"That Irishman, the actress's father—the very man. Have not you heard what a fool my nephew has made of himself about the girl?"—Mr. Tatham, who never entered the walls of a theater, had heard nothing: and Major Pendennis had to recount the story of his nephew's loves to the lawyer, Mr. Foker coming in with appropriate comments in his usual familiar language.
Tatham was lost in wonder at the narrative. Why had not Mrs. Pendennis married a serious man, he thought—Mr. Tatham was a widower—and kept this unfortunate boy from perdition? As for Miss Costigan he would say nothing: her profession was sufficient to characterize her. Mr. Foker here interposed to say he had known some uncommon good people in the booths, as he called the temple of the muses. Well, it might be so, Mr. Tatham hoped so—but the father, Tatham knew personally—a man of the worst character, a wine-bibber and an idler in taverns and billiard-rooms, and a notorious insolvent. "I can understand the reason, major," he said, "why the fellow would not come to my office to ascertain the truth of the statements which you made him.—We have a writ out against him and another disreputable fellow, one of the play-actors, for a bill given to Mr. Skinner of this city, a most respectable grocer and wine and spirit merchant, and a member of the Society of Friends. This Costigan came crying to Mr. Skinner—crying in the shop, sir—and we have not proceeded against him or the other, as neither were worth powder and shot."
It was while Mr. Tatham was engaged in telling this story that a third knock came to the door, and there entered an athletic gentleman in a shabby braided frock, bearing in his hand a letter with a large blotched red seal.
"Can I have the honor of speaking with Major Pendennis in private?" he began—"I have a few words, for your ear, sir. I am the bearer of a mission from my friend Captain Costigan,"—but here the man with the bass voice paused, faltered, and turned pale—he caught sight of the red and well-remembered face of Mr. Tatham.
"Hullo, Garbetts, speak up!" cried Mr. Foker, delighted.
"Why, bless my soul, it is the other party to the bill!" said Mr. Tatham. "I say, sir; stop, I say." But Garbetts, with a face as blank as Macbeth's when Banquo's ghost appears upon him, gasped some inarticulate words, and fled out of the room.
The major's gravity was also altogether upset, and he burst out laughing. So did Mr. Foker, who said, "By Jove, it was a good 'un." So did the attorney, although by profession a serious man.
"I don't think there'll be any fight, major," young Foker said; and began mimicking the tragedian. "If there is, the old gentleman—your name Tatham?—very happy to make your acquaintance Mr. Tatham—may send the bailiffs to separate the men;" and Mr. Tatham—promised to do so. The major was by no means sorry at the ludicrous issue of the quarrel. "It seems to me, sir," he said to Mr. Foker, "that you always arrive to put me into good humor."
Nor was this the only occasion on which Mr. Foker this day was destined to be of service to the Pendennis family. We have said that he had the entrée of Captain Costigan's lodgings, and in the course of the afternoon he thought he would pay the general a visit, and hear from his own lips what had occurred in the conversation, in the morning, with Mr. Pendennis. Captain Costigan was not at home. He had received permission, nay, encouragement from his daughter, to go to the convivial club at the Magpie Hotel, where no doubt he was bragging at that moment of his desire to murder a certain ruffian; for he was not only brave, but he knew it too, and liked to take out his courage, and, as it were, give it an airing in company.
Costigan then was absent, but Miss Fotheringay was at home washing the tea-cups while Mr. Bows sate opposite to her.