CHAPTER XII.
A SERIOUS QUESTION.
MRS ATHELING has been calling upon Miss Willsie, partly to intercede for Hannah, the pretty maid, partly on a neighbourly errand of ordinary gossip and kindliness; but in decided excitement and agitation of mind Mamma has come home. It is easy to perceive this as she hurries up-stairs to take off her shawl and bonnet; very easy to notice the fact, as, absent and preoccupied, she comes down again. Bell and Beau are in the kitchen, and the kitchen-door is open. Bell has Susan’s cat, who is very like to scratch her, hugged close in her chubby arms. Beau hovers so near the fire, on which there is no guard, that his mother would think him doomed did she see him; but—it is true, although it is almost unbelievable—Mamma actually passes the open kitchen-door without observing either Bell or Beau!
The apples of her eye! Mrs Atheling has surely something very important to occupy her thoughts; and now she takes her usual chair, but does not attempt to find her work-basket. What can possibly have happened to Mamma?
The girls have not to wait very long in uncertainty. The good mother speaks, though she does not distinctly address either of them. “They want a lad like Charlie in Mr Foggo’s office,” said Mrs Atheling. “I knew that, and that Charlie could have the place; but they also want an articled clerk.”
“An articled clerk!—what is that, mamma?” said Agnes, eagerly.
To tell the truth, Mrs Atheling did not very well know what it was, but she knew it was “something superior,” and that was enough for her motherly ambition.
“Well, my dear, it is a gentleman,” said Mrs Atheling, “and of course there must be far greater opportunities of learning. It is a superior thing altogether, I believe. Now, being such old friends, I should think Mr Foggo might get them to take a very small premium. Such a thing for Charlie! I am sure we could all pinch for a year or two to give him a beginning like that!”
“Would it be much better, mamma?” said Marian. They had left what they were doing to come closer about her, pursuing their eager interrogations. Marian sat down upon a stool on the rug where the fire-light brightened her hair and reddened her cheek at its pleasure. Agnes stood on the opposite side of the hearth, looking down upon the other interlocutors. They were impatient to hear all that Mrs Atheling had heard, and perfectly ready to jump to an unanimous opinion.
“Better, my dear!” said Mrs Atheling—“just as much better as a young man learning to be a master can be better than one who is only a servant. Then, you know, it would give Charlie standing, and get him friends of a higher class. I think it would be positively a sin to neglect such an opportunity; we might never all our lives hear of anything like it again.”
“And how did you hear of it, mamma?” said Marian. Marian had quite a genius for asking questions.
“I heard of it from Miss Willsie, my love. It was entirely by accident. She was telling me of an articled pupil they had at the office, who had gone all wrong, poor fellow, in consequence of——; but I can tell you that another time. And then she said they wanted one now, and then it flashed upon me just like an inspiration. I was quite agitated. I do really declare to you, girls, I thought it was Providence; and I believe, if we only were bold enough to do it in faith, God would provide the means; and I feel sure it would be the making of Charlie. I think so indeed.”
“I wonder what he would say himself?” said Agnes; for not even Mrs Atheling knew so well as Agnes did the immovable determination, when he had settled upon anything, of this obstinate big boy.
“We will speak of it to-night, and see what your papa says, and I would not mind even mentioning it to Mr Foggo,” said Mrs Atheling: “we have not very much to spare, yet I think we could all spare something for Charlie’s sake; we must have it fully discussed to-night.”
This made, for the time, a conclusion of the subject, since Mrs Atheling, having unburthened her mind to her daughters, immediately discovered the absence of the children, rebuked the girls for suffering them to stray, and set out to bring them back without delay. Marian sat musing before the fire, scorching her pretty cheek with the greatest equanimity. Agnes threw herself into Papa’s easy-chair. Both hurried off immediately into delightful speculations touching Charlie—a lawyer and a gentleman; and already in their secret hearts both of these rash girls began to entertain the utmost contempt for the commonplace name of clerk.
We are afraid Mr Atheling’s tea was made very hurriedly that night. He could not get peace to finish his third cup, that excellent papa: they persecuted him out of his ordinary play with Bell and Beau; his invariable study of the newspaper. He could by no means make out the cause of the commotion. “Not another story finished already, Agnes?” said the perplexed head of the house. He began to think it would be something rather alarming if they succeeded each other like this.
“Now, my dears, sit down, and do not make a noise with your work, I beg of you. I have something to say to your papa,” said Mrs Atheling, with state and solemnity.
Whereupon Papa involuntarily put himself on his defence; he had not the slightest idea what could be amiss, but he recognised the gravity of the preamble. “What is the matter, Mary?” cried poor Mr Atheling. He could not tell what he had done to deserve this.
“My dear, I want to speak about Charlie,” said Mrs Atheling, becoming now less dignified, and showing a little agitation. “I went to call on Miss Willsie to-day, partly about Hannah, partly for other things; and Miss Willsie told me, William, that besides the youth’s place which we thought would do for Charlie, there was in Mr Foggo’s office a vacancy for an articled clerk.”
Mrs Atheling paused, out of breath. She did not often make long speeches, nor had she frequently before originated and led a great movement like this, so she showed fully as much excitement as the occasion required. Papa listened with composure and a little surprise, relieved to find that he was not on his trial. Charlie pricked his big red ears, as he sat at his grammar, but made no other sign; while the girls, altogether suspending their work, drew their chairs closer, and with a kindred excitement eagerly followed every word and gesture of Mamma.
“And you must see, William,” said Mrs Atheling, rapidly, “what a great advantage it would be to Charlie, if he could enter the office like a gentleman. Of course, I know he would get no salary; but we could go on very well for a year or two as we are doing—quite as well as before, certainly; and I have no doubt Mr Foggo could persuade them to be content with a very small premium; and then think of the advantage to Charlie, my dear!”
“Premium! no salary!—get on for a year or two! Are you dreaming, Mary?” exclaimed Mr Atheling. “Why, this is a perfect craze, my dear. Charlie an articled clerk in Foggo’s office! it is pure nonsense. You don’t mean to say such a thought has ever taken possession of you. I could understand the girls, if it was their notion—but, Mary! you!”
“And why not me?” said Mamma, somewhat angry for the moment. “Who is so anxious as me for my boy? I know what our income is, and what it can do exactly to a penny, William—a great deal better than you do, my dear; and of course it would be my business to draw in our expenses accordingly; and the girls would give up anything for Charlie’s sake. And then, except Beau, who is so little, and will not want anything much done for him for many a year—he is our only boy, William. It was not always so,” said the good mother, checking a great sob which had nearly stopped her voice—“it was not always so—but there is only Charlie left of all of them; and except little Beau, the son of our old age, he is our only boy!”
She paused now, because she could not help it; and for the same reason her husband was very slow to answer. All-prevailing was this woman’s argument; it was very near impossible to say the gentlest Nay to anything thus pleaded in the name of the dead.
“But, my dear, we cannot do it,” said Mr Atheling very quietly. The good man would have given his right hand at that moment to be able to procure this pleasure for the faithful mother of those fair boys who were in heaven.
“We could do it if we tried, William,” said Mrs Atheling, recovering herself slowly. Her husband shook his head, pondered, shook his head again.
“It would be injustice to the other children,” he said at last. “We could not keep Charlie like a gentleman without injuring the rest. I am surprised you do not think of that.”
“But the rest of us are glad to be injured,” cried Agnes, coming to her mother’s aid; “and then I may have something by-and-by, and Charlie could get on so much better. I am sure you must see all the advantages, papa.”
“And we can’t be injured either, for we shall just be as we are,” said Marian, “only a little more economical; and I am sure, papa, if it is so great a virtue to be thrifty, as you and Mr Foggo say, you ought to be more anxious than we are about this for Charlie; and you would, if you carried out your principles—and you must submit. I know we shall succeed at last.”
“If it is a conspiracy, I give in,” said Mr Atheling. “Of course you must mulct yourselves if you have made up your minds to it. I protest against suffering your thrift myself, and I won’t have any more economy in respect to Bell and Beau. But do your will, Mary—I don’t interfere. A conspiracy is too much for me.”
“Mother!” said Charlie—all this time there had been nothing visible of the big boy, except the aforesaid red ears; now he put down his grammar and came forward, with some invisible wind working much among the furrows of his brow—“just hear what I’ve got to say. This won’t do—I’m not a gentleman, you know; what’s the good of making me like one?—of course I mean,” said Charlie, somewhat hotly, in a parenthesis, as Agnes’s eyes flashed upon him, “not a gentleman, so far as being idle and having plenty of money goes;—I’ve got to work for my bread. Suppose I was articled, at the end of my time I should have to work for my bread all the same. What is the difference? It’s only making a sham for two years, or three years, or whatever the time might be. I don’t want to go against what anybody says, but you wouldn’t make a sham of me, would you, mother? Let me go in my proper place—like what I’ll have to be, all my life; then if I rise you will be pleased; and if I don’t rise, still nobody will be able to say I have come down. I can’t be like a gentleman’s son, doing nothing. Let me be myself, mother—the best thing for me.”
Charlie said scarcely any more that night, though much was said on every side around; but Charlie was the conqueror.