Phineas Finn

had better let him sit in your armchair for half an hour or so,” Fitzgibbon had said; and Phineas almost believed that it would be better. The man was a terrible nuisance to him, and he was beginning to think that he had better undertake to pay the debt by degrees. It was, he knew, quite on the cards that Mr. Clarkson should have him arrested while at Saulsby. Since that scene in the lobby Mr. Clarkson had been with him twice, and there had been a preliminary conversation as to real payment. Mr. Clarkson wanted a hundred pounds down, and another bill for two hundred and twenty at three months’ date. “Think of my time and trouble in coming here,” Mr. Clarkson had urged when Phineas had objected to these terms. “Think of my time and trouble, and do be punctual, Mr. Finn.” Phineas had offered him ten pounds a quarter, the payments to be marked on the back of the bill, a tender which Mr. Clarkson had not seemed to regard as strong evidence of punctuality. He had not been angry, but had simply expressed his intention of calling again⁠—giving Phineas to understand that business would probably take him to the west of Ireland in the autumn. If only business might not take him down either to Loughlinter or to Saulsby! But the strange visitor who came to Phineas in the midst of these troubles put an end to them all.

The strange visitor was Miss Aspasia Fitzgibbon. “You’ll be very much surprised at my coming to your chambers, no doubt,” she said, as she sat down in the chair which Phineas placed for her. Phineas could only say that he was very proud to be so highly honoured, and that he hoped she was well. “Pretty well, I thank you. I have just come about a little business, Mr. Finn, and I hope you’ll excuse me.”

“I’m quite sure that there is no need for excuses,” said Phineas.

“Laurence, when he hears about it, will say that I’ve been an impertinent old fool; but I never care what Laurence says, either this way or that. I’ve been to that Mr. Clarkson, Mr. Finn, and I’ve paid him the money.”

“No!” said Phineas.

“But I have, Mr. Finn. I happened to hear what occurred that night at the door of the House of Commons.”

“Who told you, Miss Fitzgibbon?”

“Never mind who told me. I heard it. I knew before that you had been foolish enough to help Laurence about money, and so I put two and two together. It isn’t the first time I have had to do with Mr. Clarkson. So I sent to him, and I’ve bought the bill. There it is.” And Miss Fitzgibbon produced the document which bore the name of Phineas Finn across the front of it.

“And did you pay him two hundred and fifty pounds for it?”

“Not quite. I had a very hard tussle, and got it at last for two hundred and twenty pounds.”

“And did you do it yourself?”

“All myself. If I had employed a lawyer I should have had to pay two hundred and forty pounds and five pounds for costs. And now, Mr. Finn, I hope you won’t have any more money engagements with my brother Laurence.” Phineas said that he thought he might promise that he would have no more. “Because, if you do, I shan’t interfere. If Laurence began to find that he could get money out of me in that way, there would be no end to it. Mr. Clarkson would very soon be spending his spare time in my drawing-room. Goodbye, Mr. Finn. If Laurence says anything, just tell him that he’d better come to me.” Then Phineas was left looking at the bill. It was certainly a great relief to him⁠—that he should be thus secured from the domiciliary visits of Mr. Clarkson; a great relief to him to be assured that Mr. Clarkson would not find him out down at Loughton; but nevertheless, he had to suffer a pang of shame as he felt that Miss Fitzgibbon had become acquainted with his poverty and had found herself obliged to satisfy his pecuniary liabilities.

XXXII

Lady Laura Kennedy’s Headache

Phineas went down to Loughlinter early in July, taking Loughton in his way. He stayed there one night at the inn, and was introduced to sundry influential inhabitants of the borough by Mr. Grating, the ironmonger, who was known by those who knew Loughton to be a very strong supporter of the Earl’s interest. Mr. Grating and about half a dozen others of the tradesmen of the town came to the inn, and met Phineas in the parlour. He told them he was a good sound Liberal and a supporter of Mr. Mildmay’s Government, of which their neighbour the Earl was so conspicuous an ornament. This was almost all that was said about the Earl out loud; but each individual man of Loughton then present took an opportunity during the meeting of whispering into Mr. Finn’s ear a word or two to show that he also was admitted to the secret councils of the borough⁠—that he too could see the inside of the arrangement. “Of course we must support the Earl,” one said. “Never mind what you hear about a Tory candidate, Mr. Finn,” whispered a second; “the Earl can do what he pleases here.” And it seemed to Phineas that it was thought by them all to be rather a fine thing to be thus held in the hand by an English nobleman. Phineas could not but reflect much upon this as he lay in his bed at the Loughton inn. The great political question on which the political world was engrossed up in London was the enfranchisement of Englishmen⁠—of Englishmen down to the rank of artisans and labourers;⁠—and yet when he found himself in contact with individual Englishmen, with men even very much above the artisan and the labourer, he found that they rather liked