Mattie:-A Stray Volume I Part 25

"I am glad that his son is so high-spirited; but he will find that amiable feeling rather in the way of his advancement."

"No, sir--I think not."

Mr. Hinchford regarded Sidney very closely; he did not appear put out by the young man's retorts, and he was pleased at the effect that his own satire had upon him.

"Well," he said at last, "I have not come to quarrel with my nephew--I am here as a peace-maker, and, lo! the son starts up with all the father's old obstinacies. Your name is Sidney, I believe."

"Yes, sir."

"Sidney Hinchford, then," said he, "if you be a man of the world--which I fancy you are--you will not turn your back on your own interests for the sake of the grudge which my unforgiving brother may owe me. That's not the way of the world, unless it's the world of silly novel-writers and poets."

"Sir, this sudden interest in my father and myself is somewhat unaccountable."

"Granted," was the cool response.

"Still, let me for my father and myself thank you," said Sidney, with a graceful dignity that set well upon him, "thank you for this sudden offer, which I, for both, must unhesitatingly decline."

"Indeed!"

"We are not rich, you can see," Sidney said with a comprehensive sweep of his hand, "but we have managed to exist without getting into debt, and I believe that the worst struggle is over with us both."

"Upon what supposition do you base this theory?"

"No matter, Mr. Hinchford, my belief is strong, and I would not deprive myself of the pleasure of saying that I worked on with my father to the higher ground without the help of those rich relations who would at the eleventh hour have taken the credit to themselves."

"You are a remarkable young man."

"Sir, you come too late here," said Sidney, with no small amount of energy; "we bear you no ill-will, but we will not have your help now. If you and yours forgot my father in his adversity, if you made no sign when he was troubled by my mother's death, if you held aloof when a.s.sistance and sympathy would have made amends for the old breach between you, if you turned your backs upon him and shut him from your thoughts then, now we repudiate your service, and prefer to work our way alone!"

"Well, well, be it so," said his uncle; "it is heroic, but it is bad policy, more especially in you, a young man who will have to fight hard for a competence. You will excuse this whim of mine."

"I have already thanked you for the good intention."

"I did not antic.i.p.ate encountering so hard and dogmatic a disposition as your own, but I do not regret the visit."

Sidney looked at his watch, fidgeted with the feather of his pen, but made no remark to this.

"We will say it was a whim--you will please to inform your father that this was simply a whim of mine--the impulse of a moment, after an extra gla.s.s of port wine with my dessert."

"I will think so, if you wish it."

"You perceive that I am an old man--your father's senior by eight years--and old people _do_ get whimsical and childish, when the iron in their nerves melts, by some unaccountable process, away from them.

Possibly this is not the first time that it has struck me that my brother James and I might easily arrive at a better appreciation of each other's character, if we sat down quietly face to face, two old men as we have become. The sarcasm that wounded him, and the pa.s.sionate impulse that irritated me, would have grown less with our white hairs, I think.

I don't know for certain--I cannot answer for a man who always would take the wrong side of an argument, and stick to it. By Gad! how tightly he would stick to it!"

The old gentleman rapped his gold-headed cane on the floor, and indulged in a little sharp laugh, not unpleasant to hear. Sidney repressed a smile, and looked significantly at his watch again.

"You wish me gone, young sir," said his uncle.

"Candidly, I see no good result to arise from your stay. My father is of an excitable disposition, and, I am sorry to say, neither so strong nor so well as I could wish. I fear the shock would be too much for him."

"I will take the hint," he said, rising; "I hate scenes, and if there is likely to be a second edition of those covert reproaches with which you have favoured me, why, it is best to withdraw as gracefully as possible, under the circ.u.mstances. You will tell him that I have called?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will tell him also--bear this in mind instead of sucking your pen, will you?--that if he owe me no ill-will, he will call on me next--that it is _his_ turn! I never ask a man twice for anything--except for the money he may owe me," he added, drily.

"I will deliver your message, Mr. Hinchford."

"Then I have the honour, sir, to apologize for this intrusion, and to wish you a good evening."

He crossed the room and held out a thin white hand to Sidney, looking very strangely, very intently at him meanwhile. Sidney placed his own within it, almost instinctively, and the two Hinchfords shook hands.

They parted; Sidney thought that he had finally taken his departure, when the door opened, and he reappeared.

"Do you mind showing me a light?--it's a corkscrew staircase, leading to the bottomless pit, to all appearances."

Sidney seized the table-lamp, and proceeded to the top of the stairs, which his uncle descended in a slow and gingerly manner. At the first landing he looked up, and said:

"That will do, thank you--remember, _his_ turn next--good evening."

Sidney went back to the room, and shortly afterwards Mr. Hinchford, the great banker, the owner of princely estates in three counties, was whirled away westward in his carriage.

CHAPTER III.

SIDNEY'S SUGGESTION.

When Mr. Hinchford returned home, Sidney related the particulars of the strange visit that he had received; and from the effect which the news produced on his father, was grateful for the thought which had prompted him to request his uncle's departure. Sidney had noticed with sadness, lately, that his father was easily disturbed, easily affected, and it was satisfactory to know that it had been judicious on his part to advise his uncle's retirement.

Mr. Hinchford tugged at his stock, held his temples, pa.s.sed his hands through his scanty hair, puffed and blowed, dropped his first cup of tea over his knees, and did not subside into a moderate state of calmness for at least a quarter of an hour after the story had been told.

"And so brother Geoffry turns up at last!--well, I thought he would."

Sidney looked with amazement at his father.

"He would have turned up years ago, I daresay, if it hadn't been for his wife--she and I never agreed; but old steady, quiet Geoffry, why, when we were boys, we were the best of friends."

"You certainly surprise me, father. Perhaps I have done wrong in persuading him to depart. But I always understood that it had been a desperate quarrel between you, and that you had almost taken an oath never to speak to him again."

"That's all true enough, and it was a desperate quarrel, and he was tight-fisted just then, and let me drift into bankruptcy, rather than help me. It wasn't brotherly, and I'll never forgive him--never. How was the rascal looking, Sid?"

"Like a spare likeness of yourself, sir."

"He's taller than I am by a good two inches. We used to cut notches in the sides of all the doors, when we were boys; comparing notes, we called it. I suppose he's very much altered?"