Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope (interesting books to read TXT) đ
- Author: Anthony Trollope
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him to prefer books or pictures, or dogs and horses, or turnips in
drills, or old Italian plates and dishes, was a matter which did not
much signify; with which it was not at all necessary that his noble
aunt should trouble herself.
âOh! you are going to Cambridge again, are you? Well, if your father
wishes it;âthough very little is ever gained now by a university
connexion.â
âI am to take my degree in October, aunt; and I am determined, at any
rate, that I wonât be plucked.â
âPlucked!â
âNo; I wonât be plucked. Baker was plucked last year, and all because
he got into the wrong set at Johnâs. Heâs an excellent fellow if you
knew him. He got among a set of men who did nothing but smoke and
drink beer. Malthusians, we call them.â
âMalthusians!â
ââMalt,â you know, aunt, and âuse;â meaning that they drink beer. So
poor Harry Baker got plucked. I donât know that a fellowâs any the
worse; however, I wonât get plucked.â
By this time the party had taken their place round the long board,
Mr Gresham sitting at the top, in the place usually occupied by Lady
Arabella. She, on the present occasion, sat next to her son on the
one side, as the countess did on the other. If, therefore, Frank now
went astray, it would not be from want of proper leading.
âAunt, will you have some beef?â said he, as soon as the soup
and fish had been disposed of, anxious to perform the rites of
hospitality now for the first time committed to his charge.
âDo not be in a hurry, Frank,â said his mother; âthe servants willââ
âOh! ah! I forgot; there are cutlets and those sort of things. My
hand is not in yet for this work, aunt. Well, as I was saying about
Cambridgeââ
âIs Frank to go back to Cambridge, Arabella?â said the countess to
her sister-in-law, speaking across her nephew.
âSo his father seems to say.â
âIs it not a waste of time?â asked the countess.
âYou know I never interfere,â said the Lady Arabella; âI never liked
the idea of Cambridge myself at all. All the de Courcys were Christ
Church men; but the Greshams, it seems, were always at Cambridge.â
âWould it not be better to send him abroad at once?â
âMuch better, I would think,â said the Lady Arabella; âbut you know,
I never interfere: perhaps you would speak to Mr Gresham.â
The countess smiled grimly, and shook her head with a decidedly
negative shake. Had she said out loud to the young man, âYour father
is such an obstinate, pig-headed, ignorant fool, that it is no use
speaking to him; it would be wasting fragrance on the desert air,â
she could not have spoken more plainly. The effect on Frank was this:
that he said to himself, speaking quite as plainly as Lady de Courcy
had spoken by her shake of the face, âMy mother and aunt are always
down on the governor, always; but the more they are down on him the
more Iâll stick to him. I certainly will take my degree: I will read
like bricks; and Iâll begin to-morrow.â
âNow will you take some beef, aunt?â This was said out loud.
The Countess de Courcy was very anxious to go on with her lesson
without loss of time; but she could not, while surrounded by guests
and servants, enunciate the great secret: âYou must marry money,
Frank; that is your one great duty; that is the matter to be borne
steadfastly in your mind.â She could not now, with sufficient weight
and impress of emphasis, pour this wisdom into his ears; the more
especially as he was standing up to his work of carving, and was deep
to his elbows in horse-radish, fat, and gravy. So the countess sat
silent while the banquet proceeded.
âBeef, Harry?â shouted the young heir to his friend Baker. âOh! but I
see it isnât your turn yet. I beg your pardon, Miss Bateson,â and he
sent to that lady a pound and a half of excellent meat, cut out with
great energy in one slice, about half an inch thick.
And so the banquet went on.
Before dinner Frank had found himself obliged to make numerous small
speeches in answer to the numerous individual congratulations of his
friends; but these were as nothing to the one great accumulated onus
of an oration which he had long known that he should have to sustain
after the cloth was taken away. Someone of course would propose his
health, and then there would be a clatter of voices, ladies and
gentlemen, men and girls; and when that was done he would find
himself standing on his legs, with the room about him, going round
and round and round.
Having had a previous hint of this, he had sought advice from his
cousin, the Honourable George, whom he regarded as a dab at speaking;
at least, so he had heard the Honourable George say of himself.
âWhat the deuce is a fellow to say, George, when he stands up after
the clatter is done?â
âOh, itâs the easiest thing in life,â said the cousin. âOnly remember
this: you mustnât get astray; that is what they call presence of
mind, you know. Iâll tell you what I do, and Iâm often called up, you
know; at our agriculturals I always propose the farmersâ daughters:
well, what I do is thisâI keep my eye steadfastly fixed on one of
the bottles, and never move it.â
âOn one of the bottles!â said Frank; âwouldnât it be better if I made
a mark of some old coveyâs head? I donât like looking at the table.â
âThe old coveyâd move, and then youâd be done; besides there isnât
the least use in the world in looking up. Iâve heard people say, who
go to those sort of dinners every day of their lives, that whenever
anything witty is said; the fellow who says it is sure to be looking
at the mahogany.â
âOh, you know I shanât say anything witty; Iâll be quite the other
way.â
âBut thereâs no reason you shouldnât learn the manner. Thatâs the way
I succeeded. Fix your eye on one of the bottles; put your thumbs in
your waistcoat pockets; stick out your elbows, bend your knees a
little, and then go ahead.â
âOh, ah! go ahead; thatâs all very well; but you canât go ahead if
you havenât got any steam.â
âA very little does it. There can be nothing so easy as your speech.
When one has to say something new every year about the farmersâ
daughters, why one has to use oneâs brains a bit. Letâs see: how will
you begin? Of course, youâll say that you are not accustomed to this
sort of thing; that the honour conferred upon you is too much for
your feelings; that the bright array of beauty and talent around
you quite overpowers your tongue, and all that sort of thing. Then
declare youâre a Gresham to the backbone.â
âOh, they know that.â
âWell, tell them again. Then of course you must say something about
us; or youâll have the countess as black as old Nick.â
âAbut my aunt, George? What on earth can I say about her when sheâs
there herself before me?â
âBefore you! of course; thatâs just the reason. Oh, say any lie you
can think of; you must say something about us. You know weâve come
down from London on purpose.â
Frank, in spite of the benefit he was receiving from his cousinâs
erudition, could not help wishing in his heart that they had all
remained in London; but this he kept to himself. He thanked his
cousin for his hints, and though he did not feel that the trouble
of his mind was completely cured, he began to hope that he might go
through the ordeal without disgracing himself.
Nevertheless, he felt rather sick at heart when Mr Baker got up to
propose the toast as soon as the servants were gone. The servants,
that is, were gone officially; but they were there in a body, men
and women, nurses, cooks, and ladiesâ maids, coachmen, grooms, and
footmen, standing in two doorways to hear what Master Frank would
say. The old housekeeper headed the maids at one door, standing
boldly inside the room; and the butler controlled the men at the
other, marshalling them back with a drawn corkscrew.
Mr Baker did not say much; but what he did say, he said well. They
had all seen Frank Gresham grow up from a child; and were now
required to welcome as a man amongst them one who was well qualified
to carry on the honour of that loved and respected family. His
young friend, Frank, was every inch a Gresham. Mr Baker omitted to
make mention of the infusion of de Courcy blood, and the countess,
therefore, drew herself up on her chair and looked as though she were
extremely bored. He then alluded tenderly to his own long friendship
with the present squire, Francis Newbold Gresham the elder; and sat
down, begging them to drink health, prosperity, long life, and an
excellent wife to their dear young friend, Francis Newbold Gresham
the younger.
There was a great jingling of glasses, of course; made the merrier
and the louder by the fact that the ladies were still there as
well as the gentlemen. Ladies donât drink toasts frequently; and,
therefore, the occasion coming rarely was the more enjoyed. âGod
bless you, Frank!â âYour good health, Frank!â âAnd especially a
good wife, Frank!â âTwo or three of them, Frank!â âGood health and
prosperity to you, Mr Gresham!â âMore power to you, Frank, my boy!â
âMay God bless you and preserve you, my dear boy!â and then a merry,
sweet, eager voice from the far end of the table, âFrank! Frank! Do
look at me, pray do Frank; I am drinking your health in real wine;
ainât I, papa?â Such were the addresses which greeted Mr Francis
Newbold Gresham the younger as he essayed to rise up on his feet for
the first time since he had come to manâs estate.
When the clatter was at an end, and he was fairly on his legs, he
cast a glance before him on the table, to look for a decanter. He
had not much liked his cousinâs theory of sticking to the bottle;
nevertheless, in the difficulty of the moment, it was well to have
any system to go by. But, as misfortune would have it, though the
table was covered with bottles, his eye could not catch one. Indeed,
his eye first could catch nothing, for the things swam before him,
and the guests all seemed to dance in their chairs.
Up he got, however, and commenced his speech. As he could not follow
his preceptorâs advice as touching the bottle, he adopted his own
crude plan of âmaking a mark on some old coveyâs head,â and therefore
looked dead at the doctor.
âUpon my word, I am very much obliged to you, gentlemen and ladies,
ladies and gentlemen, I should say, for drinking my health, and
doing me so much honour, and all that sort of thing. Upon my word I
am. Especially to Mr Baker. I donât mean you, Harry, youâre not Mr
Baker.â
âAs much as youâre Mr Gresham, Master Frank.â
âBut I am not Mr Gresham; and I donât mean to be for many a long year
if I can help it; not at any rate till we have had another coming of
age here.â
âBravo, Frank;
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