The Last Chronicle of Barset [190]
is I that have done the most of it.' This Mr Musselboro said in a very serious voice, and with a look of much reproach.
'And you've been paid for what you've done. Come, Mussy, you'd better not turn against me. You'll never get your change out of that. Even if you marry the daughter, that won't give you the mother's money. She'll stick to every shilling of it till she dies; and she'd take it with her then, if she knew how.' Having said this, he got up from his chair, put his little book into his pocket, and walked out of the office. He pushed his way across the court, which was more than ordinarily crowded with the implements of Burton and Bangles' trade, and as he passed under the covered way he encountered at the entrance an old woman getting out of a cab. The old woman was, of course, Mother Van, as her partner, Mr Dobbs Broughton irreverently called her. 'Mrs Van Siever, how d'ye do? Let me give you a hand. Fare from South Kensington? I always give the fellow three shillings.'
'You don't mean to tell me it's six miles!' And she tendered a florin to the man.
'Can't take that, ma'am,' said the cabman.
'Can't take it! But you must take it. Broughton, just get a policeman, will you?' Dobbs Broughton satisfied the driver out of his own pocket, and the cab was driven away. 'What did you give him?' said Mrs Van Siever.
'Just another sixpence. There never is a policeman anywhere about here.'
'It'll be out of your own pocket, then,' said Mrs Van. 'But you're not going away?'
'I must be at Capel Court by half-past twelve;--I must, indeed. If it wasn't real business, I'd stay.'
'I told Musselboro, I should be here.'
'He's up there, and he knows all about the business just as well as I do. When I found that I couldn't stay for you, I went through the account with him, and it's all settled. Good morning. I'll see you at the West End in a day or two.' Then he made his way out into Lombard Street, and Mrs Van Siever picked her steps across the yard, and mounted the stairs, and made her way into the room in which Mr Musselboro was sitting.
'Somebody's been smoking, Gus,' she said, almost as soon as she had entered the room.
'That's nothing new here,' he replied, as he got up from his chair.
'There's no good being done when men sit and smoke over their work. Is it you, or he, or both of you?'
'Well--it was Broughton was smoking just now. I don't smoke of a morning myself.'
'What made him get up and run away when I came?'
'How can I tell, Mrs Van Siever,' said Musselboro, laughing. 'If he did run away when you came, I suppose it was because he didn't want to see you.'
'And why shouldn't he want to see me? Gus, I expect the truth from you. How are things going on here?' To this question Mr Musselboro made no immediate answer; but tilted himself back in his chair and took his hat off, and put his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and looked his patroness full in the face. 'Gus,' she said again, 'I do expect the truth from you. How are things going on here?'
'There'd be a good business--if he'd only keep things together.'
'But he's idle. Isn't he idle?'
'Confoundedly idle,' said Musselboro.
'And he drinks;--don't he drink in the day?'
'Like the mischief--some days. But that isn't the worst of it.'
'And what is the worst of it?'
'Newmarket;--that's the rock he's going to pieces on.'
'You don't mean to say he takes the money out of the business for that?' And Mrs Van Siever's face, as she asked the question, expressed almost a tragic horror. 'If I thought that I wouldn't give him an hour's mercy.'
'When a man bets he doesn't well know what money he uses. I can't say that he takes money that is not his own. Situated as I am, I don't know what is his own and what isn't. If your money was in my name I could keep a hand on it;--but as it is not I can do nothing. I can see that what is put out is put out fairly well; and when I think of it, Mrs Van Siever, it is quite wonderful that we've lost so little. It has been next to nothing. That has been my
'And you've been paid for what you've done. Come, Mussy, you'd better not turn against me. You'll never get your change out of that. Even if you marry the daughter, that won't give you the mother's money. She'll stick to every shilling of it till she dies; and she'd take it with her then, if she knew how.' Having said this, he got up from his chair, put his little book into his pocket, and walked out of the office. He pushed his way across the court, which was more than ordinarily crowded with the implements of Burton and Bangles' trade, and as he passed under the covered way he encountered at the entrance an old woman getting out of a cab. The old woman was, of course, Mother Van, as her partner, Mr Dobbs Broughton irreverently called her. 'Mrs Van Siever, how d'ye do? Let me give you a hand. Fare from South Kensington? I always give the fellow three shillings.'
'You don't mean to tell me it's six miles!' And she tendered a florin to the man.
'Can't take that, ma'am,' said the cabman.
'Can't take it! But you must take it. Broughton, just get a policeman, will you?' Dobbs Broughton satisfied the driver out of his own pocket, and the cab was driven away. 'What did you give him?' said Mrs Van Siever.
'Just another sixpence. There never is a policeman anywhere about here.'
'It'll be out of your own pocket, then,' said Mrs Van. 'But you're not going away?'
'I must be at Capel Court by half-past twelve;--I must, indeed. If it wasn't real business, I'd stay.'
'I told Musselboro, I should be here.'
'He's up there, and he knows all about the business just as well as I do. When I found that I couldn't stay for you, I went through the account with him, and it's all settled. Good morning. I'll see you at the West End in a day or two.' Then he made his way out into Lombard Street, and Mrs Van Siever picked her steps across the yard, and mounted the stairs, and made her way into the room in which Mr Musselboro was sitting.
'Somebody's been smoking, Gus,' she said, almost as soon as she had entered the room.
'That's nothing new here,' he replied, as he got up from his chair.
'There's no good being done when men sit and smoke over their work. Is it you, or he, or both of you?'
'Well--it was Broughton was smoking just now. I don't smoke of a morning myself.'
'What made him get up and run away when I came?'
'How can I tell, Mrs Van Siever,' said Musselboro, laughing. 'If he did run away when you came, I suppose it was because he didn't want to see you.'
'And why shouldn't he want to see me? Gus, I expect the truth from you. How are things going on here?' To this question Mr Musselboro made no immediate answer; but tilted himself back in his chair and took his hat off, and put his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, and looked his patroness full in the face. 'Gus,' she said again, 'I do expect the truth from you. How are things going on here?'
'There'd be a good business--if he'd only keep things together.'
'But he's idle. Isn't he idle?'
'Confoundedly idle,' said Musselboro.
'And he drinks;--don't he drink in the day?'
'Like the mischief--some days. But that isn't the worst of it.'
'And what is the worst of it?'
'Newmarket;--that's the rock he's going to pieces on.'
'You don't mean to say he takes the money out of the business for that?' And Mrs Van Siever's face, as she asked the question, expressed almost a tragic horror. 'If I thought that I wouldn't give him an hour's mercy.'
'When a man bets he doesn't well know what money he uses. I can't say that he takes money that is not his own. Situated as I am, I don't know what is his own and what isn't. If your money was in my name I could keep a hand on it;--but as it is not I can do nothing. I can see that what is put out is put out fairly well; and when I think of it, Mrs Van Siever, it is quite wonderful that we've lost so little. It has been next to nothing. That has been my