Miser Farebrother: A Novel (vol. 2 of 3) — John Shaqi
Miser Farebrother: A Novel (vol. 2 of 3)Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
General
Miser Farebrother: A Novel (vol. 2 of 3)
Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
Fiction
Jeremiah's "talk" with Miser Farebrother proved to be not entirely to
the satisfaction of the younger juggler, and the few days of happiness
which yet remained to Phoebe were not disturbed by any intimation of
the conspiracy into which the two men had entered, the successful issue
of which would result in the destruction of the fondest hopes of her
life. Jeremiah was impatient, and eager that Phoebe should be recalled
home immediately; but Miser Farebrother would not have it so. Of the two
he was infinitely the more wily and astute, and he dropped pearls of
wisdom for the benefit of his crafty managing clerk. It told rather
against Jeremiah that in the account he gave of his interviews with the
Lethbridge party on the previous night he should accentuate every
unpleasant and disagreeable word to which he had given utterance; he had
an idea that by so doing he was impressing the miser with a deep sense
of his wit and cleverness, the fact being that he produced quite an
opposite effect.
"Never startle your game, Jeremiah," said Miser Farebrother. "A skilful
sportsman goes quietly and patiently to work. I have not been in the
habit of suddenly summoning my daughter from London, after having given
her permission to remain there for a stated time. To do so now would
only excite suspicion, and strengthen, perhaps, any opposition we have
to meet with. Last night's proceedings are not in your favour. You spoke
sarcastically, and made yourself generally objectionable. The tongue of
that clever young person, Miss Fanny Lethbridge, must have wagged rarely
against you after you took your departure. You rubbed them the wrong
way, Jeremiah--a mistake, a great mistake! Instead of oil, you used
vinegar. 'Tis a million to one that the lawyer scoundrel saw through
you; you made an enemy of him when you might have thrown dust into his
eyes."
"What does it matter?" said Jeremiah, rather sulkily. "I'm not afraid of
him."
"It matters everything," retorted Miser Farebrother. "It matters that
you exposed your hand, and gave your rival the advantage over you."
"My rival!" cried Jeremiah, with a dark frown.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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