The Adventures of Philip

fellow mean by asking me to such a dinner?" "True," says the other, "it was an

  abominable dinner, Jones, as you justly say; but it was very profuse in him to

  give it. Don't you see?" and so both our good friends are agreed.

  Ere many days were over the great yellow chariot and its powdered attendants

  again made their appearance before Mrs. Brandon's modest door in Thornhaugh

  Street, and Lady Ringwood and two daughters descended from the carriage and made

  their way to Mr. Philip's apartments in the second floor, just as that worthy

  gentleman was sitting down to dinner with his wife. Lady Ringwood, bent upon

  being gracious, was in ecstasies with everythings he saw??a clean house??a nice

  little maid??pretty picturesque rooms??odd rooms ??and what charming pictures!

  Several of these were the work of the fond pencil of poor J. J., who, as has

  been told, had painted Philip's beard and Charlotte's eyebrow, and Charlotte's

  baby a thousand and a thousand times. "May we come in? Are we disturbing you?

  What dear little bits of china! What a beautiful mug, Mr. Firmin!" This was poor

  J. J.'s present to his goddaughter. "How nice the luncheon looks! Dinner is it?

  How pleasant to dine at this hour!" The ladies were determined to be charmed

  with everything round about them.

  "We are dining on your poultry. May we offer some to you and Miss Ringwood,"

  says the master of the house.

  "Why don't you dine in the dining-room? Why do you dine in a bedroom?" asks

  Franklin Ringwood, the interesting young son of the Baron of Ringwood.

  "Somebody else lives in the parlour," says Mrs. Philip. On which the boy

  remarks, "We have two dining-rooms in Berkeley Square. I mean for us, besides

  papa's study, which I mustn't go into. And the servants have two dining-rooms

  and??"

  "Hush!" here cries mamma, with the usual remark regarding the beauty of silence

  in little boys.

  But Franklin persists, in spite of the "Hushes:" "And so we have at Ringwood;

  and at Whipham there's ever so many dining-rooms??ever so many??and I like

  Whipham a great deal better than Ringwood, because my pony is at Whipham. You

  have not got a pony. You are too poor."

  "Franklin!"

  "You said he was too poor; and you would not have had chickens if we had not

  given them to you. Mamma, you know you said they were very poor, and would like

  them."

  And here mamma looked red, and I daresay Philip's cheeks and ears tingled, and

  for once Mrs. Philip was thankful at hearing her baby cry, for it gave her a

  pretext for leaving the room and flying to the nursery, whither the other two

  ladies accompanied her.

  Meanwhile Master Franklin went on with his artless conversation. "Mr. Philip,

  why do they say you are wicked? You do not look wicked; and I am sure Mrs.

  Philip does not look wicked??she looks very good."

  "Who says I am wicked?" asks Mr. Firmin of his candid young relative.

  "Oh, ever so many! Cousin Ringwood says so; and Blanche says so; and Woolcomb

  says so; only I don't like him, he's so very brown. And when they heard you had

  been to dinner, 'Has that beast been here?' Ringwood says. And I don't like him

  a bit. But I like you, at least I think I do. You only have oranges for dessert.

  We always have lots of things for dessert at home. You don't, I suppose, because

  you've got no money??only a very little."

  "Well: I have got only a very little," says Philip.

  "I have some??ever so much. And I'll buy something for your wife; and I shall

  like to have you better at home than Blanche, and Ringwood, and that Woolcomb;

  and they never give me anything. You can't, you know; because you are so very

  poor??you are; but we'll often send you things, I daresay. And I'll have an

  orange, please, thank you. And there's a chap at our school, and his name is

  Suckling, and he ate eighteen oranges, and wouldn't give one away to anybody.

  Wasn't he a greedy pig? And I have wine with my oranges??I do: a glass of

  wine??thank you. That's jolly. But you don't have it often, I suppose, because

  you're so very poor."

  I am glad Philip's infant could not understand, being yet of too tender age, the

  compliments which Lady Ringwood and her daughter passed upon her. As it was, the

  compliments charmed the mother, for whom indeed they were intended, and did not

  inflame the unconscious baby's vanity.

  "What would the polite mamma and sister have said, if they had heard that

  unlucky Franklin's prattle?" The boy's simplicity amused his tall cousin. "Yes,"

  says Philip, "we are very poor, but we are very happy, and don't mind??that's

  the truth."

  "Mademoiselle, that's the German governess, said she wondered how you could live

  at all; and I don't think you could if you ate as much as she did. You should

  see her eat; she is such a oner at eating. Fred, my brother, that's the one who

  is at college, one day tried to see how Mademoiselle Wallfisch could eat, and

  she had twice of soup, and then she said sivoplay; and then twice of fish, and

  she said sivoplay for more: and then she had roast mutton??no, I think, roast

  beef it was; and she eats the pease with her knife: and then she had raspberry

  jam pudding, and ever so much beer, and then??" But what came then we never

  shall know; because while young Franklin was choking with laughter (accompanied

  with a large piece of orange) at the ridiculous recollection of Miss Wallfisch's

  appetite, his mamma and sister came downstairs from Charlotte's nursery, and

  brought the dear boy's conversation to an end. The ladies chose to go home,

  delighted with Philip, baby, Charlotte. Everything was so proper. Everything was

  so nice. Mrs. Firmin was so ladylike. The fine ladies watched her, and her

  behaviour, with that curiosity which the Brobdingnag ladies displayed when they

  held up little Gulliver on their palms, and saw him bow, smile, dance, draw his

  sword, and take off his hat, just like a man.

  CHAPTER VII. IN WHICH THE DRAWING ROOMS ARE NOT FURNISHED AFTER ALL.

  We cannot expect to be loved by a relative whom we have knocked into an

  illuminated pond, and whose coattails, pantaloons, nether limbs, and best

  feelings, we have lacerated with ill-treatment and broken glass. A man whom you

  have so treated behind his back will not be sparing of his punishment behind

  yours. Of course all the Twysdens, male and female, and Woolcomb, the dusky

  husband of Philip's former love, hated and feared, and maligned him; and were in

  the habit of speaking of him as a truculent and reckless savage and monster,

  coarse and brutal in his language and behaviour, ragged, dirty and reckless in

  his personal appearance; reeking with smoke, perpetually reeling in drink,

  indulging in oaths, actions, laughter which rendered him intolerable in

  civilized society. The Twysdens, during Philip's absence abroad, had been very

  respectful and assiduous in courting the new head of the Ringwood family. They

  had flattered Sir John, and paid court to my lady. They had been welcomed at Sir

  John's houses in town and country. They had adopted his politics in a great

  measure, as they had adopted the politics of the deceased peer.
They had never

  lost an opportunity of abusing poor Philip and of ingratiating themselves. They

  had never refused any invitation from Sir John in town or country, and had ended

  by utterly boring him and Lady Ringwood and the Ringwood family in general. Lady

  Ringwood learned somewhere how pitilessly Mrs. Woolcomb had jilted her cousin

  when a richer suitor appeared in the person of the West Indian. Then news came

  how Philip had administered a beating to Woolcomb, to young Twysden, to a dozen

  who set on him. The early prejudices began to pass away. A friend or two of

  Philip's told Ringwood how he was mistaken in the young man, and painted a

  portrait of him in colours much more favourable than those which his kinsfolk

  employed. Indeed, dear relations, if the public wants to know our little faults

  and errors, I think I know who will not grudge the requisite information. Dear

  Aunt Candour, are you not still alive, and don't you know what we had for dinner

  yesterday, and the amount (monstrous extravagance!) of the washerwoman's bill?

  Well, the Twysden family so bespattered poor Philip with abuse, and represented

  him as a monster of such hideous mien, that no wonder the Ringwoods avoided him.

  They then began to grow utterly sick and tired of his detractors. And then Sir

  John, happening to talk with his brother Member of Parliament, Tregarvan, in the

  House of Commons, heard quite a different story regarding our friend to that

  with which the Twysdens had regaled him, and, with no little surprise on Sir

  John's part, was told by Tregarvan how honest, rough, worthy, affectionate and

  gentle this poor maligned fellow was; how he had been sinned against by his

  wretch of a father, whom he had forgiven and actually helped out of his wretched

  means; and how he was making a brave battle against poverty, and had a sweet

  little loving wife and child, whom every kind heart would willingly strive to

  help. Because people are rich they are not of necessity ogres. Because they are

  born gentlemen and ladies of good degree, are in easy circumstances, and have a

  generous education, it does not follow that they are heartless and will turn

  their back on a friend. Moi qui vous parle??I have been in a great strait of

  sickness near to death, and the friends who came to help me with every comfort,

  succour, sympathy, were actually gentlemen, who lived in good houses, and had a

  good education. They didn't turn away because I was sick, or fly from me because

  they thought I was poor; on the contrary, hand, purse, succour, sympathy were

  ready, and praise be to heaven. And so too did Philip find help when he needed

  it, and succour when he was in poverty. Tregarvan, we will own, was a pompous

  little man, his House of Commons speeches were dull, and his written documents

  awfully slow; but he had a kind heart: he was touched by that picture which

  Laura drew of the young man's poverty, and honesty, and simple hopefulness in

  the midst of hard times: and we have seen how the European Review was thus

  entrusted to Mr. Philip's management. Then some artful friends of Philip's

  determined that he should be reconciled to his relations, who were well to do in

  the world, and might serve him. And I wish, dear reader, that your respectable

  relatives and mine would bear this little paragraph in mind and leave us both

  handsome legacies. Then Tregarvan spoke to Sir John Ringwood, and that meeting

  was brought about, where, for once at least, Mr. Philip quarrelled with nobody.

  And now came another little piece of good luck, which, I suppose, must be

  attributed to the same kind friend who had been scheming for Philip's benefit,

  and who is never so happy as when her little plots for her friend's benefit can

  be made to succeed. Yes: when that arch jobber??don't tell me;??I never knew a

  woman worth a pin who wasn't??when that archjobber, I say, has achieved a job by

  which some friend is made happy, her eyes and cheeks brighten with triumph.

  Whether she has put a sick man into a hospital, or got a poor woman a family's

  washing, or made a sinner repent and return to wife, husband, or what not, that

  woman goes off and pays her thanks, where thanks are due, with such fervour,

  with such lightsomeness, with such happiness, that I assure you she is a sight

  to behold. Hush! When one sinner is saved, who are glad? Some of us know a woman

  or two pure as angels??know, and are thankful.

  When the person about whom I have been prattling has one of her benevolent jobs

  in hand, or has completed it, there is a sort of triumph and mischief in her

  manner, which I don't know otherwise how to describe. She does not understand my

  best jokes at this period, or answers them at random, or laughs very absurdly

  and vacantly. She embraces her children wildly, and, at the most absurd moments,

  is utterly unmindful when they are saying their lessons, prattling their little

  questions, and so forth. I recal all these symptoms (and put this and that

  together, as the saying is) as happening on one especial day, at the

  commencement of Easter Term, eighteen hundred and never mind what??as happening

  on one especial morning when this lady had been astoundingly distraite and

  curiously excited. I now remember, how during her children's dinner-time, she

  sat looking into the square out of her window, and scarcely attending to the

  little innocent cries for mutton which the children were offering up.

  At last there was a rapid clank over the pavement, a tall figure passed the

  parlour windows, which, our kind friends know, look into Queen Square, and then

  came a loud ring at the bell, and I thought the mistress of the house gave an

  ah??a sigh??as though her heart was relieved.

  The street door was presently opened, and then the dining-room door, and Philip

  walks in with his hat on, his blue eyes staring before him, his hair flaming

  about, and "La, uncle Philip!" cry the children. "What have you done to

  yourself? You have shaved off your moustache." And so he had, I declare!

  "I say, Pen, look here! This has been left at chambers; and Cassidy has sent it

  on by his clerk," our friend said. I forget whether it has been stated that

  Philip's name still remained on the door of those chambers in Parchment

  Buildings, where we once heard his song of "Doctor Luther," and were present at

  his call-supper.

  The document which Philip produced was actually a brief. The papers were

  superscribed, "In Parliament, Polwheedle and Tredyddlum Railway. To support

  bill, Mr. Firmin; retainer, five guineas; brief, fifty guineas; consultation,

  five guineas. With you Mr. Armstrong, Sir J. Whitworth, Mr. Pinkerton." Here was

  a wonder of wonders! A shower of gold was poured out on my friend. A light

  dawned upon me. The proposed bill was for a Cornish line. Our friend Tregarvan

  was concerned in it, the line passing through his property, and my wife had

  canvassed him privately, and by her wheedling and blandishments had persuaded

  Tregarvan to use his interest with the agents and get Philip this welcome aid.

  Philip eyed the paper with a queer expression. He handled it as some men handle

  a baby. He looked as if he did not know what to do with it, and as
if he should

  like to drop it. I believe I made some satirical remark to this effect as I

  looked at our friend with his paper.

  "He holds a child beautifully," said my wife with much enthusiasm; "much better

  than some people who laugh at him."

  "And he will hold this no doubt much to his credit. May this be the father of

  many briefs. May you have bags full of them!" Philip had all our good wishes.

  They did not cost much, or avail much, but they were sincere. I know men who

  can't for the lives of them give even that cheap coin of good will, but hate

  their neighbours' prosperity, and are angry with them when they cease to be

  dependent and poor.

  We have said how Cassidy's astonished clerk had brought the brief from chambers

  to Firmin at his lodgings at Mrs. Brandon's in Thornhaugh Street. Had a bailiff

  served him with a writ, Philip could not have been more surprised, or in a

  greater tremor. A brief? Grands Dieux! What was he to do with a brief? He

  thought of going to bed, and being ill, of flying from home, country, family.

  Brief? Charlotte, of course, seeing her husband alarmed, began to quake too.

  Indeed, if his worship's finger aches, does not her whole body suffer? But

  Charlotte's and Philip's constant friend, the Little Sister, felt no such fear.

  "Now there's this opening, you must take it, my dear," she said. "Suppose you

  don't know much about law??" "Much! nothing," interposed Philip. "You might ask

  me to play the piano; but as I never happened to have learned??"

  "La??don't tell me! You mustn't show a faint heart. Take the business, and do it

  best you can. You'll do it better next time, and next. The Bar's a gentleman's

  business. Don't I attend a judge's lady, which I remember her with her first in

  a little bit of a house in Bernard Street, Russell Square; and now haven't I

  been to her in Eaton Square, with a butler, and two footmen, and carriages ever

  so many? You may work on at your newspapers, and get a crust, and when you're

  old, and if you quarrel??and you have a knack of quarrelling??he has, Mrs.

  Firmin. I knew him before you did. Quarrelsome he is, and he will be, though you

  think him an angel, to be sure.??Suppose you quarrel with your newspaper

  masters, and your reviews, and that, you lose your place? A gentleman like Mr.

  Philip oughtn't to have a master. I couldn't bear to think of your going down of

  a Saturday to the publishing office to get your wages like a workman."

  "But I am a workman," interposes Philip.

  "La! But do you mean to remain one for ever? I would rise, if I was a man!" said

  the intrepid little woman; "I would rise, or I'd know the reason why. Who knows

  how many in family you're going to be? I'd have more spirit than to live in a

  second floor??I would!"

  And the Little Sister said this, though she clung round Philip's child with a

  rapture of fondness which she tried in vain to conceal; though she felt that to

  part from it would be to part from her life's chief happiness; though she loved

  Philip as her own son: and Charlotte ??well, Charlotte for Philip's sake??as

  women love other women.

  Charlotte came to her friends in Queen Square, and told us of the resolute

  Little Sister's advice and conversation. She knew that Mrs. Brandon only loved

  her as something belonging to Philip. She admired this Little Sister; and

  trusted her; and could afford to bear that little somewhat scornful domination

  which Brandon exercised. "She does not love me, because Philip does," Charlotte

  said. "Do you think I could like her, or any woman, if I thought Philip loved

  them? I could kill them, Laura, that I could!" And at this sentiment I imagine

  daggers shooting out of a pair of eyes that were ordinarily very gentle and

  bright.

  Not having been engaged in the case in which Philip had the honour of first

  appearing, I cannot enter into particulars regarding it, but am sure that case