The Son of His Father; vol. 3/3Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
The Son of His Father; vol. 3/3
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fathers and sons -- Fiction
At first it had been the keen tooth of that wrong, the undeserved
disgrace that had fallen upon him, which had occupied all his
sensations. But by degrees other thoughts came in. He had left Edgeley
in haste to strike his blow for fortune and reputation, though he was so
young, to qualify himself for a new phase of life, to put himself nearer
at least to the level of Elly, to justify his own pretensions to her.
The scene in Mrs. Egerton’s room suddenly flashed before him as he
walked, adding another and yet sharper blow to that which he had already
received. He had said that he would succeed, that he should be rich,
that he had the ball at his foot. This morning when he came out of his
lodgings he had felt the ball at his foot. How could it be otherwise? He
knew the value of his own work. It was a work much wanted, upon which
the comfort of a district, the value of the property in it, and the
lives of its inhabitants might depend. And he felt convinced that he had
hit upon the right way of remedying this fault of nature which had
given so much trouble and cost so much suffering. What hours and hours
he had thought of it and turned it over! What quires of paper he had
covered with his calculations! It did not perhaps seem romantic work;
but all the poetry in John’s nature had gone into it. It had been Elly’s
work, too, though Elly could not have done one of all those endless
mathematical exercises. It had occupied his mind for two at least of
those early lovely years in which imagination is so sweet: and his
imaginations had been sweet, though they had to do, you would have said,
with things not lovely, cuttings and embankments, and drawings, and
figures upon figures, armies of them, calculations without end. His very
walks and the exercise he took, the boating which was his favourite
recreation when he had any time, had all been inspired and accompanied
by this. While he waited outside a lock, he was busy calculating its
fall, and the weight and force of the water, and studying the banks high
or low, for his purpose. He had grown learned in the formations of the
district, in its geology and its productions with the same motive. He
had marked unconsciously where wood could be got at and bricks made for
the future works, and when his eye travelled over the river flats to the
line of cottages with dull lines upon their lower storey, showing the
flood-mark to which the water had risen, there rose in him a fine
fervour as he thought that by-and-by all such dangers should come to an
end. Thoughts frivolous and unworthy, the light and trifling mental
dissipations that beguile young minds, and the insidious curiosities and
temptations with which they play, were all crowded out by these
imaginations, which were so practical, so professional, so enthusiastic,
so full of the poetry of reality. This was the way in which many months
had been occupied. And now----!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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