or thrice at Captain Dobbin, who parried the thrust
laughingly with his bamboo walking-stick.
Mr. Stubble, as may be supposed from his size and
slenderness, was of the Light Bobs. Ensign Spooney, on
the contrary, was a tall youth, and belonged to (Captain
Dobbin's) the Grenadier Company, and he tried on a new
bearskin cap, under which he looked savage beyond his
years. Then these two lads went off to the Slaughters', and
having ordered a famous dinner, sate down and wrote off
letters to the kind anxious parents at home--letters full of
love and heartiness, and pluck and bad spelling. Ah! there
were many anxious hearts beating through England at
that time; and mothers' prayers and tears flowing in many
homesteads.
Seeing young Stubble engaged in composition at one of
the coffee-room tables at the Slaughters', and the tears
trickling down his nose on to the paper (for the youngster
was thinking of his mamma, and that he might never see
her again), Dobbin, who was going to write off a letter to
George Osborne, relented, and locked up his desk. "Why
should I?" said he. "Let her have this night happy. I'll go
and see my parents early in the morning, and go down to
Brighton myself to-morrow."
So he went up and laid his big hand on young Stubble's
shoulder, and backed up that young champion, and told
him if he would leave off brandy and water he would
be a good soldier, as he always was a gentlemanly good-
hearted fellow. Young Stubble's eyes brightened up at this,
for Dobbin was greatly respected in the regiment, as the
best officer and the cleverest man in it.
"Thank you, Dobbin," he said, rubbing his eyes with
his knuckles, "I was just--just telling her I would. And,
O Sir, she's so dam kind to me." The water pumps were
at work again, and I am not sure that the soft-hearted
Captain's eyes did not also twinkle.
The two ensigns, the Captain, and Mr. Chopper, dined
together in the same box. Chopper brought the letter from
Mr. Osborne, in which the latter briefly presented his
compliments to Captain Dobbin, and requested him to
forward the inclosed to Captain George Osborne. Chopper
knew nothing further; he described Mr. Osborne's appearance,
it is true, and his interview with his lawyer, wondered
how the governor had sworn at nobody, and--especially
as the wine circled round--abounded in speculations
and conjectures. But these grew more vague with
every glass, and at length became perfectly unintelligible.
At a late hour Captain Dobbin put his guest into a hackney
coach, in a hiccupping state, and swearing that he would
be the kick--the kick--Captain's friend for ever and ever.
When Captain Dobbin took leave of Miss Osborne we
have said that he asked leave to come and pay her
another visit, and the spinster expected him for some hours
the next day, when, perhaps, had he come, and had he
asked her that question which she was prepared to answer,
she would have declared herself as her brother's
friend, and a reconciliation might have been effected
between George and his angry father. But though she waited
at home the Captain never came. He had his own affairs
to pursue; his own parents to visit and console; and at an
early hour of the day to take his place on the Lightning
coach, and go down to his friends at Brighton. In the
course of the day Miss Osborne heard her father give
orders that that meddling scoundrel, Captain Dobbin,
should never be admitted within his doors again, and any
hopes in which she may have indulged privately were thus
abruptly brought to an end. Mr. Frederick Bullock came,
and was particularly affectionate to Maria, and attentive
to the broken-spirited old gentleman. For though he said
his mind would be easy, the means which he had taken to
secure quiet did not seem to have succeeded as yet, and
the events of the past two days had visibly shattered him.
CHAPTER XXV
In Which All the Principal Personages Think Fit
to Leave Brighton
Conducted to the ladies, at the Ship Inn, Dobbin assumed
a jovial and rattling manner, which proved that this
young officer was becoming a more consummate hypocrite
every day of his life. He was trying to hide his own
private feelings, first upon seeing Mrs. George Osborne
in her new condition, and secondly to mask the
apprehensions he entertained as to the effect which
the dismal news brought down by him would certainly
have upon her.
"It is my opinion, George," he said, "that the French
Emperor will be upon us, horse and foot, before three
weeks are over, and will give the Duke such a dance as
shall make the Peninsula appear mere child's play. But
you need not say that to Mrs. Osborne, you know. There
mayn't be any fighting on our side after all, and our
business in Belgium may turn out to be a mere military
occupation. Many persons think so; and Brussels is full
of fine people and ladies of fashion." So it was agreed to
represent the duty of the British army in Belgium in this
harmless light to Amelia.
This plot being arranged, the hypocritical Dobbin saluted
Mrs. George Osborne quite gaily, tried to pay her
one or two compliments relative to her new position as a
bride (which compliments, it must be confessed, were
exceedingly clumsy and hung fire woefully), and then fell
to talking about Brighton, and the sea-air, and the gaieties
of the place, and the beauties of the road and the merits
of the Lightning coach and horses--all in a manner
quite incomprehensible to Amelia, and very amusing to
Rebecca, who was watching the Captain, as indeed she
watched every one near whom she came.
Little Amelia, it must be owned, had rather a mean
opinion of her husband's friend, Captain Dobbin. He lisped
--he was very plain and homely-looking: and exceedingly
awkward and ungainly. She liked him for his attachment
to her husband (to be sure there was very little merit in
that), and she thought George was most generous and
kind in extending his friendship to his brother officer.
George had mimicked Dobbin's lisp and queer manners
many times to her, though to do him justice, he always
spoke most highly of his friend's good qualities. In her
little day of triumph, and not knowing him intimately as
yet, she made light of honest William--and he knew her
opinions of him quite well, and acquiesced in them very
humbly. A time came when she knew him better, and
changed her notions regarding him; but that was distant as
yet.
As for Rebecca, Captain Dobbin had not been two hours
in the ladies' company before she understood his secret
perfectly. She did not like him, and feared him privately;
nor was he very much prepossessed in her favour. He
was so honest, that her arts and cajoleries did not affect
him, and he shrank from her with instinctive repulsion.
And, as she was by no means so far superior to her sex as
to be above jealousy, she disliked him the more for his
adoration of Amelia. Nevertheless, she was very respectful
and cordial in her manner towards him. A friend to
the Osbornes! a friend to her dearest benefactors! She
vowed she should always love him sincerely: she remembered
him quite well on the Vauxhall night, as she told
Amelia archly, and she made a little fun of him when the
two ladies went to dress for dinner. Rawdon Crawley paid
scarcely any attention to Dobbin, looking upon him as a
good-natured nincompoop and under-bred City man. Jos
patronised him with much dignity.
When George and Dobbin were alone in the latter's
room, to which George had followed him, Dobbin took
from his desk the letter which he had been charged by
Mr. Osborne to deliver to his son. "It's not in my father's
handwriting," said George, looking rather alarmed; nor
was it: the letter was from Mr. Osborne's lawyer, and to
the following effect:
Bedford Row, May 7, 1815.
SIR,
I am commissioned by Mr. Osborne to inform you,
that he abides by the determination which he before
expressed to you, and that in consequence of the marriage
which you have been pleased to contract, he ceases to
consider you henceforth as a member of his family.
This determination is final and irrevocable.
Although the monies expended upon you in your
minority, and the bills which you have drawn upon
him so unsparingly of late years, far exceed in amount
the sum to which you are entitled in your own right
(being the third part of the fortune of your mother,
the late Mrs. Osborne and which reverted to you at her
decease, and to Miss Jane Osborne and Miss Maria
Frances Osborne); yet I am instructed by Mr. Osborne
to say, that he waives all claim upon your estate, and
that the sum of 2,0001., 4 per cent. annuities, at the
value of the day (being your one-third share of the sum
of 6,0001.), shall be paid over to yourself or your agents
upon your receipt for the same, by
Your obedient Servt.,
S. HIGGS.
P.S.--Mr. Osborne desires me to say, once for all,
that he declines to receive any messages, letters, or
communications from you on this or any other subject.
"A pretty way you have managed the affair," said
George, looking savagely at William Dobbin. "Look there,
Dobbin," and he flung over to the latter his parent's letter.
"A beggar, by Jove, and all in consequence of my d--d
sentimentality. Why couldn't we have waited? A ball might
have done for me in the course of the war, and may still,
and how will Emmy be bettered by being left a beggar's
widow? It was all your doing. You were never easy until
you had got me married and ruined. What the deuce am
I to do with two thousand pounds? Such a sum won't
last two years. I've lost a hundred and forty to Crawley at
cards and billiards since I've been down here. A pretty
manager of a man's matters YOU are, forsooth."
"There's no denying that the position is a hard one,"
Dobbin replied, after reading over the letter with a blank
countenance; "and as you say, it is partly of my making.
There are some men who wouldn't mind changing with
you," he added, with a bitter smile. "How many captains
in the regiment have two thousand pounds to the fore,
think you? You must live on your pay till your father
relents, and if you die, you leave your wife a hundred a
year."
"Do you suppose a man of my habits call live on his
pay and a hundred a year?" George cried out in great
anger. "You must be a fool to talk so, Dobbin. How the
deuce am I to keep up my position in the world upon
such a pitiful pittance? I can't change my habits. I must
have my comforts. I wasn't brought up on porridge, like
MacWhirter, or on potatoes, like old O'Dowd. Do you
expect my wife to take in soldiers' washing, or ride after
the regiment in a baggage waggon?"
"Well, well," said Dobbin, still good-naturedly, "we'll
get her a better conveyance. But try and remember that
you are only a dethroned prince now, George, my boy;
and be quiet whilst the tempest lasts. It won't be for
long. Let your name be mentioned in the Gazette, and
I'll engage the old father relents towards you:"
"Mentioned in the Gazette!" George answered. "And in
what part of it? Among the killed and wounded returns,
and at the top of the list, very likely."
"Psha! It will be time enough to cry out when we are
hurt," Dobbin said. "And if anything happens, you know,
George, I have got a little, and I am not a marrying
man, and I shall not forget my godson in my will," he
added, with a smile. Whereupon the dispute ended--as
many scores of such conversations between Osborne
and his friend had concluded previously--by the former
declaring there was no possibility of being angry with
Dobbin long, and forgiving him very generously after
abusing him without cause.
"I say, Becky," cried Rawdon Crawley out of his
dressing-room, to his lady, who was attiring herself for
dinner in her own chamber.
"What?" said Becky's shrill voice. She was looking
over her shoulder in the glass. She had put on the neatest
and freshest white frock imaginable, and with bare
shoulders and a little necklace, and a light blue sash, she
looked the image of youthful innocence and girlish
happiness.
"I say, what'll Mrs. O. do, when 0. goes out with the
regiment?" Crawley said coming into the room, performing
a duet on his head with two huge hair-brushes, and
looking out from under his hair with admiration on his
pretty little wife.
"I suppose she'll cry her eyes out," Becky answered.
"She has been whimpering half a dozen times, at the
very notion of it, already to me."
"YOU don't care, I suppose?" Rawdon said, half angry
at his wife's want of feeling.
"You wretch! don't you know that I intend to go with
you," Becky replied. "Besides, you're different. You go
as General Tufto's aide-de-camp. We don't belong to the
line," Mrs. Crawley said, throwing up her head with an
air that so enchanted her husband that he stooped down
and kissed it.
"Rawdon dear--don't you think--you'd better get that
--money from Cupid, before he goes?" Becky continued,
fixing on a killing bow. She called George Osborne,
Cupid. She had flattered him about his good looks a
score of times already. She watched over him kindly at
ecarte of a night when he would drop in to Rawdon's
quarters for a half-hour before bed-time.
She had often called him a horrid dissipated wretch,
and threatened to tell Emmy of his wicked ways and
naughty extravagant habits. She brought his cigar and
lighted it for him; she knew the effect of that manoeuvre,
