He looks at me askance, and shies away from conversation with me.Let me alone for noticing and feeling this kind of thing.It's this very susceptibility to outward things that gives me what faculty I have; and it seems to me as if my bread, and my wife's too, were to depend upon it.You'll soon see for yourself the terms which I am on with my father!' Roger did soon see.His father had slipped into a habit of silence at meal times - a habit which Osborne, who was troubled and anxious enough for his own part, had not striven to break.Father and son sate together, and exchanged all the necessary speeches connected with the occasion civilly enough; but it was a relief to them when their intercourse was over, and they separated - the father to brood over his sorrow and his disappointment, which were real and deep enough, and the injury he had received from his boy, which was exaggerated in his mind by his ignorance of the actual steps Osborne had taken to raise money.If the money-lenders had calculated the chances of his father's life or death in making their bargain, Osborne himself had thought only of how soon and how easily lie could get the money requisite for clearing him from all imperious claims at Cambridge, and for enabling him to follow Aimée to her home in Alsace, and for the subsequent marriage.As yet, Roger had never seen his brother's wife;indeed, he had only been taken into Osborne's full confidence after all was decided in which his advice could have been useful.And now, in the enforced separation, Osborne's whole thought, both the poetical and practical sides of his mind, ran upon the little wife who was passing her lonely days in farmhouse lodgings, wondering when her bridegroom husband would come to her next.With such an engrossing subject it was, perhaps, no wonder that he unconsciously neglected his father; but it was none the less sad at the time, and to be regretted in its consequences.'I may come in and have a pipe with you, sir, mayn't I?' said Roger, that first evening, pushing gently against the study-door, which his father held only half open.'You'll not like it,' said the squire, still holding the door against him, but speaking in a relenting tone.'The tobacco I use isn't what young men like.Better go and have a cigar with Osborne.' 'No.I want to sit with you, and I can stand pretty strong tobacco.' Roger pushed in, the resistance slowly giving way before him.'It will make your clothes smell.You'll have to borrow Osborne's scents to sweeten yourself,' said the squire, grimly, at the same time pushing a short smart amber-mouthed pipe to his son.'No; I'll have a churchwarden.Why, father, do you think I'm a baby to put up with a doll's head like this?' looking at the carving upon it.The squire was pleased in his heart, though he did not choose to show it.
He only said, 'Osborne brought it me when he came back from Germany.That's three years ago.' And then for some time they smoked in silence.But the voluntary companionship of his son was very soothing to the squire, though not a word might be said.The next speech he made showed the direction of his thoughts; indeed his words were always a transparent medium through which the current might be seen.'A deal of a man's life comes and goes in three years - I've found that out.' And he puffed away at his pipe again.While Roger was turning over in his mind what answer to make to this truism, the squire again stopped his smoking and spoke.'I remember when there was all that fuss about the Prince of Wales being made Regent, I read somewhere - I daresay it was in a newspaper - that kings and their heirs-apparent were always on bad terms.Osborne was quite a little chap then: he used to go out riding with me on White Surrey; you won't remember the pony we called White Surrey?' 'I remember it; but I thought it a tall horse in those days.' 'Ah! that was because you were such a small lad, you know.I had seven horses in the stable then - not counting the farm-horses.I don't recollect having a care then, except - she was always delicate, you know.
But what a beautiful boy Osborne was! He was always dressed in black velvet - it was a foppery, but it wasn't my doing, and it was all right, I'm sure.
He's a handsome fellow now, but the sunshine has gone out of his face.' 'He's a good deal troubled about this money, and the anxiety he has given you,' said Roger, rather taking his brother's feelings for granted.'Not he,' said the squire, taking the pipe out of his mouth, and hitting the bowl so sharply against the hob that it broke in pieces.'There! But never mind! I say, not he, Roger! He's none troubled about the money.It's easy getting money from Jews if you're the eldest son, and the heir.They just ask, "How old is your father, and has he had a stroke, or a fit?"and it's settled out of hand, and then they come prowling about a place, and running down the timber and land -- Don't let us speak of him; it's no good, Roger.He and I are out of tune, and it seems to me as if only God Almighty could put us to rights.It's thinking of how he grieved her at last that makes me so bitter with him.And yet there's a deal of good in him! and he's so quick and clever, if only he'd give his mind to things.
Now, you were always slow, Roger - all your masters used to say so.' Roger laughed a little, - 'Yes; I'd many a nickname at school for my slowness,' said he.'Never mind!' said the squire, consolingly.'I'm sure I don't.If you were a clever fellow like Osborne yonder, you'd be all for caring for books and writing, and you'd perhaps find it as dull as he does to keep company with a bumpkin-Squire Jones like me.Yet I daresay they think a deal of you at Cambridge,' said he, after a pause, 'since you've got this fine wranglership; I'd nearly forgotten that - the news came at such a miserable time.' 'Well, yes! They're always proud of the senior wrangler of the year up at Cambridge.Next year I must abdicate.' The squire sate and gazed into the embers, still holding his useless pipe-stem.
At last he said, in a low voice, as if scarcely aware he had got a listener, - 'I used to write to her when she was away in London, and tell her the home news.But no letter will reach her now! Nothing reaches her!' Roger started up.'Where's the tobacco-box, father? Let me fill you another pipe!' and when he had done so, he stooped over his father and stroked his cheek.The squire shook his head.'You've only just come home, lad.You don't know me, as I am now-a-days!
Ask Robinson - I won't have you asking Osborne, he ought to keep it to himself - but any of the servants will tell you I'm not like the same man for getting into passions with them.I used to be reckoned a good master, but that is past now! Osborne was once a little boy, and she was once alive - and I was once a good master - a good master - yes! It is all past now.' He took up his pipe, and began to smoke afresh, and Roger, after a silence of some minutes, began a long story about some Cambridge man's misadventure on the hunting-field, telling it with such humour that the squire was beguiled into hearty laughing.When they rose to go to bed, his father said to Roger, - 'Well, we've had a pleasant evening - at least, I have.But perhaps you have not; for I'm but poor company now, know.' 'I don't know when I've passed a happier evening, father,' said Roger.
And he spoke truly, though he did not trouble himself to find out the cause of his happiness.
