He that will not when he may; vol. IOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
He that will not when he may; vol. I
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction
“This is the man you brought to my house--in my absence,” said Sir
William, “imposing upon your mother. I suppose the well-known”--(he was
going to say demagogue, but paused, after looking at the person in
question)--“orator and leader of Trades Unions----”
“Yes, that is I,” said the master of the shop. “I am quite ready to
answer any question on my own account. But I beg your pardon, whoever
you may be. Markham did not impose upon his mother, nor did I. He
introduced me as his friend, and I lost no time in telling the lady that
I was a working man. Lady Markham has the manners of a queen. She was
perfectly polite to me, as I hope I am capable of being to any one who
comes in the same way into my house.”
Sir William gave his son’s friend another look. He had no desire to make
a personal enemy of this demagogue. A public man must think of
expediency in public matters, even where his own affections are
concerned.
“You will excuse me,” he said, coldly. “My business is with my son. I
should not have intruded myself into your house had I known it. Paul,
your mother is at your rooms, waiting for you. I must ask you to come
there with me at once.”
Paul’s countenance fell still more.
“My mother!--here!”
“Good morning,” said Sir William, taking off his hat with much
solemnity. “I am sorry to have invaded Mr. Spears’s privacy even for a
moment. I will wait for you, Paul, outside.”
The workman got up and took off his cap, bowing ceremoniously in answer
to Sir William’s salutation. He had not moved till his name was
mentioned.
“There!” he cried, with comical discomfiture, “dash the little
aristocrat! He has the last word--that’s the worst, or the best of them.
They have their senses always about them. No flurry--no feeling. Well,
Paul, aren’t you going? Be off with you and explain, like a good boy, to
your mamma and your papa.”
“What is it all about?” said a girl’s voice from the top of the stairs;
and first one, then another, fair, curly, somewhat unkempt head appeared
peeping down upon the group below. “And who is the little old gentleman?
Father, may we come down stairs?”
“Go back to your work, on the instant,” said Spears; “I want no girls
here. Well, Markham, why don’t you go? Is your father to wait for you
all day--and I too?”
“I shall go when I am ready,” said Paul, gloomily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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