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Clive And Ethel Newcome
by
Hobson Newcome, Esquire, was more portly than his elder brother, and allowed his red whiskers to grow on his cheeks and under his chin. He wore thick shoes with nails in them, and affected the country gentleman in his appearance. His hat had a broad brim, and his ample pockets always contained agricultural produce, samples of bean or corn, or a whiplash or balls for horses. In fine, he was a good old country gentleman, and a better man of business than his more solemn brother, at whom he laughed in his jocular way; and said rightly that a gentleman must get up very early to get ahead of him.
These gentlemen each received the Colonel in a manner consistent with his peculiar nature. Sir Bryan regretted that Lady Ann was away from London, being at Brighton with the children, who were all ill of the measles. Hobson said, “Maria can’t treat you to such good company as Lady Ann could give you; but when will you take a day and come and dine with us? Let’s see, to-day is Wednesday; to-morrow we are engaged. Friday, we dine at Judge Budge’s; Saturday I am going down to Marblehead to look after the hay. Come on Monday, Tom, and I’ll introduce you to the missus and the young uns.”
“I will bring Clive,” says Colonel Newcome, rather disturbed at this reception. “After his illness my sister-in-law was very kind to him.”
“No, hang it, don’t bring boys; there’s no good in boys; they stop the talk downstairs, and the ladies don’t want ’em in the drawing-room. Send him to dine with the children on Sunday, if you like, and come along down with me to Marblehead, and I’ll show you such a crop of hay as will make your eyes open. Are you fond of farming?”
“I have not seen my boy for years,” says the Colonel; “I had rather pass Saturday and Sunday with him, if you please, and some day we will go to Marblehead together.”
“Well, an offer’s an offer. I don’t know any pleasanter thing than getting out of this confounded city and smelling the hedges, and looking at the crops coming up, and passing the Sunday in quiet.” And his own tastes being thus agricultural, the worthy gentleman thought that everybody else must delight in the same recreation.
“In the winter, I hope, we shall see you at Newcome,” says the elder brother, blandly smiling. “I can’t give you any tiger-shooting, but I’ll promise you that you shall find plenty of pheasants in our jungle,” and he laughed very gently at this mild sally.
At this moment a fair-haired young gentleman, languid and pale, and dressed in the height of fashion, made his appearance and was introduced as the Baronet’s oldest son, Barnes Newcome. He returned Colonel Newcome’s greeting with a smile, saying, “Very happy to see you, I am sure. You find London very much changed since you were here? Very good time to come, the very full of the season.”
Poor Thomas Newcome was quite abashed by his strange reception. Here was a man, hungry for affection, and one relation asked him to dinner next Monday, and another invited him to shoot pheasants at Christmas. Here was a beardless young sprig, who patronised him and asked him whether he found London was changed. As soon as possible he ended the interview with his step-brothers, and drove back to Ludgate Hill, where he dismissed his cab and walked across the muddy pavements of Smithfield, on his way back to the old school where his son was, a way which he had trodden many a time in his own early days. There was Cistercian Street, and the Red Cow of his youth; there was the quaint old Grey Friars Square, with its blackened trees and garden, surrounded by ancient houses of the build of the last century, now slumbering like pensioners in the sunshine.