no serious cause of complaint betwixt two so obviously happy. But time still rolled on, and in due course a little son was born. With what pride Letty on her next visit to the Grange showed the newest Woodburn to the grandfather,—mother and sister and George had already taken their view of the miniature youth in Castleborough. With what pride she told her father that she was charmed with the opportunity of giving the name of Leonard—Leonard Woodburn Thorsby—to a fresh claimant of the honours and virtues of the house! Thorsby was himself no less proud of the young aspirant to manhood. It was, according to him, the finest, the largest, the cleverest child of its age that he had ever seen; but, in fact, before he had never paid much attention to very young children, but seemed to think them something very like fat caterpillars, with apple-dumpling faces.
But was it the joy and pride of his heart that often sent him out in an evening amongst his jolly companions, and sent him home late, sometimes not very good-tempered? True it was that though Thorsby was one of the best of husbands, tender, kind, anxious, solicitous that his wife should have everything to make her happy, yet his ways of making himself happy caused, by degrees, serious inroads into Letty’s happiness. Often he not only came home late, but in a condition that he called prime and gay as a lord, but which created very serious fears in his wife’s mind. When he was in a less lordlike mood she continued to intreat him to stay with her and read to her at her needlework, or to go and see some of his more domestic friends. What must become of her, she asked, if he contracted an unconquerable habit of taking too much wine?
“Too much wine!” he would reply. “What are you talking about, my dear child? Too much wine! Why, I tell you, we are all as sober as judges. It is not wine, it is only a little hilarity that we like at the club. When a man has been fagging all day in the counting-house, why, dear me, one must have a little talk and laughter to brighten one up. But never do you fear. I know what I am about. I am not going to make an ass of myself.”
Letty thought that he used to find her society refreshing and enlivening once. “And so I do now,” he would say; “but one cannot always be tied to one’s wife’s apron-strings. But I know what it is, Letty: it is these old fogies and Quakers that you have got acquainted with; they make you think all mirth is a sin, and they go about saying I am a wild young man. That’s it, Letty dear, that’s it. Now I am not going to be a wild young man; in fact, I think I am getting rather old and serious; but I’ll ‘wild-young-man’ those frouzy Quakers—mark me, if I don’t.”
With these ideas rankling in his mind, Thorsby one day riding from Woodburn where his wife was staying a few days, saw coming on the road towards him Mr. Jasper Heritage, a tall man, on his tall horse, and little squabby David Qualm on his stout and squably Welsh pony. Thorsby well knew that all Welsh ponies are, more or less, skittish, and that Taffy, Qualm’s pony, was excessively so. As the two Friends drew near, therefore, Thorsby took off his hat as if in compliment to them. The moment he lifted it from his head Mr. Heritage shouted, “Keep on thy hat, Henry Thorsby! keep on thy hat!” But Thorsby not only did not put it on again, but he gave it a great flourish as if in extreme politeness; and, it was the work of a moment,—David Qualm’s pony started sideways to the farther side of the road, and left him lying on his back in the middle of it.
Thorsby, who was now afraid, seeing the heavy little man lying motionless, that he might have done more mischief than he intended, sprang from his horse, and ran to lift up the man of silence. But as he nearly reached him, David found the use of his limbs and his tongue, and raising himself on one elbow, his three-cornered hat and brown wig having deserted him; with bare head and wild staring eyes, he swung his one arm furiously, and cried like a maniac,—“Avaunt! son of Belial! Avaunt! Touch me not, man of sin!”
Mr. Heritage, who had also descended from his horse, gently pushed Thorsby away, saying, “Let alone! Take thyself away, Henry Thorsby. This is what I could not have expected of thee.”
Thorsby would still have assisted to lift up and wipe the dust from David Qualm, but Mr. Heritage would not let him, but carefully raised his old friend and relative, and began to beat the dust from his coat. Thorsby muttered some sort of an apology—something about his not meaning any harm—but David cast a lion’s glance at him, and said, “Thou liest, man! Thou liest! Thou meant it, and nothing less.”
Thorsby, who did not think David was much hurt, mounted and rode rapidly off. When he was out of hearing, he gave vent to an uproarious laughter, and said, “A wild young man, indeed! Not so wild but he can keep his seat better than some people.” He was so elated with his exploit that he that evening told the story with much humour and some embellishment at the club, to the exquisite delight of his friends, and the next day it was all over the town. Amongst the lighter and more giddy of the population it was thought a very clever paying-off of the censorious Friend; amongst the older and more thinking people it was regarded in a very different light, and such a dangerous trick played off on a very quiet and inoffensive man, by no means told in favour of Thorsby. The serious manner in which Mr. Heritage spoke of it amongst his friends made a deep impression, and it was regarded as a very impolitic act in Thorsby, who, though his wife stood so well with the wealthy banker, might, in times of commercial depression, find it much to his inconvenience to have sunk in his esteem.