9. CHAPTER IX.
COLONEL HARTRIGHT EXPLODES.
On the next morning a money-lender came to Huntsdon, sent in
his name,—Mr. Hicks,—and bowing low as he entered the drawing-room
where Harley awaited him, hoped that gentleman was in the
enjoyment of good health.
Mr. Hicks was a small, wiry personage, with a thin face, a keen
pair of eyes, and a stereotyped smile. His dress was plain and unassuming—indeed,
rather shabby—and he held in his dingy hand a
dilapidated hat, with a broad brim, which, being too large for him,
generally reposed upon his ears—too large, like the hat, for his other
proportions. His hair was short and red—his eyebrows bushy.
Harley always came to the point in business matters.
“Sit down, sir,” he said. “I owe you money.”
“A little trifle of from three to five thousand pounds, Mr. Harley.”
“You want the money?”
Mr. Hicks cleared his throat.
“Money is money, Mr. Harley, you know. Still,—”
Now Mr. Hicks was putting himself to an enormous amount of
unnecessary trouble. He had not come to demand payment of the
amount, lent on mortgage to Harley during his absence, but to lend
him more. The explanation of this desire was simple. Dr. Wills
was a gossip. He met the parson of the parish on his way home
from Oakhill, and casually mentioned that Mr. George Hartright
had left his fine “Glenvale” estate to Justin Harley. Mr. Hicks,
riding by as the news was communicated, heard it; and as Mr.
Hicks had at the time the sum of two thousand pounds to lend on
mortgage, at a little, or a good deal, above the legal rate of interest,
he thought he could not do better than propose the loan to a young
gentleman of lavish expenditure, who would like to anticipate his
resources.
“The fact is, Mr. Harley,” said Mr. Hicks, “I have a regard for
you, and am not the man, you know, to press a gentleman. I could
even let you have a trifle more on good security, Mr. Harley, you
know.”
Harley reflected.
“I want two thousand pounds. I am going back to Europe. Will
you lend it on this property?”
“Hum!—well; now to tell you the fact, Mr. Harley, this property
is in bad order, you know; and then the other mortgage—”
“Very well. This is all I possess.”
Dr. Hicks stared. He was certain that he had heard Dr. Wills
tell the parson that the “Glenvale” estate had been left to Justin
Harley. He now intimated his impression upon that point, and
Harley as promptly undeceived him. The “Glenvale” property was
left, he informed Mr. Hicks, to his uncle, Colonel Hartright, with
the simple expression of a wish that it might revert, if Colonel Hartright
saw no reason to change the reversion, to himself.
Mr. Hicks looked extremely blank, reflected, became much depressed,
brightened up slowly, and finally proposed to lend the
money “all the same” on Harley's bond, at an exorbitant interest.
He had said to himself, “Colonel Hartright loved his brother. He
will leave the property to the young man.”
Harley refused to pay the interest demanded; and Mr. Hicks,
with many groans and prostestations that a less percentage would
ruin him, “the way money then was—tight, sir, tight as wax,”—
consented to ruin himself. On the next morning he brought the
money, took Harley's obligation, and went away, saying:
“There is a spendthrift who will belong to me. He is borrowing
at high interest to squander!”
Mr. Hicks was blundering—as intelligent men will. Justin Harley
was princely in character, and disregarded money. If Mr.
Hicks had not come to Huntsdon on that morning, it had been his
intention to send for the money-lender, and obtain from him a new
loan for a specific object—but that object was not his own gratification
in the least.
This object may be simply stated. Harley was firmly convinced
that, in spite of his great physical strength and apparent health, he
would not live long. He faced this conviction with perfect coolness,
thinking of but one thing—how he could transmit the
Huntsdon estate to his beloved younger brother, St. George, or
“Sainty.” He had thrown away his money in Europe very recklessly,
and suddenly found Huntsdon encumbered. He resolved to
free the estate from this encumbrance. To do so, it was only necessary,
he felt sure, to drain the rich expanse of the Blackwater
Swamp, and this he resolved to do with his two thousand pounds.
When this great work should be well commenced, he had determined
to place his younger brother in charge of the work, return to
Europe, bury himself in some corner of France or Spain, live on a
pittance, and end in due time a life which was not happy—and
unhappiest of all, for some reason, it seemed, when his days passed
in Virginia.
Such was the intention of the young spendthrift of Mr. Hicks'
imagination. The money-lender did not speak of the transaction,
but the young lawyer who drew the paper—for Mr. Hicks' education
had been neglected—did. Chancing to be at Oakhill on some business
with Colonel Hartright, the lawyer incidentally mentioned the
loan, and as the Colonel was in a bad humor, his suspicions were
suddenly excited; he jumped to a conclusion, exploded, and wrote
the following note to Harley:
“Sir: I have reason to conclude that you have been borrowing
money on your expectations, in connection with my late brother's
property, to waste in reckless extravagance in foreign countries.
I write this to inform you that, if I have a say in that matter, as I
think I have, you will be dissappointed. I will not have the property
of my brother George pass into the hands of money-lenders to
supply your extravagance or your vices.
“Your obedient servant,
“Joshua Hartright.”
Harley read the note with entire coolness, and sent back this
reply:
“Sir: So be it. Life is, after all, so stupid an affair that justice
or injustice are the same.
“Your obedient servant,
“Justin Harley.”
He then ordered his horse, and rode out.
