The Antiquary — Complete by Walter Scott (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📖

when the packet is likely to reach that place, and will take care to forward it. I expect to have soon an opportunity to apologize in person for the trouble I now give, and have the honour to be your very faithful servant,

“Reginald Gamelyn Wardour.” “Edinburgh, 6th August, 179-.”

The Antiquary hastily broke the seal of the enclosure, the contents of which gave him equal surprise and pleasure. When he had in some measure composed himself after such unexpected tidings, he inspected the other papers carefully, which all related to business—put the bills into his pocket-book, and wrote a short acknowledgment to be despatched by that day’s post, for he was extremely methodical in money matters—and lastly, fraught with all the importance of disclosure, he descended to the parlour.

“Sweepclean,” said he, as he entered, to the officer who stood respectfully at the door, “you must sweep yourself clean out of Knockwinnock Castle, with all your followers, tag-rag and bob-tail. Seest thou this paper, man?”

“A sist on a bill o’ suspension,” said the messenger, with a disappointed look;—“I thought it would be a queer thing if ultimate diligence was to be done against sic a gentleman as Sir Arthur—Weel, sir, I’se go my ways with my party—And who’s to pay my charges?”

“They who employed thee,” replied Oldbuck, “as thou full well dost know.—But here comes another express: this is a day of news, I think.”

This was Mr. Mailsetter on his mare from Fairport, with a letter for Sir Arthur, another to the messenger, both of which, he said, he was directed to forward instantly. The messenger opened his, observing that Greenhorn and Grinderson were good enough men for his expenses, and here was a letter from them desiring him to stop the diligence. Accordingly, he immediately left the apartment, and staying no longer than to gather his posse together, he did then, in the phrase of Hector, who watched his departure as a jealous mastiff eyes the retreat of a repulsed beggar, evacuate Flanders.

Sir Arthur’s letter was from Mr. Greenhorn, and a curiosity in its way. We give it, with the worthy Baronet’s comments.

“Sir—[Oh! I am dear sir no longer; folks are only dear to Messrs. Greenhorn and Grinderson when they are in adversity]—Sir, I am much concerned to learn, on my return from the country, where I was called on particular business [a bet on the sweepstakes, I suppose], that my partner had the impropriety, in my absence, to undertake the concerns of Messrs. Goldiebirds in preference to yours, and had written to you in an unbecoming manner. I beg to make my most humble apology, as well as Mr. Grindersons—[come, I see he can write for himself and partner too]—and trust it is impossible you can think me forgetful of, or ungrateful for, the constant patronage which my family [his family! curse him for a puppy!] have uniformly experienced from that of Knockwinnock. I am sorry to find, from an interview I had this day with Mr. Wardour, that he is much irritated, and, I must own, with apparent reason. But in order to remedy as much as in me lies the mistake of which he complains [pretty mistake, indeed! to clap his patron into jail], I have sent this express to discharge all proceedings against your person or property; and at the same time to transmit my respectful apology. I have only to add, that Mr. Grinderson is of opinion, that if restored to your confidence, he could point out circumstances connected with Messrs. Goldiebirds’ present claim which would greatly reduce its amount [so, so, willing to play the rogue on either side]; and that there is not the slightest hurry in settling the balance of your accompt with us; and that I am, for Mr. G. as well as myself, Dear Sir [O ay, he has written himself into an approach to familiarity], your much obliged and most humble servant,

“Gilbert Greenhorn.”

“Well said, Mr. Gilbert Greenhorn,” said Monkbarns; “I see now there is some use in having two attorneys in one firm. Their movements resemble those of the man and woman in a Dutch baby-house. When it is fair weather with the client, out comes the gentleman partner to fawn like a spaniel; when it is foul, forth bolts the operative brother to pin like a bull-dog. Well, I thank God that my man of business still wears an equilateral cocked hat, has a house in the Old Town, is as much afraid of a horse as I am myself, plays at golf of a Saturday, goes to the kirk of a Sunday, and, in respect he has no partner, hath only his own folly to apologize for.”

“There are some writers very honest fellows,” said Hector; “I should like to hear any one say that my cousin, Donald M’Intyre, Strathtudlem’s seventh son (the other six are in the army), is not as honest a fellow”—

“No doubt, no doubt, Hector, all the M’Intyres are so; they have it by patent, man—But I was going to say, that in a profession where unbounded trust is necessarily reposed, there is nothing surprising that fools should neglect it in their idleness, and tricksters abuse it in their knavery. But it is the more to the honour of those (and I will vouch for many) who unite integrity with skill and attention, and walk honourably upright where there are so many pitfalls and stumbling-blocks for those of a different character. To such men their fellow citizens may safely entrust the care of protecting their patrimonial rights, and their country the more sacred charge of her laws and privileges.”

“They are best aff, however, that hae least to do with them,” said Ochiltree, who had stretched his neck into the parlour door; for the general confusion of the family not having yet subsided, the domestics, like waves after the fall of a hurricane, had not yet exactly regained their due limits, but were roaming wildly through the house.

“Aha, old Truepenny, art thou there?” said the Antiquary. “Sir Arthur, let me bring in the messenger of good luck, though he is but a lame one. You talked of the raven that scented out the slaughter from afar; but here’s a blue pigeon (somewhat of the oldest and toughest, I grant) who smelled the good news six or seven miles off, flew thither in the taxed-cart, and returned with the olive branch.”

“Ye owe it o’ to puir Robie that drave me;—puir fallow,” said the beggar, “he doubts he’s in disgrace wi’ my leddy and Sir Arthur.”

Robert’s repentant and bashful face was seen over the mendicant’s shoulder.

“In disgrace with me?” said Sir Arthur—“how so?”—for the irritation into which he had worked himself on occasion of the toast had been long forgotten. “O, I recollect—Robert, I was angry, and you were wrong;—go about your work, and never answer a master that speaks to you in a passion.”

“Nor any one else,” said the Antiquary; “for a soft answer turneth away wrath.”

“And tell your mother, who is so ill with the rheumatism, to come down to the housekeeper to-morrow,” said Miss Wardour, “and we will see what can be of service to her.”

“God bless your leddyship,” said poor Robert, “and his honour Sir Arthur, and the young laird, and the house of Knockwinnock in a’ its branches, far and near!—it’s been a kind and gude house to the puir this mony hundred years.”

“There”—said the Antiquary to Sir Arthur—“we won’t dispute—but there you see the gratitude