The Adventures of Philip

resolutely from under a neat cap and fresh ribbon. Why, I know some women can

  smile, and look at ease, when they sit down in a dentist's chair.

  "Law bless me, Mr. Hunt," then says the artless creature, "who ever would have

  thought of seeing you, I do declare!" And she makes a nice cheery little

  curtsey, and looks quite gay, pleased, and pretty; and so did Judith look gay,

  no doubt, and smile, and prattle before Holofernes; and then of course she said,

  "Won't you step in?" And then Hunt swaggered up the steps of the house, and

  entered the little parlour, into which the kind reader has often been conducted,

  with its neat little ornaments, its pictures, its glistening corner cupboard,

  and its well-scrubbed, shining furniture.

  "How is the captain?" asks the man (alone in the company of this Little Sister,

  the fellow's own heart began to beat, and his bloodshot eyes to glisten).

  He had not heard about poor Pa? "That shows how long you have been away!" Mrs.

  Brandon remarks, and mentions the date of her father's fatal illness. Yes: she

  was alone now, and had to care for herself; and straightway, I have no doubt,

  Mrs. Brandon asked Mr. Hunt whether he would "take" anything. Indeed, that good

  little woman was for ever pressing her friends to "take" something, and would

  have thought the laws of hospitality violated unless she had made this offer.

  Hunt was never known to refuse a proposal of this sort. He would take a taste of

  something??of something warm. He had had fever and ague at New York, and the

  malady hung about him. Mrs. Brandon was straightway very much interested to hear

  about Mr. Hunt's complaint, and knew that a comfortable glass was very

  efficacious in removing threatening fever. Her nimble, neat little hands mixed

  him a cup. He could not but see what a trim little housekeeper she was. "Ah,

  Mrs. Brandon, if I had had such a kind friend watching over me, I should not be

  such a wreck as I am!" he sighed. He must have advanced to a second, nay, a

  third glass, when he sighed and became sentimental regarding his own unhappy

  condition; and Brandon owned to her friends afterwards that she made those

  glasses very strong.

  Having "taken something" in considerable quantities, then, Hunt condescended to

  ask how his hostess was getting on, and how were her lodgers? How she was

  getting on? Brandon drew the most cheerful picture of herself and her

  circumstances. The apartments let well, and were never empty. Thanks to good Dr.

  Goodenough and other friends, she had as much professional occupation as she

  could desire. Since you know who has left the country, she said, her mind had

  been ever so much easier. As long as he was near, she never felt secure. But he

  was gone, and bad luck go with him! said this vindictive Little Sister.

  "Was his son still lodging up-stairs?" asked Mr. Hunt.

  On this, what does Mrs. Brandon do but begin a most angry attack upon Philip and

  his family. He lodge there? No, thank goodness! She had had enough of him and

  his wife, with her airs and graces, and the children crying all night, and the

  furniture spoiled, and the bills not even paid! "I wanted him to think that me

  and Philip was friends no longer; and heaven forgive me for telling stories! I

  know this fellow means no good to Philip; and before long I will know what he

  means, that I will," she vowed.

  For, on the very day when Mr. Hunt paid her a visit, Mrs. Brandon came to see

  Philip's friends, and acquaint them with Hunt's arrival. We could not be sure

  that he was the bearer of the forged bill with which poor Philip was threatened.

  As yet Hunt had made no allusion to it. But, though we are far from sanctioning

  deceit or hypocrisy, we own that we were not very angry with the Little Sister

  for employing dissimulation in the present instance, and inducing Hunt to

  believe that she was by no means an accomplice of Philip. If Philip's wife

  pardoned her, ought his friends to be less forgiving? To do right, you know you

  must not do wrong; though I own this was one of the cases in which I am inclined

  not to deal very hardly with the well-meaning little criminal.

  Now, Charlotte had to pardon (and for this fault, if not for some others,

  Charlotte did most heartily pardon) our little friend, for this reason, that

  Brandon most wantonly maligned her. When Hunt asked what sort of wife Philip had

  married? Mrs. Brandon declared that Mrs. Philip was a pert, odious little thing;

  that she gave herself airs, neglected her children, bullied her husband, and

  what not; and, finally, Brandon vowed that she disliked Charlotte, and was very

  glad to get her out of the house: and that Philip was not the same Philip since

  he married her, and that he gave himself airs, and was rude, and in all things

  led by his wife; and to get rid of them was a good riddance.

  Hunt gracefully suggested that quarrels between landladies and tenants were not

  unusual; that lodgers sometimes did not pay their rent punctually; at others

  were unreasonably anxious about the consumption of their groceries, liquors, and

  so forth; and little Brandon, who, rather than steal a pennyworth from her

  Philip, would have cut her hand off, laughed at her guest's joke, and pretended

  to be amused with his knowing hints that she was a rogue. There was not a word

  he said but she received it with a gracious acquiescence: she might shudder

  inwardly at the leering familiarity of the odious tipsy wretch, but she gave no

  outward sign of disgust or fear. She allowed him to talk as much as he would, in

  hopes that he would come to a subject which deeply interested her. She asked

  about the doctor and what he was doing, and whether it was likely that he would

  ever be able to pay back any of that money which he had taken from his son? And

  she spoke with an indifferent tone, pretending to be very busy over some work at

  which she was stitching.

  "Oh, you are still hankering after him," says the chaplain, winking a bloodshot

  eye.

  "Hankering after that old man! What should I care for him? As if he haven't done

  me harm enough already!" cries poor Caroline.

  "Yes. But women don't dislike a man the worse for a little ill-usage," suggests

  Hunt. No doubt the fellow had made his own experiments on woman's fidelity.

  "Well, I suppose," says Brandon, with a toss of her head, "women may get tired

  as well as men, mayn't they? I found out that man, and wearied of him years and

  years ago. Another little drop out of the green bottle, Mr. Hunt! It's very good

  for ague-fever, and keeps the cold fit off wonderful!"

  And Hunt drank, and he talked a little more??much more: and he gave his opinion

  of the elder Firmin, and spoke of his chances of success, and of his rage for

  speculations, and doubted whether he would ever be able to lift his head

  again??though he might, he might still. He was in the country where, if ever a

  man could retrieve himself, he had a chance. And Philip was giving himself airs,

  was he? He was always an arrogant chap, that Mr. Philip. And he had left her

  house? and was gone ever so long? and where did he live now?

  Then I am sorry to say Mrs. Brandon asked, how should she know where P
hilip

  lived now? She believed it was near Gray's Inn, or Lincoln's Inn, or somewhere;

  and she was for turning the conversation away from this subject altogether: and

  sought to do so by many lively remarks and ingenious little artifices which I

  can imagine, but which she only in part acknowledged to me??for you must know

  that as soon as her visitor took leave??to turn into the "Admiral Byng"

  public-house, and renew acquaintance with the worthies assembled in the parlour

  of that tavern, Mrs. Brandon ran away to a cab, drove in it to Philip's house in

  Milman Street, where only Mrs. Philip was at home??and after a banale

  conversation with her, which puzzled Charlotte not a little, for Brandon would

  not say on what errand she came, and never mentioned Hunt's arrival and visit to

  her??the Little Sister made her way to another cab, and presently made her

  appearance at the house of Philip's friends in Queen Square. And here she

  informed me, how Hunt had arrived, and how she was sure he meant no good to

  Philip, and how she had told certain??certain stories which were not founded in

  fact ??to Mr. Hunt; for the telling of which fibs I am not about to endeavour to

  excuse her.

  Though the interesting clergyman had not said one word regarding that bill of

  which Philip's father had warned him, we believed that the document was in

  Hunt's possession, and that it would be produced in due season. We happened to

  know where Philip dined, and sent him word to come to us.

  "What can he mean?" the people asked at the table ??a bachelors' table at the

  Temple (for Philip's good wife actually encouraged him to go abroad from time to

  time, and make merry with his friends). "What can this mean?" and they read out

  the scrap of paper which he had cast down as he was summoned away.

  Philip's correspondent wrote: "Dear Philip,??I believe the BEARER OF THE

  BOWSTRING has arrived; and has been with the L. S. this very day."

  The L. S???the bearer of the bowstring? Not one of the bachelors dining in

  Parchment Buildings could read the riddle. Only after receiving the scrap of

  paper Philip had jumped up and left the room; and a friend of ours, a sly wag

  and Don Juan of Pump Court, offered to take odds that there was a lady in the

  case.

  At the hasty little council which was convened at our house on the receipt of

  the news, the Little Sister, whose instinct had not betrayed her, was made

  acquainted with the precise nature of the danger which menaced Philip; and

  exhibited a fine hearty wrath when she heard how he proposed to meet the enemy.

  He had a certain sum in hand. He would borrow more of his friends, who knew that

  he was an honest man. This bill he would meet, whatever might come; and avert at

  least this disgrace from his father.

  What? Give in to those rogues? Leave his children to starve, and his poor wife

  to turn drudge and house-servant, who was not fit for anything but a fine lady?

  (There was no love lost, you see, between these two ladies, who both loved Mr.

  Philip). It was a sin and a shame! Mrs. Brandon averred, and declared she

  thought Philip had been a man of more spirit. Philip's friend has before stated

  his own private sentiments regarding the calamity which menaced Firmin. To pay

  this bill was to bring a dozen more down upon him. Philip might as well resist

  now as at a later day. Such, in fact, was the opinion given by the reader's very

  humble servant at command.

  My wife, on the other hand, took Philip's side. She was very much moved at his

  announcement that he would forgive his father this once at least, and endeavour

  to cover his sin.

  "As you hope to be forgiven yourself, dear Philip, I am sure you are doing

  right," Laura said; "I am sure Charlotte will think so."

  "Oh, Charlotte, Charlotte!" interposes the Little Sister, rather peevishly; "of

  course, Mrs. Philip thinks whatever her husband tells her!"

  "In his own time of trial Philip has been met with wonderful succour and

  kindness," Laura urged. "See how one thing after another has contributed to help

  him! When he wanted, there were friends always at his need. If he wants again, I

  am sure my husband and I will share with him." (I may have made a wry face at

  this; for with the best feelings towards a man, and that kind of thing, you know

  it is not always convenient to be lending him five or six hundred pounds without

  security). "My dear husband and I will share with him," goes on Mrs. Laura;

  "won't we, Arthur? Yes, Brandon, that we will. Be sure, Charlotte and the

  children shall not want because Philip covers his father's wrong, and hides it

  from the world! God bless you, dear friend!" and what does this woman do next,

  and before her husband's face? Actually she goes up to Philip; she takes his

  hand??and??Well, what took place before my own eyes, I do not choose to write

  down.

  "She's encouraging him to ruin the children for the sake of that??that wicked

  old brute!" cries Mrs. Brandon. "It's enough to provoke a saint, it is!" And she

  seizes up her bonnet from the table, and claps it on her head, and walks out of

  our room in a little tempest of wrath.

  My wife, clasping her hands, whispers a few words, which say: "Forgive us our

  trespasses, as we forgive them who trespass against us."

  "Yes," says Philip, very much moved. "It is the Divine order. You are right,

  dear Laura. I have had a weary time; and a terrible gloom of doubt and sadness

  over my mind whilst I have been debating this matter, and before I had

  determined to do as you would have me. But a great weight is off my heart since

  I have been enabled to see what my conduct should be. What hundreds of

  struggling men as well as myself have met with losses, and faced them! I will

  pay this bill, and I will warn the drawer to??to spare me for the future."

  Now that the Little Sister had gone away in her fit of indignation, you see I

  was left in a minority in the council of war, and the opposition was quite too

  strong for me. I began to be of the majority's opinion. I daresay I am not the

  only gentleman who has been led round by a woman. We men of great strength of

  mind very frequently are. Yes: my wife convinced me with passages from her

  text-book, admitting of no contradiction according to her judgment, that

  Philip's duty was to forgive his father.

  "And how lucky it was we did not buy the chintzes that day!" says Laura with a

  laugh. "Do you know there were two which were so pretty that Charlotte could not

  make up her mind which of the two she would take?"

  Philip roared out one of his laughs, which made the windows shake. He was in

  great spirits. For a man who was going to ruin himself, he was in the most

  enviable good-humour. Did Charlotte know about this ??this claim which was

  impending over him? No. It might make her anxious,??poor little thing. Philip

  had not told her. He had thought of concealing the matter from her. What need

  was there to disturb her rest, poor innocent child? You see, we all treated Mrs.

  Charlotte more or less like a child. Philip played with her. J. J., the painter,

  coaxed and dandled her, so to speak. The Littl
e Sister loved her, but certainly

  with a love that was not respectful; and Charlotte took everybody's good-will

  with a pleasant meekness and sweet smiling content. It was not for Laura to give

  advice to man and wife (as if the woman was not always giving lectures to Philip

  and his young wife!); but in the present instance she thought Mrs. Philip

  certainly ought to know what Philip's real situation was; what danger was

  menacing; "and how admirable and right, and Christian??and you will have your

  reward for it, dear Philip!" interjects the enthusiastic lady??"your conduct has

  been!"

  When we came, as we straightway did in a cab, to Charlotte's house, to expound

  the matter to her, goodness bless us! she was not shocked, or anxious, or

  frightened at all. Mrs. Brandon had just been with her, and told her of what was

  happening, and she had said, "Of course, Philip ought to help his father; and

  Brandon had gone away quite in a tantrum of anger, and had really been quite

  rude; and she should not pardon her, only she knew how dearly the Little Sister

  loved Philip; and of course they must help Dr. Firmin; and what dreadful,

  dreadful distress he must have been in to do as he did! But he had warned

  Philip, you know," and so forth. "And as for the chintzes, Laura, why I suppose

  we must go on with the old shabby covers. You know, they will do very well till

  next year." This was the way in which Mrs. Charlotte received the news which

  Philip had concealed from her, lest it should terrify her. As if a loving woman

  was ever very much frightened at being called upon to share her husband's

  misfortune!

  As for the little case of forgery, I don't believe the young person could ever

  be got to see the heinous nature of Dr. Firmin's offence. The desperate little

  logician seemed rather to pity the father than the son in the business. "How

  dreadfully pressed he must have been when he did it, poor man!" she said. "To be

  sure, he ought not to have done it at all; but think of his necessity! That is

  what I said to Brandon. Now, there's little Philip's cake in the cupboard which

  you brought him. Now suppose papa was very hungry, and went and took some

  without asking Philly, he wouldn't be so very wrong, I think, would he? A child

  is glad enough to give for his father, isn't he? And when I said this to

  Brandon, she was so rude and violent, I really have no patience with her! And

  she forgets that I am a lady, and" So it appeared the Little Sister had made a

  desperate attempt to bring over Charlotte to her side, was still minded to

  rescue Philip in spite of himself, and had gone off in wrath at her defeat.

  We looked to the doctor's letters, and ascertained the date of the bill. It had

  crossed the water and would be at Philip's door in a very few days. Had Hunt

  brought it? The rascal would have it presented through some regular channel, no

  doubt; and Philip and all of us totted up ways and means, and strove to make the

  slender figures look as big as possible, as the thrifty housewife puts a patch

  here and a darn there, and cuts a little slice out of this old garment, so as to

  make the poor little frock serve for winter wear. We had so much at the

  banker's. A friend might help with a little advance. We would fairly ask a loan

  from the Review. We were in a scrape, but we would meet it. And so with resolute

  hearts, we would prepare to receive the Bearer of the Bowstring.

  CHAPTER IX. THE BEARER OF THE BOWSTRING.

  The poor Little Sister trudged away from Milman Street, exasperated with Philip,

  with Philip's wife, and with the determination of the pair to accept the

  hopeless ruin impending over them. "Three hundred and eighty-six pounds four and

  threepence," she thought, "to pay for that wicked old villain! It is more than

  poor Philip is worth, with all his savings and his little sticks of furniture. I

  know what he will do: he will borrow of the money-lenders, and give those bills,