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THE AMERICAN SENATOR
about here told me he ought to be hung, and because I would
not agree with him he got up and walked away from me at table, carrying his provisions with him. Another man in the next
field to this insulted me because I said I was going to see Goarly. The clergyman in Dillsborough and the hotelkeepers were
just as hard upon me. But you see, Mister, that what we want to
find out is whether Goarly or the Lord has the right of it in
this particular case.”
“I know which has the right without any more finding
out,” said Larry. “The shortest way to his house is by the ride
through the wood, Mr. Morton. It takes you out on his land on
the other side. But I don’t think you’ll find him there. One of
my men told me that he had made himself scarce.” Then he
added as the two were going on, “I should like to have just
a word with you, Mr. Morton. I’ve been thinking of what you
said, and I know it was kind. I’ll take a month over it. I won’t
talk of selling Chowton till the end of February; — but if I feel
about it then as I do now I can’t stay.”
“That’s right, Mr. Twentyman; — and work hard, like
a man, through the month. Go out hunting, and don’t allow
yourself a moment for moping.”
“I will,” said Larry, as he retreated to the house, and
then he gave directions that his horse might be ready for
the morrow.
They went in through the wood, and the Senator pointed
out the spot at which Bean the gamekeeper had been so insolent to him. He could not understand, he said, why he should
be treated so roughly, as these men must be aware that he had
nothing to gain himself. “If I were to go into Mickewa,” said
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
Morton, “and interfere there with the peculiarities of the people as you have done here, it’s my belief that they’d have had
the eyes out of my head long before this.”
“That only shows that you don’t know Mickewa,” said
the Senator. “Its people are the most law-abiding population
on the face of the earth.”
They passed through the wood, and a couple of fields
brought them to Goarly’s house. As they approached it by
the back the only live thing they saw was the old goose which
had been so cruelly deprived of her companions and progeny. The goose was waddling round the dirty pool, and there
were to be seen sundry ugly signs of a poor man’s habitation,
but it was not till they had knocked at the window as well
as the door that Mrs. Goarly showed herself. She remembered
the Senator at once and curtseyed to him; and when Morton
introduced himself she curtseyed again to the Squire of Bragton. When Goarly was asked for she shook her head and declared that she knew nothing about him. He had been gone,
she said, for the last week, and had left no word as to whither
he was going; — nor had he told her why. “Has he given up his
action against Lord Rufford?” asked the Senator.
“Indeed then, sir, I can’t tell you a word about it.”
“I’ve been told that he has taken Lord Rufford’s money.”
“He ain’t ‘a taken no money as I’ve seed, sir. I wish he
had, for money’s sore wanted here, and if the gen’leman has
a mind to be kind-hearted —” Then she intimated her own
readiness to take any contribution to the good cause which
the Senator might be willing to make at that moment. But
the Senator buttoned up his breeches pockets with stern reso-
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THE AMERICAN SENATOR
lution. Though he still believed Lord Rufford to be altogether
wrong, he was beginning to think that the Goarlys were not
worthy his benevolence. As she came to the door with them
and accompanied them a few yards across the field she again
told the tragic tale of her goose; — but the Senator had not
another word to say to her.
On that same day Morton drove Mr. Gotobed into Dillsborough and consented to go with him to Mr. Bearside’s office.
They found the attorney at home, and before anything was said
as to payment they heard his account of the action. If Goarly
had consented to take any money from Lord Rufford he knew
nothing about it. As far as he was aware the action was going
on. Ever so many witnesses must be brought from a distance
who had seen the crop standing and who would have no bias
against the owner, — as would be the case with neighbours,
such as Lawrence Twentyman. Of course it was not easy to oppose such a man as Lord Rufford and a little money must be
spent. Indeed such, he said, was his interest in the case that he
had already gone further than he ought to have done out of
his own pocket. Of course they would be successful, — that is
if the matter were carried on with spirit, and then the money
would all come back again. But just at present a little money
must be spent. “I don’t mean to spend it,” said the Senator.
“I hope you won’t stick to that, Mr. Gotobed.”
“But I shall, sir. I understand from your letter that you
look to me for funds.”
“Certainly I do, Mr. Gotobed; — because you told me to
do so.”
“I told you nothing of the kind, Mr. Bearside.”
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
“You paid me £15 on account, Mr. Gotobed.”
“I paid you £15 certainly.”
“And told me that more should be coming as it was wanted. Do you think I should have gone on for such a man as
Goarly, — a fellow without a shilling, — unless he had some
one like you to back him? It isn’t likely. Now, Mr. Morton, I appeal to you.”
“I don’t suppose that my friend has made himself liable for
your bill because he paid you £15 with the view of assisting
Goarly,” said Morton.
“But he said that he meant to go on, Mr. Morton. He said
that plain, and I can swear it. Now, Mr. Gotobed, you just say
out like an honest man whether you didn’t give me to understand that you meant to go on.”
“I never employed you or made myself responsible for your
bill.”
“You authorized me, distinctly, — most distinctly, and
I shall stick to it. When a gentleman comes to a lawyer’s office
and pays his money and tells that lawyer as how he means to
see the case out, — explaining his reasons as you did when you
said all that against the landlords and squires and nobility of
this here country, — why then that lawyer has a right to think
that that gentleman is his mark.”
“I thought you were employed by Mr. Scrobby,” said Morton, who had heard much of the story by this time.
“Then, Mr. Morton, I must make bold to say that you have
heard wrong. I know nothing of Mr. Scrobby and don’t want.
There ain’t nothing about the poisoning of that fox in this
case of ours. Scrobby and Goarly may have done that, or Scrob-
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THE AMERICAN SENATOR
by and Goarly may be as innocent as two babes unborn for
aught I know or care. Excuse me, Mr. Morton, but I have to
be on my p’s and q’s I see. This is a case for trespass and damage against Lord Rufford in which we ask for 40s. an acre.
Of course there is expenses. There’s my own time. I ain’t to be
kept here talking to you two gentlemen for nothing, I suppose.
Well; this gentleman comes to me and pays me £15 to go on.
I couldn’t have gone on without something. The gentleman
saw that plain enough. And he told me he’d see me through
the rest of it.”
“I said nothing of the kind, sir.”
“Very well. Then we must put it to a jury. May I make bold to
ask whether you are going out of the country all at once?”
“I shall be here for the next two months, at least.”
“Happy to hear it, sir, and have no doubt it will all be settled before that time — amiable or otherwise. But as I am money out of pocket I did hope you would have paid me something
on account to-day.”
Then Mr. Gotobed made his offer, informing Mr. Bearside
that he had brought his friend, Mr. Morton, with him in order
that there might be a witness. “I could see that, sir, with half
an eye,” said the attorney unabashed. He was willing to pay
Mr. Bearside a further sum of £10 immediately to be quit of
the affair, not because he thought that any such sum was due,
but because he wished to free himself from further trouble in
the matter. Mr. Bearside hinted in a very cavalier way that £20
might be thought of. A further payment of £20 would cover the money he was out of pocket. But this proposition Mr.
Gotobed indignantly refused, and then left the office with
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
his friend. “Wherever there are lawyers there will be rogues,”
said the Senator, as soon as he found himself in the street. “It
is a noble profession, that of the law; the finest perhaps that
the work of the world affords; but it gives scope and temptation for roguery. I do not think, however, that you would find
anything in America so bad as that.”
“Why did you go to him without asking any questions?”
“Of whom was I to ask questions? When I took up Goarly’s
case he had already put it into this man’s hands.”
“I am sorry you should be troubled, Mr. Gotobed; but, upon
my word, I cannot say but what it serves you right.”
“That is because you are offended with me. I endeavoured to protect a poor man against a rich man, and that in
this country is cause of offence.”
After leaving the attorney’s office they called on Mr.
Mainwaring the rector, and found that he knew, or professed to know, a great deal more about Goarly, than they had
learned from Bearside. According to his story Nickem, who
was clerk to Mr. Masters, had Goarly in safe keeping somewhere. The rector indeed was acquainted with all the details.
Scrobby had purchased the red herrings and strychnine, and
had employed Goarly to walk over by night to Rufford and
fetch them. The poison at that time had been duly packed in
the herrings. Goarly had done this and had, at Scrobby’s instigation, laid the bait down in Dillsborough Wood. Nickem
was now at work trying to learn where Scrobby had purchased
the poison, as it was feared that Goarly’s evidence alone would
not suffice to convict the man. But if the strychnine could be
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THE AMERICAN SENATOR
traced and the herrings, then there would be almost a certainty of punishing Scrobby.
“And what about Goarly?” asked the Senator.
“He would escape of course,” said the rector. “He would get
a little money and after such an experience would probably
become a good friend to fox-hunting.”
“And quite a respectable man!” The rector did not guarantee this but seemed to think that there would at any rate
be promise of improved conduct. “The place ought to be too
hot to hold him!” exclaimed the Senator indignantly. The rector seemed to think it possible that he might find it uncomfortable at first, in which case he would sell the land at a good
price to Lord Rufford and every one concerned would have
been benefited by the transaction, — except Scrobby for whom
no one would feel any pity.
The two gentlemen then promised to come and dine with
the rector on the following day. He feared he said that he could
not make up a party as there was, — he declared, — nobody in
Dillsborough. “I never knew such a place,” said the rector.
“Except old Nupper, who is there? Masters is a very decent
fellow himself, but he has got out of that kind of thing; —
and you can’t ask a man without asking his wife. As for clergymen, I’m sick of dining with my own cloth and discussing
the troubles of sermons. There never was such a place as
Dillsborough.” Then he whispered a word to the Squire. Was
the Squire unwilling to meet his cousin Reginald Morton?
Things were said and people never knew what was true and
what was false. Then John Morton declared that he would be
very happy to meet his cousin.
CHAPTER XV
MR. MAINWARING’S LITTLE
DINNER
The company at the rector’s house consisted of the Senator, the two Mortons, Mr. Surtees the curate, and old Doctor
Nupper. Mrs. Mainwaring was not well enough to appear, and
the rector therefore was able to indulge himself in what he
called a bachelor party. As a rule he disliked clergymen, but
at the last had been driven to invite his curate because he
thought six a better number than five for joviality. He began
by asking questions as to the Trefoils which were not very
fortunate. Of course he had heard that Morton was to marry
Arabella Trefoil, and though he made no direct allusion to
the fact, as Reginald had done, he spoke in that bland eulogistic tone which clearly showed his purpose. “They went with
you to Lord Rufford’s, I was told.”
“Yes; — they did.”
“And now they have left the neighbourhood. A very clever
young lady, Miss Trefoil; — and so is her mother, a very clever woman.” The Senator, to whom a sort of appeal was made,
nodded his assent. “Lord Augustus, I believe, is a brother of
the Duke of Mayfair?”
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THE AMERICAN SENATOR
“Yes, he is,” said Morton. “I am afraid we are going to have
frost again.” Then Reginald Morton was sure that the marriage would never take place.
“The Trefoils are a very distinguished family,” continued
the rector. “I remember the present Duke’s father when he
was in the cabinet, and knew this man almost intimately when
we were at Christchurch together. I don’t think this Duke ever
took a prominent part in politics.”
“I don’t know that he ever did,” said Morton.
“Dear, dear, how tipsy he was once driving back to Oxford
with me in a gig. But he has the reputation of being one of
the best landlords in the country now.”
“I wonder what it is that gives a man the reputation of being a good landlord. Is it foxes?” asked the Senator. The rector acknowledged with a smile that foxes helped. “Or does it
mean that he lets his land below the value? If so, he certainly
does more harm than good, though he may like the popularity
which he is rich enough to buy.”
“It means that he does not exact more than his due,” said
the rector indiscreetly.
“When I hear a man so highly praised for common honesty
I am of course led to suppose that dishonesty in his particular
trade is the common rule. The body of English landlords must
be exorbitant tyrants when one among them is so highly eulogised for taking no more than his own.” Luckily at that moment dinner was announced, and the exceptional character of
the Duke of Mayfair was allowed to drop.
Mr. Mainwaring’s dinner was very good and his wines were
excellent, — a fact of which Mr. Mainwaring himself was much
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ANTHONY TROLLOPE
better aware than any of his guests. There is a difficulty in
the giving of dinners of which Mr. Mainwaring and some other
hosts have become painfully aware. What service do you do to
any one in pouring your best claret down his throat, when he
knows no difference between that and a much more humble
vintage, — your best claret which you feel so sure you cannot
replace? Why import canvas-back ducks for appetites which
would be quite as well satisfied with those out of the next
farm-yard? Your soup, which has been a care since yesterday,
your fish, got down with so great trouble from Bond Street
on that very day, your saddle of mutton, in selecting which you
have affronted every butcher in the neighbourhood, are all
plainly thrown away! And yet the hospitable hero who would
fain treat his friends as he would be treated himself can hardly
arrange his dinners according to the palates of his different
guests; nor will he like, when strangers sit at his board, to put
nothing better on his table than that cheaper wine with which
needful economy induces him to solace himself when alone.
I, — I who write this, — have myself seen an honoured guest
deluge with the pump my, ah! so hardly earned, most scarce
and most peculiar vintage! There is a pang in such usage which
some will not understand, but which cut Mr. Mainwaring to
the very soul. There was not one among them there who appreciated the fact that the claret on his dinner table was almost
the best that its year had produced. It was impossible not to say
a word on such a subject at such a moment; — though our rector was not a man who usually lauded his own viands. “I think
you will find that claret what you like, Mr. Gotobed,” he said.
“It’s a ‘57 Mouton, and judges say that it is good.”
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