The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 11Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
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The Caxtons: A Family Picture — Volume 11
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century; Families -- Fiction
"Sisty," she said, in a low voice which struggled to be firm, promise me
that you will tell me all,--the worst, Sisty. They keep it from me, and
that is my hardest punishment; for when I don't know all that he--that
Austin suffers, it seems to me as if I had lost his heart. Oh, Sisty, my
child, my child, don't fear me! I shall be happy whatever befalls us, if
I once get back my privilege,--my privilege, Sisty, to comfort, to share!
Do you understand me?"
"Yes indeed, my mother! And with your good sense and clear woman's wit,
if you will but feel how much we want them, you will be the best
counsellor we could have. So never fear; you and I will have no
secrets."
My mother kissed me, and went away with a less heavy step.
As I re-entered, my father came across the room and embraced me.
"My son," he said in a faltering voice, "if your modest prospects in life
are ruined--"
"Father, father, can you think of me at such a moment? Me! Is it
possible to ruin the young and strong and healthy! Ruin me, with these
thews and sinews; ruin me, with the education you have given me,--thews
and sinews of the mind! Oh, no! there, Fortune is harmless! And you
forget, sir,--the saffron bag!"
Squills leaped up, and wiping his eyes with one hand, gave me a sounding
slap on the shoulder with the other.
"I am proud of the care I took of your infancy, Master Caxton. That
comes of strengthening the digestive organs in early childhood. Such
sentiments are a proof of magnificent ganglions in a perfect state of
order. When a man's tongue is as smooth as I am sure yours is, he
slips through misfortune like an eel."
I laughed outright, my father smiled faintly; and, seating myself, I drew
towards me a paper filled with Squills's memoranda, and said, "Now to
find the unknown quantity. What on earth is this? 'Supposed value of
books, L750.' Oh, father! this is impossible. I was prepared for
anything but that. Your books,--they are your life!"
"Nay," said my father; "after all, they are the offending party in this
case, and so ought to be the principal victims. Besides, I believe I
know most of them by heart. But, in truth, we are only entering all our
effects, to be sure [added my father, proudly], that, come what may, we
are not dishonored."
"Humor him," whispered Squills; "we will save the books." Then he added
aloud, as he laid finger and thumb on my pulse, "One, two, three, about
seventy,--capital pulse, soft and full; he can bear the whole: let us
administer it."
My father nodded: "Certainly. But, Pisistratus, we must manage your dear
mother. Why she should think of blaming herself because poor Jack took
wrong ways to enrich us, I cannot understand. But as I have had occasion
before to remark, Sphinx is a noun feminine."
My poor father! that was a vain struggle for thy wonted innocent humor.
The lips quivered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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