The Eldest Son Part 24

He was not so handsome as d.i.c.k nor so smart-looking as Humphrey, but he was tall and well set up, with an air of energy and good-humour that was attractive. "It's jolly to be here for a bit again," he said.

"I've been working like a n.i.g.g.e.r. We've got a regular plague of influenza at Melbury Park."

The Squire grunted. He was pleased enough to see his son, but he always s.h.i.+ed at the words Melbury Park, and rather disliked mention of Walter's profession, which had been none of his choosing.

"Well, I suppose you've heard of this wretched business of d.i.c.k's," he said, as he lighted a big cigar.

Walter filled his pipe, standing by the fire. "Yes. I've seen him,"

he said.

The Squire held the match in his hand as he exclaimed, "You've seen him, eh?"

"Yes, he spent Christmas with us," said Walter.

The Squire threw the match, which had begun to burn his fingers, into the grate. "Why on earth didn't you let me know?" he asked.

"He didn't want me to," replied Walter, taking his seat in one of the shabby easy-chairs.

The Squire thought this over. It affected him disagreeably, making him feel very far from his son. "Was he all right?" he asked.

"Of course, he was worried," said Walter. "He was all right otherwise."

"Well, now, don't you think he's behaving in a most monstrous way?"

asked the Squire, anxious to subst.i.tute a mood of righteous anger for one of painful longing.

"Well, I can't say I do," replied Walter.

"Oh, he's talked you over. But I'll tell you this, Walter, he shall _not_ marry this woman, and drag us all in the mud. You ought to be doing what you can to stop it, too, instead of encouraging him."

"I'm not encouraging him," said Walter. "It wouldn't make any difference whether I encouraged him or discouraged him, either. He has made up his mind to marry her and he's going to do it."

"I tell you he is _not_ going to do it." The Squire hitched himself forward out of the depths of his chair to give more weight to his p.r.o.nouncement.

Walter remained silent, with a mental shrug, and the Squire was rather at a loss to know how to proceed. "Do you know what this woman is like?" he asked.

"I've seen her photograph and heard what d.i.c.k has to say about her,"

said Walter.

"Oh, d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k's infatuated, of course. I should have thought you would have had more sense than to swallow his description of her blindly. She's--oh, I can't trust myself to say what she is. But I'll tell you this. I'd rather Kencote pa.s.sed out of the Clinton family altogether than that she came to be mistress of it."

"Well, that won't happen for a great many years, I hope," said Walter.

"It will _never_ happen," said the Squire, with immense emphasis.

Again Walter was silent, and his father slightly embarra.s.sed. "How is he going to get married, I should like to know," he asked presently, "if I don't help him? I've told him that the moment he does marry I shall help him no longer. I don't suppose he's got a couple of hundred pounds in the world. He can marry with that, but he can't live on it.

He's not going to live on her money, I suppose."

"No, he's got a job," said Walter calmly.

Again the Squire stared. "Got a job!" he repeated. "What sort of a job?"

"Quite a good one. Agent to John Spence up in Norfolk--the chap who was in his regiment."

The Squire's surprise, and what must be called, in view of his thwarted diplomacy, discomposure, were indicated by his dropped jaw. Walter went on in even tone. "He's to get six hundred a year and a house.

There's a place in Warwicks.h.i.+re too, which he'll have to look after.

He was just going to take quite a small thing in Ireland, but Spence heard he was available and rushed up and booked him. You see, he knows his job well."

Of course he knew his job well. Hadn't the Squire taken a pride ever since he had been the smallest of small boys in initiating him into it?

Hadn't he seen to it that if he learned nothing else during his long and expensive school and university education, he should learn all that could be learnt about the land and the intricacies of estate management? And hadn't he rejoiced in seeing him take kindly to it ever since? He had been quite content to spend the greater part of his leave at home, often working as hard as if he were a paid agent, even taking papers up to London, working at them there, and writing long letters. He had not been content to take a general interest in the property to which he was one day to succeed, riding or walking about the place and leaving details to the agent and the estate staff. Why, it had been possible, ten years before, when the old agent had been superannuated, to dispense with one altogether for six months, n.o.body suitable having come forward; and the present one, Mr. Haydon, was hardly more than a bailiff. And more convincingly still, lately, had the Squire discovered that d.i.c.k knew his job. He thought he knew it himself, but he had been lost without him, and if d.i.c.k continued to keep away from Kencote, he would have to make new arrangements altogether, and get some one in the place of Mr. Haydon to help him.

And now all d.i.c.k's knowledge and experience were to be used to thwart him. It would no longer be available for the benefit of Kencote. That was bad enough in itself, but it was far worse to know that it had made d.i.c.k independent of him and himself powerless. For the first time in this unhappy business he felt an impulse of pure anger against his son.

Hitherto he had been grieved about him, and only angry against others.

Now, as these thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind, he broke out, "That's the most disgraceful thing I've heard of yet. Going to throw the whole place over, is he, and leave me to do the best I can, while he goes and takes service under somebody else? Very well, then. If he is going to throw Kencote over, Kencote will throw him over. I've had as much as I can stand. Now I'll act, and act in a way that will surprise him."

Walter looked up in alarmed surprise. He thought he knew his father, and exactly how far he would go. He had known in discussing matters with d.i.c.k that he would make a fuss, and go on making it, until things were accomplished which would make it useless for him to fuss any further. But he had always taken it for granted that d.i.c.k had the cards in his hand, and that in the long run he must win the game. But this looked as if they had both miscalculated d.i.c.k's hand, and that a trump they had thought to be in his possession was really in his father's.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean," said the Squire boldly, "that if d.i.c.k persists in the course he is taking, I shall make a new will, and I shan't leave him a penny or an acre of land beyond what he gets under the entail."

This was plain enough, but Walter could scarcely believe his ears as he heard it, so entirely subversive was it of all ideas in which he had been brought up. He had never bothered himself much about money. He knew that he would have something by and by, something probably more substantial than the average younger son's portion, that there was, indeed, plenty of money for all of them. But he had taken it for granted, in the same way that he took the daily rise of the sun for granted, that the bulk of it would go with the place--go, that is, to d.i.c.k. And, knowing his father as he did, and the principles that guided him, he could not, even now, believe that he really meant to act in a way so destructive of all Kencote ideals as he had indicated.

"Surely you're not going to break the place up!" he said.

"If d.i.c.k doesn't come to his senses that's what I will do," said the Squire. "And if I once do it I shan't alter it. I shall have the will prepared, and the day d.i.c.k marries this woman I shall sign it. You can tell him that. I'll have nothing more to do with him, directly. He has behaved disgracefully to me, never sending a line for over a month, and letting me know his plans through you. Now you can tell him mine, and you can tell him I'm in earnest." He marched out of the room without further words, leaving Walter with the feeling of a man who has just pa.s.sed through an earthquake.

Late that night when everybody had gone up to bed Walter went into Humphrey's room. They had not had a chance of speaking together before. He told him of what had happened, of what d.i.c.k had told him at Melbury Park, and the Squire that evening downstairs.

Humphrey received the news in silence, and with mixed sensations. "I didn't know d.i.c.k had been with you," he said presently.

"He won't come here," said Walter. "He doesn't say much about the governor, but he's furious with him."

"I'm afraid he's furious with me too," said Humphrey. "And really it's rather unreasonable."

"He didn't say much about you," replied Walter perfunctorily.

"Well, I can't help it. I've done nothing I'm ashamed of, as far as he's concerned. And as for Virginia Dubec, I don't care if he marries her to-morrow."

Walter was busy with his own thoughts. "I say, do you think the governor can really mean it?" he asked.

Humphrey gave rather an unpleasant little laugh. "I hope he does, for our sakes," he said.

Walter looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, I suppose if d.i.c.k doesn't get whatever it is, we shall. I could do with it very well."

Walter eyed him askance. "I never thought of that," he said rather coldly. "I should be very sorry to have d.i.c.k cut out for my sake."

"It's all very well for you," Humphrey said. "You have your job, which you like, and plenty to get on with. And you're married."