The chairman rises and shakes hands with him; the other directors rise and shake hands with him. He retires from the board-room, filled with joy. Everybody in the bank congratulates him; he has not an enemy in the establishment.
Being now in the enjoyment of a salary more than three times as large as that upon which he and his wife have had to manage since their marriage, he proceeds to the disposal of it. A little extravagance is allowable; he must work down his feelings somehow. A new dress suit for himself, a new black silk for his wife. His dress suit had lasted him for Heaven knows how long, and his wife's black silk has been made over and turned till it really could not be made over and turned again. Bob shall have the gold watch he has been promised since childhood, and which father's ship—which certainly has made one of the longest passages on record—has been bringing home for the last dozen years. Fanny shall be suitably provided for. For wife and daughter, each one dozen pairs of kid gloves, four button, eight button, a hundred button if they like; new bonnets, mantles, and boots; and also for each a ten-pound note, in a new purse, to do just as they please with. Phœbe, also, must not be forgotten. She shall have new gloves, and bonnet, and mantle, and boots, and money in a new purse. He goes out with them to make the purchases, and they have the most delightfully grave consultations and discussions. And just as the shopkeeper in Regent street is pressing upon him a most extraordinary bargain in the shape of a new silk——
Yes, just at that moment Mr. Lethbridge arrives at the bank, punctual, as usual, to the minute. He is in the best of spirits. His walk from Camden Town has been as good as a play. Better; for he is convinced that his dreams will come true one of these fine days. What does it matter, a week or two sooner or later?
CHAPTER IX.
A NEW DOMESTIC DRAMA, BY UNCLE LETH.
On the evening of the day on which Phœbe received from her father the gift of a florin, which munificent sum he deemed to be sufficient to provide for his daughter's birthday treat to her aunt and uncle Leth and her cousins, Mr. Lethbridge wended his way homeward from the bank, indulging, as he walked, in a more than usually glowing day-dream. There exists in a great number of poor and struggling families a common sympathetic legend of a relation who ran away from home when very young, who has made a fabulous fortune in a distant land, and who will one day suddenly present himself to his astonished kinsfolk, and fill their hearts with joy by pouring untold gold into their laps. This good genius is always a gray-headed old man, with bright eyes and a soul of good-nature, and is, of course, invariably a bachelor—a delightful fiction which insures comfortable portions to the marriageable girls. "The Indies" used to be the favourite locality in which the runaway uncle or cousin made and saved his fortune, but of late years Australia and America have been pressed into service. Such a legend had existed in Mr. Lethbridge's family when he was a youngster; and as he now walked toward Camden Town, who should turn up—in his dreams—but a fabulously wealthy old gentleman, who had come home for the express purpose of presenting Mr. Lethbridge with no less a sum than twenty thousand pounds? Here was a foundation for the day-dreamer to work upon! but it was not all. There was a most important connection nearer to his heart, and altogether of a more tangible character. Among the friends of the family was a certain Fred Cornwall, a young barrister waiting for briefs, regarding whom Mrs. Lethbridge had more than once confidentially unbosomed herself to her spouse to the effect that she was certain "he came after Fanny." Up to the present moment, supposing that Fred Cornwall had really any serious intentions, this was as far as he had got; but it was far enough for Mr. Lethbridge. The slenderest foundations were sufficiently strong for his castles. Now, on this evening, Fred Cornwall was abroad on a little summer trip, and before Mr. Lethbridge had started for his bank in the morning his wife had whispered to him that Fanny had received a letter from Fred. What more was wanting for fancy with open eyes in London streets?
He has left the bank. They gave him a dinner and a testimonial on parchment, and another in gold, which is now ticking in the left-hand pocket of his waistcoat. It was the pleasantest affair. Such things were said of him! And the choicest flowers from the banquet table were sent by hand to his wife and daughter. Simply to think of it made the tears come into his eyes.
He has bought the lease of the dear old house in Camden Town. He has no ambition to live in a better, despite the fact that he is master of twenty thousand pounds. Well, not quite so much, perhaps, because there was the lease to pay for, and the smartening up of the house, and some new furniture to buy for the best rooms. But quite enough, quite enough.
There is still something to do before the new arrangements are completed, and for this purpose he and his wife and Fanny are jogging along happily through fashionable thoroughfares, where the tradesmen have provided in their windows a veritable Aladdin's cave for their entertainment, and wherein the ladies of his family, intent upon killing two birds with one stone, have decided to indulge in a "little shopping"—of all female occupations the most attractive and fascinating.
In Regent Street whom should they meet but Fred Cornwall? Here he is, face to face with them. Mr. Lethbridge greets him cordially.
"Hallo, Fred! Who would have thought of seeing you? Why, where have you been these last three weeks? On the Continent? Of course, of course—I remember your telling us you were going. Enjoyed yourself, I hope? Yes! Very glad, very glad. How brown you look! When did you return? A few hours ago only—ah! Come round and see us this evening. You intended to! That's right. You'll see an improvement—we've been buying some new furniture and doing up the house. Do you know anything of roses, Fred? I want to put a few dozen standards in the garden; I've got some apple and pear trees in already. Our own fruit next year, Fred. Fact is, I've had a windfall. Ever heard me tell of a relation of mine who ran away from home when he was a boy, and who made a great fortune abroad? Well, to our astonishment, he turned up a little while ago, and behaved most handsomely to us; so handsomely, indeed, that I've resigned at the bank. No occasion to work any more, my boy; can take it easy. Pleased to hear it? Of course you are. It makes no difference in us, Fred. We're just the same as we always were—just the same—just the same. Now how about the briefs, Fred? Are they rolling in? No! But of course you must wait, as I have waited. Don't be discouraged, my lad! Hope—hope—hope; that's the best tonic for youngsters. Perhaps I may put something in your way. Anything particular to do this morning? We are making a few purchases, and, now I think of it, I have heard Fanny say, repeatedly, that your taste in ladies' dress is perfect. What are you blushing for, Fanny? Give Fred your arm. I have no doubt he will be happy to accompany us."
Mr. Lethbridge's day-dream was here snapped in the middle. He was recalled to earth by a clap on his shoulder and the sound of a mellow voice.
"The very man I was coming to see! How are you, Leth, old man?"
The mellowness of the speaker's voice was matched by the mellowness of his personal appearance. Good spirits and good-nature oozed out of him. His clean-shaven face was round and rubicund; his eyes had a cheery light in them; a jolly smile hovered about his mouth. He was a large man; his hands, his nose, his head, were massive—it is the only word that will describe them. But nothing in him was out of proportion, and the geniality and jollity of the man were in keeping with his physical gifts. As there is no occasion for mystery, he may at once be introduced: "Mr. Kislingbury—the reader."
A famous man, Mr. Kislingbury, as you know. Has he not afforded you opportunities innumerable, of which, as a sensible man, you have taken full advantage—for it is not to be doubted that you are an enthusiastic play-goer—for hearty laughter? Has he not made your sides ache this many a time and oft, and have you not gone home the better for it? Is there not something so contagious in the merry notes of his rich voice that your mouth wreathes with smiles the moment it reaches your ears? Yes, everybody knows Kiss—though his name be Kislingbury,
