The Major was revolving in his mind meanwhile the news the receipt of which had made him so grave. “If Sir Francis Clavering goes on in this way,” Pendennis the elder thought, “this little tipsy rascal will be as bankrupt as his father and grandfather before him. The Begum’s fortune can’t stand such drains upon it: no fortune can stand them: she has paid his debts half a dozen times already. A few years more of the turf, and a few coups like this, will ruin her.”
“Don’t you think we could get up races at Clavering, mamma?” Miss Amory asked. “Yes, we must have them there again. There were races there in the old times, the good old times. It’s a national amusement, you know: and we could have a Clavering ball: and we might have dances for the tenantry, and rustic sports in the park—Oh, it would be charming.”
“Capital fun,” said mamma. “Wouldn’t it, Major?”
“The turf is a very expensive amusement, my dear lady,” Major Pendennis answered, with such a rueful face, that the Begum rallied him, and asked laughingly whether he had lost money on the race?
After a slumber of about an hour and a half, the heir of the house began to exhibit symptoms of wakefulness, stretching his youthful arms over the Major’s face, and kicking his sister’s knees as she sate opposite to him. When the amiable youth was quite restored to consciousness, he began a sprightly conversation.
“I say, Ma,” he said, “I’ve gone and done it this time, I have.”
“What have you gone and done, Franky dear?” asked Mamma.
“How much is seventeen half-crowns? Two pound and half-a crown, ain’t it? I drew Borax in our lottery, but I bought Podasokus and Man-milliner of Leggat minor for two open tarts and a bottle of ginger-beer.”
“You little wicked gambling creature, how dare you begin so soon?” cried Miss Amory.
“Hold your tongue, if you please. Who ever asked your leave, miss?” the brother said. “And I say, Ma——”