CHAPTER VII.
GETTING ON IN THE WORLD.
"Mr. Compton wishes to speak with you, Weston," said Mr. Sanders, themanager, to George one morning, during the visit of Mrs. Weston in thecountry.
"Good morning, Weston," said Mr. Compton; "I want to have a few minutes'conversation with you: sit down. You have been in my office now morethan a twelvemonth, and I promised that you should have an increasedsalary at the expiration of that time. Your services have been veryvaluable to me during the past year, and I am in every way satisfiedwith you. As a tangible proof of this, I beg your acceptance of thislittle present," (handing him a ten-pound note,) "and during this yearon which you have entered, I shall have much pleasure in giving you asalary of two guineas a week."
"I am exceedingly obliged to you sir," George stammered out, for he wasflabbergasted at the kindness of his employer; "I hope I may alwayscontinue to do my duty in your office, and deserve your approbation."
"I hope so, too;" said Mr. Compton, "both for your sake and for my own.If you continue as you have begun, there is a fair field before you, andI will advance you as opportunity occurs. Now, apart from business, Iwant one word with you. I kept you purposely last year upon a lowsalary, because I have found that sometimes it is beneficial to youngmen to have only a small income. With your increased salary, you willhave increased means for entering that style of life which is,unfortunately, too universal with young men--I mean the gaieties anddissipations of a London life are now more open to you than they werebefore. But what is termed a 'fast' young man never makes a good clerk,and I do hope you will not allow yourself to fail into habits which willbe obstacles to your future promotion."
"I will endeavour, sir, always to maintain my position in your office,"said George; "and I feel very grateful to you for the interest you takein my personal welfare."
George was in high spirits with his good fortune. He had not expectedmore than a guinea, or at the utmost thirty shillings a week increasefor his second year, and had never dreamt of receiving so handsome apresent as L10. By that night's post he sent off a long letter to hismother, giving her an account of the interview, and of his futureprospects.
But George had different ideas about his future now, to those hecherished a twelvemonth back. Then he thought only of himself and hismother; how happy they would be together, and how much he wouldendeavour to contribute to her enjoyment. Now he congratulated himselfthat he would be upon a footing with his friends, that he could do asthey did, and that he had the means to follow up those recreations whichwere becoming habitual to him. For since Mrs. Weston had been away,George had gone step by step further on unhallowed ground. Even Ashtonsaid, "Weston, you are coming it pretty strong, old fellow!" and Hardyhad declared that he could not keep pace with him. Night after night, ashe had no one at home to claim his presence there, he had been totheatres and other places of amusement. Sunday after Sunday he hadattended the lectures at the Hall of Science, and abandoning himself tothe tide which was hurrying him along, he floated down the dangerousstream.
The principles of infidelity which had been inculcated, appealed to himwith a voice so loud as to drown the appeals from a higher source. Theone approved his conduct, the other condemned it--the one pointed to theworld as a scene of enjoyment, the other as at enmity with God. Georgefelt that if he would hold one he must resign the other. He had not thatmoral courage, or rather he had not the deep-rooted conviction of sin,or the earnest love and fear of God, to enable him to burst through theentanglements of the world and the world's god, and choosing whom hewould serve: he loved darkness rather than light.
When Mrs. Weston returned, after a month's absence, she could not butobserve an alteration in George. Although he never told her of hisattendance at the lectures on Sunday, or the arguments he had had withfriends who held infidel opinions, she soon perceived that George'sfeelings were undergoing a rapid and dangerous change. Those subjects onwhich he was once in the habit of conversing with her, he now carefullyshunned. He was affectionate and kind to his mother still, and loved herwith all his old intense love, but that ingenuous confidence which hehad always reposed in her was gone. Things that were dear to him now hecould not discuss with her; instead of telling her how he spent histime, and what were his amusements, he avoided any mention of them. Thedeception which he first practised on that night when he yielded toAshton's persuasion, was now a system. He reasoned the matter over withhimself: there could be no good in telling her; their opinions weredifferent; he would take his course, independently of hers.
Uncle Brunton noticed the change; for to those who saw him seldom thechange was sudden. But to George, every day there seemed an epoch, andhe was unconscious of the rapidity with which old associations and ideascherished from childhood were thrown down and trampled upon by the newfeelings which had taken possession of him.
"George," said Mr. Brunton to him one day, "I am growing uneasy aboutyou. I feel that I am not the same to you, nor you to me, we used to be,only a few months back. I cannot tell the reason--cannot tell when thedifference commenced or how--but for some months past--ever since yourmother's visit to the country--there has been a want of that oldconfidential, affectionate intercourse between us there used to be."
"I was younger then," said George, "and the freshness of youthfulfeeling and attachment may die away as we advance in years; but I am notaware that I have ever given you occasion to say I do not love yousincerely still, uncle. Your kindness to me never can, and never will beforgotten."
"Well, George, I cannot explain what I mean. I have a kind of feelingabout you that something is wrong which I cannot put into words. I fancythat if I offer you a word of counsel, you do not receive it as you oncedid; if I talk seriously with you, it does not make the same impression,or touch the spring of the same feelings. You do not talk to me with theold frankness and candour which made my heart leap, when I thanked God Ihad got some one in the world to love, and who loved me. But perhaps Iwrong you, and expect too much from you."
"No, not that, uncle. Frankness, candour, and love are due to you, andwhile I have them they shall always be yours; and to prove it, I willtell what I have never told any one before, what I have hardly spoken tomy own heart. I think of the George Weston you brought away from Dr.Seaward's, who stood with you beside a father's deathbed, and who,eighteen months ago, went into Mr. Compton's office; then I think ofGeorge Weston of to-day, and I feel amazed at the change a few years hasmade. I have asked myself a hundred times, am I really the same? Oh,uncle! you do not know what I would give to be that boy again--to liveonce more in that old world of sunshine."
Tears started to George's eyes as he spoke, and Mr. Brunton could onlysqueeze his hand, and say, "God bless you, my boy! God bless you!"
A few days later Mr. Brunton and Mrs. Weston were one whole eveningtogether talking about George. Both hearts were heavy, but Mr. Brunton'swas the lighter of the two.
"I tell you what I think will be the very best thing for you and forGeorge," he said, "It is now the early spring, and the country isbeginning to look fresh and green. Leave this house and take one in thecountry. I think George can easily be made to accede to thisproposition--he was always fond of country life and recreations. He canhave a season ticket on the railway, and come down every night. Thiswill wean him from his associates, and induce him to keep earlier hours,and give us, too, a better opportunity to lure him back to his oldhabits of life."
The arrangements were made. Mrs. Weston, with that loving self-denialwhich only a mother can exercise, gave up the house, and her circle offriends, and took up her residence in the country, about twenty milesfrom London. George was pleased with the change, and acquiesced in allthe plans which were made.
About this time, an event happened of considerable importance in thefamily history. An old relative of Mrs. Weston's, from whom she hadmonetary expectations, died; and upon examination of the will, it wasfound that a legacy had been left her of about three thousand pounds,which was safely invested, and
would bring to her an income of nearly ahundred and fifty pounds a year.
This was a cause of fear and rejoicing to Mrs. Weston--fear, lest itshould be a snare to George, as he would now have the whole of hissalary at his own disposal, there being no longer any necessity for herto share it; rejoicing, that she should be able to give him that startin life which had always been the desire and ambition of Mr. Weston.
A few months' trial of Mr. Brunton's plan for weaning George from theallurements of society in London, by taking a house in the country,proved it to be a failure. For the first month, George went down almostimmediately after leaving business, but it was only for the first month.Gradually it became later and later, until the last train was generallythe one by which he travelled. Then it sometimes occurred that he lostthe last train, and was obliged to stay at an hotel in town for thenight. At length, this occurred so frequently, that sometimes for threenights out of the week he never went home at all. On one of theseoccasions, a party of gentlemen in the commercial room of the hotelwhere he was staying proposed a game of cards, and asked George to makeone at a rubber of whist. George had often played with his own friends,but never before with total strangers. However, without any hesitation,he accepted the invitation, and yielded to the proposition that theyshould play sixpenny points. The game proceeded, rubber after rubber waslost and won, and when George rose from the card-table at a late hour hewas loser to the amount of thirty shillings.
"There is no playing against good cards," said George; "and the run ofluck has been in your favour to-night; but I will challenge you toanother game to-morrow evening, if you will be here?"
The next night George played again, and won back a pound of the moneyhe had lost on the preceding evening. This was encouraging. "One moretrial," said George to himself, "and nobody will catch me card-playingfor money again with strangers." But that one more trial was the worstof all. George lost three pounds! He could ill afford it; as it was hewas living at the very extent of his income, and three pounds was alarge sum. He was obliged to give an I O U for the amount, and in themeantime borrow the sum from one of his friends.
"Hardy, have you got three pounds to lend me?" he asked, next morning;"you shall have it again to-morrow."
"I have not got that sum with me," said Hardy, "but I can get it foryou. Is it pressing?"
"Yes; I had a hand at cards last night, and lost."
"What! with Ashton?"
"No; with some strangers at the hotel where I have hung out for the lastnight or two."
"You shall have that sum early this evening, George; and twice thatamount, if you will make me one promise. I ask it as an old friend, whohas a right to beg a favour. Give up card-playing, don't try to win backwhat you have lost; no good can possibly come of it"
"Is Saul among the prophets?" asked George, with something like asneer.
"No, George Weston: but a looker-on at chess sees more of the game thanthe player; and I have been looking at your last few moves in the gameof life, without taking part with you, and I see you will be checkmatedsoon, if you do not alter your tactics. I can't blame you, nor do I wishto, if I could; but when I first heard you had taken to card playing, Idid feel myself among the prophets then, and prophesied no good wouldcome of it."
"When you first heard of my card playing?" asked George. "When did youhear of it?"
"A few days since. My father came up from the country by a late trainone night, and stayed at the hotel you patronize. There he saw you, andtold me about it."
"Confound it! a fellow can't do a thing, even in this great city,without somebody ferretting it out. But I don't mean to play again. Ihave made a fool of myself too many times already; and it serves meright that I have lost money."
That evening, while George was making his way to the hotel, a lady wasjourneying towards the railway station. An hour later, she was at thehouse of Mrs. Weston, and was shown into the drawing-room.
"I must apologise," said Mrs. Hardy, for it was she, "in calling uponyou at this hour: but I am very anxious to have some conversation withyou."
"It is strange," said Mrs. Weston, "that as our sons have been intimateso long, we should have continued strangers; but I am very delighted tosee you, Mrs. Hardy, for I have heard much of you."
"It is with regard to the intercourse between your son and mine that Ihave called. I do not wish to alarm you; but I feel it right that youshould be in possession of information I have of your son."
Mrs. Hardy then narrated the circumstances connected with her husband'svisit to the hotel on the evening when he found George there cardplaying.
"This evening," she continued, "my son returned home earlier than usual,and went to his drawer, where I saw him take out some money--two orthree sovereigns. I asked him what he was going to do with it, and aftersome difficulty I ascertained he intended lending it to your son. Itoccurred to me at once that George Weston was in trouble with those men;and I thought it only right that you should know."
It was kind of Mrs. Hardy to shew this interest, and Mrs. Westonesteemed her for it. But had they stood beside the table at which Georgewas seated while they were talking, or could they have seen the flush ofexcitement as he threw down the cards, exclaiming, "By Jove! I've lostagain!" and have watched the flashing eye and heaving breast, they wouldhave felt, even more keenly than they did, how futile were words orsympathies to check the evil.