“Who talks about my being ruined?”
“Well, I believe all Baslehurst pretty well is talking about it. If a man will go on with a lawsuit when his own lawyer says he oughtn’t, what else can come to him but ruin?”
“You don’t know anything about it. I wish you’d hold your tongue, and let me go to bed.”
“I do know something about it, Mr. Tappitt; and I won’t hold my tongue. It’s all very well for you to bid me hold my tongue; but am I to sit by and see you ruined, and the girls left without a bit to eat or a thing to wear? Goodness knows I’ve never thought much about myself. Nobody will ever say that of me. But it has come to this, T.; that something must be settled about Rowan’s claim. If he hasn’t got justice, he’s got law on his side; and he seems to be one of those who don’t care much as long as he’s got that. If you ask me, T.—”
“But I didn’t ask you,” said Tappitt.
Tappitt never actually succumbed in these matrimonial encounters, and would always maintain courage for a sharp word, even to the last.
“No, I know you didn’t;—and more shame to you, not to consult the wife of your bosom and the mother of your children, when such an affair as this has to be settled. But if you think I’m going to hold my tongue, you’re mistaken. I know very well how things are going. You must either let this young man come in as a partner—”
“I’ll be ⸻”
Tappitt would not have disgraced himself by such an exclamation in his wife’s bedroom as he then used if his business in the bar of the Dragon had been legitimate.
“Very well, sir. I say nothing about the coarseness of your language on the present occasion, though I might say a great deal if I pleased. But if you don’t choose to have him for a partner—why then you must do something else.”
“Of course I must.”
“Exactly;—and therefore the only thing is for you to take the offer of a thousand a year that he has made. Now, T., don’t begin cursing and swearing again, because you know that can’t do any good. Honyman says that he’ll pay the income;—and if he don’t—if he gets into arrear with it, then you can come down upon him and turn him out. Think how you’d like that! You’ve only just to keep a little ready money by you, so that you’ll have something for six months or so, if he should get into arrear.”
“And I’m to give up everything myself?”
“No, T.; you would not give up anything; quite the other way. You would have every comfort round you that any man can possibly want. You can’t go on at it always, toiling and moiling as you’re doing now. It’s quite dreadful for a man never to have a moment to himself at your time of life, and of course it must tell on any constitution if it’s kept up too long. You’re not the man you were, T.; and of course you couldn’t expect it.”
“Oh, bother!”
“That’s all very well; but it’s my duty to see these things, and to think of them, and to speak of them too. Where should I be, and the girls, if you was hurried into your grave by working too hard?” Mrs. Tappitt’s voice, as this terrible suggestion fell from her, was almost poetic, through the depth of its solemnity. “Do you think I don’t know what it is that takes you to the Dragon so late at night?”
“I don’t go to the Dragon late at night.”
“I’m not finding fault, T.; and you needn’t answer me so sharp. It’s only natural you should want something to sustain you after such slavery as you have to go through. I’m not unreasonable. I know very well what a man is, and what it is he can do, and what he can’t. It would be all very well your going on if you had a partner you could trust.”
“Nothing on earth shall induce me to carry on with that fellow.”
“And therefore you ought to take him at his word and retire. It would be the gentlemanlike thing to do. Of course you’d have the power of going over and seeing that things was straight. And if we was living comfortable at some genteel place, such as Torquay or the like, of course you wouldn’t want to be going out to Dragons every evening then. I shouldn’t wonder if, in two or three years, you didn’t find yourself as strong as ever again.”
Tappitt, beneath the clothes, insisted that he was strong; and made some virile remark in answer to that further allusion to the Dragon. He by no means gave way to his wife, or uttered any word of assent; but the lady’s scheme had been made known to him; the ice had been broken; and Mrs. Tappitt, when she put out the candle, felt that she had done a good evening’s work.
XXIII
Mrs. Ray’s Penitence
Another fortnight went by, and still nothing further was heard at Bragg’s End from Luke Rowan. Much was heard of him in Baslehurst. It was soon known by everybody that he had bought the cottages; and there was a widely-spread and well-credited rumour that he was going to commence the necessary buildings for a new brewhouse at once. Nor were these tidings received by Baslehurst with all that horror—with that loud clamour of indignation—which Tappitt conceived to be due to them. Baslehurst, I should say, as a whole, received the tidings with applause. Why should not Bungall’s nephew carry on a brewery of his own? Especially why should he not, if he were resolved to brew good beer? Very censorious remarks about the Tappitt beer were to be heard in all barrooms, and were reechoed with vehemence in
