Brothers -- Fiction; Crimean War, 1853-1856 -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Identity -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction
At times Sir Denzil would send for them to his own rooms, and they
came almost to enjoy his acid questionings and pungent comments on
life as they saw it. Behind his cynical aloofness they were not slow
to perceive a keen interest in the newer order of things, and they
talked freely of all and sundry--their friends, and their friends'
friends, and all the doings of the day. It was very many years since
the old man had been in London. He felt himself completely out of
things, and had no desire to return; but still he liked to hear about
them.
And at times, by way of return, when the boys had their friends in, he
would, with the punctilious courtesy of his day, send Mr. Kennet to
request their permission to join them, and then march in, almost on
Kennet's heels, looking, in his wig and long-skirted coat and ruffles
and snuff-box, a veritable relic of past days.
Jack, in the plenitude of his present-day knowledge, and the power it
gave him of affording interesting information to the recluse,
discoursed with him almost on terms of equality.
Jim, on the other hand, though he could rattle along in the jolliest
and most amusing way imaginable with his chosen ones, still found the
old gentleman's rapier-like little speeches and veiled allusions
somewhat beyond him, and so, as a rule, left most of the talking to
him and Jack.
But the first time the boys both came down in their uniforms, modestly
veiling their pride under a large assumption of nonchalance, but in
reality swelling internally like a pair of young peacocks, they
carried all before them. They looked so big, so grand, so masterful,
that it took some time even for the Little Lady to fit them into their
proper places in their own estimation and in hers.
And as for their grandfather, it took an immense amount both of time
and snuff and sapient head-nodding before he could get accustomed to
them, and then he was quite as proud of them as they were of
themselves.
"By gad, sir!" he said to Eager, in an unusual outburst of suppressed
vehemence, "you were right and I was wrong. We can't afford to lose
either of them, though what you're going to do about it all, when the
time comes, is beyond me. Jack, there, talks like a book, like all the
books that ever were, and knows everything there is to know in the
world"--Jack had been delivering himself of some of his newest ideas
on fortification--"but what can you make of that? It may only be the
higher product of a coarser strain. I'm not sure that the other isn't
more in the line. I'm inclined to think he'll make his mark if he gets
the chance that suits him."
"They both will, sir. Take my word for it. We shall all, I hope, live
to be proud of them both. And as to the other matter, maybe they'll
cut so deep, and go so far, that after all it will become of secondary
importance."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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