The American Senator. Anthony Trollope
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"I don't hunt myself."
"And does nobody hunt the foxes about here at present?" Then Morton explained that on the Saturday following the U. R. U. hounds, under the mastership of that celebrated sportsman Captain Glomax, would meet at eleven o'clock exactly at the spot on which they were then standing, and that if Mr. Gotobed would walk out after breakfast he should see the whole paraphernalia, including about half a hundred "dogs," and perhaps a couple of hundred men on horseback. "I shall be delighted to see any institution of this great country," said Mr. Gotobed, "however much opposed it may be to my opinion either of utility or rational recreation." Then, having nearly eaten up one cigar, he lit another preparatory to eating it, and sauntered back to the house.
Before dinner that evening there were a few words between the Paragon and his grandmother. "I'm afraid you won't like my American friend," he said.
"He is all very well, John. Of course an American member of Congress can't be an English gentleman. You, in your position, have to be civil to such people. I dare say I shall get on very well with Mr. Gotobed."
"I must get somebody to meet him."
"Lady Augustus and her daughter are coming."
"They knew each other in Washington. And there will be so many ladies."
"You could ask the Coopers from Mallingham," suggested the lady.
"I don't think they would dine out. He's getting very old."
"And I'm told the Mainwarings at Dillsborough are very nice people," said Mrs. Morton, who knew that Mr. Mainwaring at any rate came from a good family.
"I suppose they ought to call first. I never saw them in my life. Reginald Morton, you know, is living at Hoppet Hall in Dillsborough."
"You don't mean to say you wish to ask him to this house?"
"I think I ought. Why should I take upon myself to quarrel with a man I have not seen since I was a child, and who certainly is my cousin?"
"I do not know that he is your cousin;—nor do you."
John Morton passed by the calumny which he had heard before, and which he knew that it was no good for him to attempt to subvert. "He was received here as one of the family, ma'am."
"I know he was;—and with what result?"
"I don't think that I ought to turn my back upon him because my great-grandfather left property away from me to him. It would give me a bad name in the county. It would be against me when I settle down to live here. I think quarrelling is the most foolish thing a man can do—especially with his own relations."
"I can only say this, John;—let me know if he is coming, so that I may not be called upon to meet him. I will not eat at table with Reginald Morton." So saying the old lady, in a stately fashion, stalked out of the room.
CHAPTER IX.
THE OLD KENNELS.
On the next morning Mrs. Morton asked her grandson what he meant to do with reference to his suggested invitation to Reginald. "As you will not meet him of course I have given up the idea," he said. The "of course" had been far from true. He had debated the matter very much with himself. He was an obstinate man, with something of independence in his spirit. He liked money, but he liked having his own way too. The old lady looked as though she might live to be a hundred—and though she might last only for ten years longer, was it worth his while to be a slave for that time? And he was by no means sure of her money, though he should be a slave. He almost made up his mind that he would ask Reginald Morton. But then the old lady would be in her tantrums, and there would be the disagreeable necessity of making an explanation to that inquisitive gentleman Mr. Elias Gotobed.
"I couldn't have met him, John; I couldn't indeed. I remember so well all that occurred when your poor infatuated old great-grandfather would have that woman into the house! I was forced to have my meals in my bedroom, and to get myself taken away as soon as I could get a carriage and horses. After all that I ought not to be asked to meet the child."
"I was thinking of asking old Mr. Cooper on Monday. I know she doesn't go out. And perhaps Mr. Mainwaring wouldn't take it amiss. Mr. Puttock, I know, isn't at home; but if he were, he couldn't come." Mr. Puttock was the rector of Bragton, a very rich living, but was unfortunately afflicted with asthma.
"Poor man. I heard of that; and he's only been here about six years. I don't see why Mr. Mainwaring should take it amiss at all. You can explain that you are only here a few days. I like to meet clergymen. I think that it is the duty of a country gentleman to ask them to his house. It shows a proper regard for religion. By-the-bye, John, I hope that you'll see that they have a fire in the church on Sunday." The Honourable Mrs. Morton always went to church, and had no doubt of her own sincerity when she reiterated her prayer that as she forgave others their trespasses, so might she be forgiven hers. As Reginald Morton had certainly never trespassed against her perhaps there was no reason why her thoughts should be carried to the necessity of forgiving him.
The Paragon wrote two very diplomatic notes, explaining his temporary residence and expressing his great desire to become acquainted with his neighbours. Neither of the two clergymen were offended, and both of them promised to eat his dinner on Monday. Mr. Mainwaring was very fond of dining out, and would have gone almost to any gentleman's house. Mr. Cooper had been enough in the neighbourhood to have known the old squire, and wrote an affectionate note expressing his gratification at the prospect of renewing his acquaintance with the little boy whom he remembered. So the party was made up for Monday. John Morton was very nervous on the matter, fearing that Lady Augustus would think the land to be barren.
The Friday passed by without much difficulty. The Senator was driven about, and everything was inquired into. One or two farm-houses were visited, and the farmers' wives were much disturbed by the questions asked them. "I don't think they'd get a living in the States," was the Senator's remark after leaving one of the homesteads in which neither the farmer nor his wife had shown much power of conversation. "Then they're right to stay where they are," replied Mr. Morton, who in spite of his diplomacy could not save himself from being nettled. "They seem to get a very good living here, and they pay their rent punctually."
On the Saturday morning the hounds met at the "Old Kennels," as the meet was always called, and here was an excellent opportunity of showing to Mr. Gotobed one of the great institutions of the country. It was close to the house and therefore could be reached without any trouble, and as it was held on Morton's own ground, he could do more towards making his visitor understand the thing than might have been possible elsewhere. When the hounds moved the carriage would be ready to take them about the roads, and show them as much as could be seen on wheels.
Punctually at eleven John Morton and his American guest were on the bridge, and Tony Tuppett was already occupying his wonted place, seated on a strong grey mare that had done a great deal of work, but would live—as Tony used to say—to do a great deal more. Round him the hounds were clustered—twenty-three couple in all—some seated on their haunches, some standing obediently still, while a few moved about restlessly, subject to the voices and on one or two occasions to a gentle administration of thong from the attendant whips. Four or five horsemen were clustering round, most of them farmers, and were talking to Tony. Our friend Mr. Twentyman was the only man in a red coat who had yet arrived, and with him, on her brown pony, was Kate Masters, who was listening with all her ears to every word that Tony said.
"That, I guess, is the Captain you spoke of," said the Senator pointing to Tony Tuppett.
"Oh no;—that's the huntsman. Those three men in caps are the servants who do the work."
"The dogs can't be brought out without servants to mind them! They're what you call gamekeepers." Morton was explaining that the men were not gamekeepers when Captain Glomax himself arrived, driving a tandem. There was no road up to the spot, but on hunt mornings—or