Ralph the Heir. Anthony Trollope

fact is, Mr. Neefit, this is a very serious matter."

      "Serious! Twenty thousand pounds is serious. There ain't a doubt about that. If you mean to say you don't like the bargain,"—and as he said this there came a black cloud upon Mr. Neefit's brow—"you've only got to say the word. Our Polly is not to be pressed upon any man. But don't let's have any shilly-shallying."

      "Tell me one thing, Mr. Neefit."

      "Well;—what's that?"

      "Have you spoken to your daughter about this?"

      Mr. Neefit was silent for a moment, "Well, no; I haven't," he said. "But, I spoke to her mother, and women is always talking. Mind, I don't know what our Polly would say to you, but I do think she expects something. There's a chap lives nigh to us who used always to be sneaking round; but she has snubbed him terribly this month past. So my wife tells me. You come and try, Mr. Newton, and then you'll know all about it."

      Ralph was aware that he had not as yet begun to explain his difficulty to the anxious father. "You see, Mr. Neefit," he said—and then he paused. It had been much easier for him to talk to Sir Thomas than to the breaches-maker.

      "If you don't like it—say so," said Mr. Neefit;—"and don't let us have no shilly-shallying."

      "I do like it."

      "Then give us your hand, and come out this evening and have a bit of some'at to eat and a drop of some'at hot, and pop the question. That's about the way to do it."

      "Undoubtedly;—but marriage is such a serious thing!"

      "So it is serious—uncommon serious to owe a fellow a lot of money you can't pay him. I call that very serious."

      "Mr. Neefit, I owe you nothing but what I can pay you."

      "You're very slow about it, Mr. Newton; that's all I can say. But I wasn't just talking of myself. After what's passed between you and me I ain't going to be hard upon you."

      "I'll tell you what, Mr. Neefit," said Ralph at last—"of course you can understand that a man may have difficulties with his family."

      "Because of my being a breeches-maker?" said Neefit contemptuously.

      "I won't say that; but there may be difficulties."

      "Twenty thousand pounds does away with a deal of them things."

      "Just so;—but as I was saying, you can understand that there may be family difficulties. I only say that because I ought perhaps to have given you an answer sooner. I won't go down with you this evening."

      "You won't?"

      "Not to-night;—but I'll be with you on Saturday evening, if that will suit you."

      "Come and have a bit of dinner again on Sunday," said Neefit. Ralph accepted the invitation, shook hands with Neefit, and escaped from the shop.

      When he thought of it all as he went to his rooms, he told himself that he had now as good as engaged himself to Polly;—as good or as bad. Of course, after what had passed, he could not go to the house again without asking her to be his wife. Were he to do so Neefit would be justified in insulting him. And yet when he undertook to make this fourth visit to the cottage, he had done so with the intention of allowing himself a little more time for judgment. He saw plainly enough that he was going to allow himself to drift into this marriage without any real decision of his own. He prided himself on being strong, and how could any man be more despicably weak than this? It was, indeed, true that in all the arguments he had used with Sir Thomas he had defended the Neefit marriage as though it was the best course he could adopt;—and even Sir Thomas had not ultimately ventured to oppose it. Would it not be as well for him to consider that he had absolutely made up his mind to marry Polly?

      On the Friday he called at Mr. Moggs's house; Mr. Moggs senior was there, and Mr. Moggs junior, and also a shopman. "I was sorry," said he, "that when your son called, I had friends with me, and could hardly explain circumstances."

      "It didn't signify at all," said Moggs junior.

      "But it does signify, Mr. Newton," said Moggs senior, who on this morning was not in a good humour with his ledger. "Two hundred and seventeen pounds, three shillings and four-pence is a good deal of money for boots, Mr. Newton, You must allow that."

      "Indeed it is, Mr. Moggs."

      "There hasn't been what you may call a settlement for years. Twenty-five pounds paid in the last two years!" and Mr. Moggs as he spoke had his finger on the fatal page. "That won't do, you know, Mr. Newton;—that won't do at all!" Mr. Moggs, as he looked into his customer's face, worked himself up into a passion. "But I suppose you have come to settle it now, Mr. Newton?"

      "Not exactly at this moment, Mr. Moggs."

      "It must be settled very soon, Mr. Newton;—it must indeed. My son can't be calling on you day after day, and all for nothing. We can't stand that you know, Mr. Newton. Perhaps you'll oblige me by saying when it will be settled." Then Ralph explained that he had called for that purpose, that he was making arrangements for paying all his creditors, and that he hoped that Mr. Moggs would have his money within three months at the farthest. Mr. Moggs then proposed that he should have his customer's bill at three months, and the interview ended by the due manufacture of a document to that effect. Ralph, when he entered the shop, had not intended to give a bill; but the pressure had been too great upon him, and he had yielded. It would matter little, however, if he married Polly Neefit. And had he not now accepted it as his destiny that he must marry Polly Neefit?

      The Saturday he passed in much trouble of spirit, and with many doubts; but the upshot of it all was that he would keep his engagement for the Sunday. His last chance of escape would have been to call in Conduit Street on the Saturday and tell Mr. Neefit, with such apologies as he might be able to make, that the marriage would not be suitable. While sitting at breakfast he had almost resolved to do this;—but when five o'clock came, after which, as he well knew, the breeches-maker would not be found, no such step had been taken. He dined that evening and went to the theatre with Lieutenant Cox. At twelve they were joined by Fooks and another gay spirit, and they eat chops and drank stout and listened to songs at Evans's till near two. Cox and Fooks said that they had never been so jolly in their lives;—but Ralph—though he eat and drank as much and talked more than the others—was far from happy. There came upon him a feeling that after to-morrow he would never again be able to call himself a gentleman. Who would associate with him after he had married the breeches-maker's daughter? He laid in bed late on Sunday, and certainly went to no place of worship. Would it not be well even yet to send a letter down to Neefit, telling him that the thing could not be? The man would be very angry with him, and would have great cause to be angry. But it would at least be better to do this now than hereafter. But when four o'clock came no letter had been sent.

      Punctually at five the cab set him down at Alexandrina Cottage. How well he seemed to know the place;—almost as well as though he were already one of the family. He was shown into the drawing-room, and whom should he see there, seated with Mr. and Mrs. and Miss Neefit, but Ontario Moggs. It was clear enough that each of the party was ill at ease. Neefit welcomed him with almost boisterous hospitality. Mrs. Neefit merely curtseyed and bobbed at him. Polly smiled, and shook hands with him, and told him that he was welcome;—but even Polly was a little beside herself. Ontario Moggs stood bolt upright and made him a low bow, but did not attempt to speak.

      "I hope your father is well," said Ralph, addressing himself to Moggs junior.

      "Pretty well, I thank you," said Mr. Moggs, getting up from his chair and bowing a second time.

      Mr. Neefit waited for a moment or two during which no one except Ralph spoke a word, and then invited his intended son-in-law to follow him into the garden. "The fact is," said Neefit winking, "this is Mrs. N.'s doing. It don't make any difference, you know."

      "I don't quite understand," said Ralph.

      "You see we've known Onty Moggs all our lives, and no doubt he has been sweet upon Polly. But Polly don't care for him, mind you. You ask her. And Mrs.