“I never thought anything of the kind, Mr. Peppercorn.”
“Polly told you so, I don’t doubt. She’s right in thinking so, because I’d give Polly anything in reason. Or out of reason for the matter of that, because she is the apple of my eye.” This was indiscreet on the part of Mr. Peppercorn, as it taught the young man to think that he himself must be in reason or out of reason, and that in either case Polly ought to be allowed to have him. “But there’s one thing I stop at; and that is a young man who hasn’t got either edication, Or money—nor yet manners.”
“There’s nothing against my manner, I hope, Mr. Peppercorn.”
“Yes; there is. You come a-interfering with me in the most delicate affair in the world. You come into my family, and want to take away my girl. That I take it is the worst of manners.”
“How is any young lady to get married unless some young fellow comes after her?”
“There’ll be plenty to come after Polly. You leave Polly alone, and you’ll find that she’ll get a young man suited to her. It’s like your impudence to suppose that there’s no other young man in the world so good as you. Why;—dash my wig; who are you? What are you? You’re merely acting for them corn-factors over at Barsester.”
“And you’re acting for them brewers here at Plumplington. What’s the difference?”
“But I’ve got the money in my pocket, and you’ve got none. That’s the difference. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. Now if you’ll please to remember that I’m very busy, you’ll walk yourself off. You’ve had it out with me, which I didn’t intend; and I’ve explained my mind very fully. She’s not for you;—at any rate my money’s not.”
“Look here, Mr. Peppercorn.”
“Well?”
“I don’t care a farthing for your money.”
“Don’t you, now?”
“Not in the way of comparing it with Polly herself. Of course money is a very comfortable thing. If Polly’s to be my wife—”
“Which she ain’t.”
“I should like her to have everything that a lady can desire.”
“How kind you are.”
“But in regard to money for myself I don’t value it that.” Here Jack Hollycombe snapped his fingers. “My meaning is to get the girl I love.”
“Then you won’t.”
“And if she’s satisfied to come to me without a shilling, I’m satisfied to take her in the same fashion. I don’t know how much you’ve got, Mr. Peppercorn, but you can go and found a Hiram’s Hospital with every penny of it.” At this moment a discussion was going on respecting a certain charitable institution in Barchester—and had been going on for the last forty years—as to which Mr. Hollycombe was here expressing the popular opinion of the day. “That’s the kind of thing a man should do who don’t choose to leave his money to his own child.” Jack was now angry, having had his deficient education twice thrown in his teeth by one whom he conceived to be so much less educated than himself. “What I’ve got to say to you, Mr. Peppercorn, is that Polly means to have me, and if she’s got to wait—why, I’m so minded that I’ll wait for her as long as ever she’ll wait for me.” So saying Jack Hollycombe left the room.
Mr. Peppercorn thrust his hat back upon his head, and stood with his back to the fire, with the tails of his coat appearing over his hands in his breeches pockets, glaring out of his eyes with anger which he did not care to suppress. This man had presented to him a picture of his future life which was most unalluring. There was nothing he desired less than to give his money to such an abominable institution as Hiram’s Hospital. Polly, his own dear daughter Polly, was intended to be the recipient of all his savings. As he went about among the beer barrels, he had been a happy man as he thought of Polly bright with the sheen which his money had provided for her. But it was of Polly married to some gentleman that he thought at these moments;—of Polly surrounded by a large family of little gentlemen and little ladies. They would all call him grandpapa; and in the evenings of his days he would sit by the fire in that gentleman’s parlour, a welcome guest, because of the means which he had provided; and the little gentlemen and the little ladies would surround him with their prattle and their noise and caresses. He was not a man whom his intimates would have supposed to be gifted with a strong imagination, but there was the picture firmly set before his mind’s eye. “Edication,” however, in the intended son-in-law was essential. And the son-in-law must be a gentleman. Now Jack Hollycombe was not a gentleman, and was not educated up to that pitch which was necessary for Polly’s husband.
But Mr. Peppercorn, as he thought of it all, was well aware that Polly had a decided will of her own. And he knew of himself that his own will was less strong than his daughter’s. In spite of all the severe things which he had just said to Jack Hollycombe, there was present to him a dreadful weight upon his heart as he thought that Polly would certainly get the better of him. At this moment he hated Jack Hollycombe with most unchristian rancour. No misfortune that could happen to Jack, either sudden death, or forgery with flight to the antipodes, or loss of his good looks—which Mr. Peppercorn most unjustly thought would be equally efficacious with Polly—would at the present moment of his wrath be received otherwise than as a special mark of good fortune. And yet he was well aware that if Polly were to come and tell him that she had by some secret means turned herself into Mrs. Jack Hollycombe, he knew
