I shall probably send you a letter."
"Very well.
As soon as you can, please.
I hope it will all be settled before I see you to-morrow."
CHAPTER XIV.
"Follows here the strict receipt
For that sauce to dainty meat,
Named Idleness, which many eat
By preference, and call it sweet:
First watch for morsels, like a hound
Mix well with buffets, stir them round
With good thick oil of flatteries,
And froth with mean self-lauding lies.
Serve warm: the vessels you must choose
To keep it in are dead men's shoes."
Mr. Bulstrode's consultation of Harriet seemed to have had the effect desired by Mr. Vincy, for early the next morning a letter came which Fred could carry to Mr. Featherstone as the required testimony.
The old gentleman was staying in bed on account of the cold weather, and as Mary Garth was not to be seen in the sitting-room, Fred went up-stairs immediately and presented the letter to his uncle, who, propped up comfortably on a bed-rest, was not less able than usual to enjoy his consciousness of wisdom in distrusting and frustrating mankind.
He put on his spectacles to read the letter, pursing up his lips and drawing down their corners.
"Under the circumstances I will not decline to state my conviction—tchah! what fine words the fellow puts!
He's as fine as an auctioneer—that your son Frederic has not obtained any advance of money on bequests promised by Mr. Featherstone—promised? who said I had ever promised?
I promise nothing—I shall make codicils as long as I like—and that considering the nature of such a proceeding, it is unreasonable to presume that a young man of sense and character would attempt it—ah, but the gentleman doesn't say you are a young man of sense and character, mark you that, sir!—As to my own concern with any report of such a nature, I distinctly affirm that I never made any statement to the effect that your son had borrowed money on any property that might accrue to him on Mr. Featherstone's demise—bless my heart! 'property'—accrue—demise!
Lawyer Standish is nothing to him.
He couldn't speak finer if he wanted to borrow.
Well," Mr. Featherstone here looked over his spectacles at Fred, while he handed back the letter to him with a contemptuous gesture, "you don't suppose I believe a thing because Bulstrode writes it out fine, eh?"
Fred colored.
"You wished to have the letter, sir.
I should think it very likely that Mr. Bulstrode's denial is as good as the authority which told you what he denies."
"Every bit.
I never said I believed either one or the other.
And now what d' you expect?" said Mr. Featherstone, curtly, keeping on his spectacles, but withdrawing his hands under his wraps.
"I expect nothing, sir."
Fred with difficulty restrained himself from venting his irritation.
"I came to bring you the letter.
If you like I will bid you good morning."
"Not yet, not yet.
Ring the bell; I want missy to come."
It was a servant who came in answer to the bell.
"Tell missy to come!" said Mr. Featherstone, impatiently.
"What business had she to go away?"
He spoke in the same tone when Mary came.
"Why couldn't you sit still here till I told you to go?
I want my waistcoat now.
I told you always to put it on the bed."
Mary's eyes looked rather red, as if she had been crying.
It was clear that Mr. Featherstone was in one of his most snappish humors this morning, and though Fred had now the prospect of receiving the much-needed present of money, he would have preferred being free to turn round on the old tyrant and tell him that Mary Garth was too good to be at his beck.
Though Fred had risen as she entered the room, she had barely noticed him, and looked as if her nerves were quivering with the expectation that something would be thrown at her.
But she never had anything worse than words to dread.
When she went to reach the waistcoat from a peg, Fred went up to her and said,
"Allow me."
"Let it alone!