“I don’t suppose we can do anything better,” said Mr. Robarts. “I think it a pity, however, that any steps should have been taken by the bishop before the trial.”
“The bishop has been placed in a very delicate position,” said Mr. Thumble, pleading for his patron.
“I don’t know the meaning of the word ‘delicate,’ ” said Robarts. “I think his duty was very clear, to avoid interference whilst the matter is, so to say, before the judge.”
“Nobody has anything else to propose?” said Dr. Tempest. “Then I will write to Mr. Crawley, and you, gentlemen, will perhaps do me the honour of meeting me here at one o’clock on this day week.” Then the meeting was over, and the four clergymen having shaken hands with Dr. Tempest in the hall, all promised that they would return on that day week. So far, Dr. Tempest had carried his point exactly as he might have done had the four gentlemen been represented by the chairs on which they had sat.
“I shan’t come again, all the same, unless I know where I’m to get my expenses,” said Mr. Quiverful, as he got into the gig.
“I shall come,” said Mr. Thumble, “because I think it a duty. Of course it is a hardship.” Mr. Thumble liked the idea of being joined with such men as Dr. Tempest, and Mr. Oriel, and Mr. Robarts, and would any day have paid the expense of a gig from Barchester to Silverbridge out of his own pocket, for the sake of sitting with such benchfellows on any clerical inquiry.
“One’s first duty is to one’s own wife and family,” said Mr. Quiverful.
“Well, yes; in a way, of course, that is quite true, Mr. Quiverful; and when we know how very inadequate are the incomes of the working clergy, we cannot but feel ourselves to be, if I may so say, put upon, when we have to defray the expenses incidental to special duties out of our own pockets. I think, you know—I don’t mind saying this to you—that the palace should have provided us with a chaise and pair.” This was ungrateful on the part of Mr. Thumble, who had been permitted to ride miles upon miles to various outlying clerical duties upon the bishop’s worn-out cob. “You see,” continued Mr. Thumble, “you and I go specially to represent the palace, and the palace ought to remember that. I think there ought to have been a chaise and pair; I do indeed.”
“I don’t care much what the conveyance is,” said Mr. Quiverful; “but I certainly shall pay nothing more out of my own pocket;—certainly I shall not.”
“The result will be that the palace will be thrown over if they don’t take care,” said Mr. Thumble. “Tempest, however, seems to be pretty steady. Tempest, I think, is steady. You see he is getting tired of parish work, and would like to go into the close. That’s what he is looking out for. Did you ever see such a fellow as that Robarts—just look at him;—quite indecent, wasn’t he? He thinks he can have his own way in everything, just because his sister married a lord. I do hate to see all that meanness.”
Mark Robarts and Caleb Oriel left Silverbridge in another gig by the same road, and soon passed their brethren, as Mr. Robarts was in the habit of driving a large, quick-stepping horse. The last remarks were being made as the dust from the vicar of Framley’s wheels saluted the faces of the two slower clergymen. Mr. Oriel had promised to dine and sleep at Framley, and therefore returned in Mr. Robarts’ gig.
“Quite unnecessary, all this fuss; don’t you think so?” said Mr. Robarts.
“I am not quite sure,” said Mr. Oriel. “I can understand that the bishop may have found a difficulty.”
“The bishop, indeed! The bishop doesn’t care two straws about it. It’s Mrs. Proudie! She has put her finger on the poor man’s neck because he has not put his neck beneath her feet; and now she thinks she can crush him—as she would crush you or me, if it were in her power. That’s about the long and the short of the bishop’s solicitude.”
“You are very hard on him,” said Mr. Oriel.
“I know him;—and am not at all hard on him. She is hard upon him if you like. Tempest is fair. He is very fair, and as long as no one meddles with him he won’t do amiss. I can’t hold my tongue always, but I often know that it is better that I should.”
Dr. Tempest said not a word to anyone on the subject, not even in his own defence. And yet he was sorely tempted. On the very day of the meeting he dined at Mr. Walker’s in Silverbridge, and there submitted to be talked at by all the ladies and most of the gentlemen present, without saying a word in his own defence. And yet a word or two would have been so easy and so conclusive.
“Oh, Dr. Tempest,” said Mary Walker, “I am so sorry that you have joined the bishop.”
“Are you, my dear?” said he. “It is generally thought well that
