University of Virginia Library

58. CHAPTER LVIII.
HOW MR. RUSHTON PROVED THAT ALL MEN WERE SELFISH,
HIMSELF INCLUDED.

Leaving Mr. Roundjacket contemplating the ceiling, and reflecting
upon the various questions connected with bachelorship
and matrimony, Verty returned to the office, and reported to Mr.
Rushton that the poet was rapidly improving, and would probably
be at his post on the morrow.

This intelligence was received with a growl, which had become,
however, so familiar an expression of feeling to the young man,
that he did not regard it.

“Well, sir,” said Mr. Rushton, “what news is there about
town?”

“News, sir? I heard none.”

“Did'nt you pass along the streets?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you met nobody?”

“Oh, yes; I met Ralph, and Mr. Jinks, and others.”

“Jinks! I'll score that Jinks yet!” said Mr. Rushton; “he is
an impertinent jackanapes, and deserves to be put in the stocks.”

“I don't like him much,” said Verty, smiling, “I think he is
very foolish.”

“Hum! I have no doubt of it: he had the audacity to come
here once and ask an opinion of me without offering the least
fee.”

“An opinion, sir?”

“Yes, sir; have you been thus long in the profession, or in
contact with the profession,” added Mr. Rushton, correcting
himself, “without learning what an opinion is?”

“Oh, sir—I think I understand now—it is—”

“A very gratifying circumstance that you do,” said Mr. Rushton,
with the air of a good-natured grizzly bear. “Well, sir, that
fellow, I say, had the audacity to consult me upon a legal point
—whether the tailor O'Brallaghan, being bound over to keep
the peace, could attack him without forefeiting his recognizances
—that villain Jinks, I say, had the outrageous audacity to ask
my opinion on this point, and then when I gave it, to rise and
say that it was a fine morning, and so strut out, without another
word. A villain, sir! the man who consults a lawyer without
the preparatory retainer, is a wretch too deep-dyed to reform!”

Having thus disposed of Jinks, Mr. Rushton snorted.

“I don't like him,” Verty said, “he does not seem to be sincere,
and I think he is not a gentleman. But, I forget, sir; you
asked me if there was any news. I did hear some people talking
at the corners of the street as I passed.

“About what?”

“The turn out of the Dutch and Irish people the day after to-morrow,
sir.”

“Hum!” growled Mr. Rushton, “we'll see about that! The
authorities of Winchester are performing their duty after a pretty
fashion, truly—to permit these villainous plots to be hatched
under their very noses. What did you hear, sir?”

“They were whispering almost, sir, and if I had'nt been a
hunter I could'nt have heard. They were saying that there
would be knives as well as shillalies,” said Verty.

“Hum! indeed! This must be looked to! Will we! The
wretches. We are in a fine way when the public peace is to be
sacrificed to the whim of some outlandish wretches.”

“Anan?” said Verty.

“Sir?” asked Mr. Rushton.

“I do not know exactly what outlandish means,” Verty replied,
with a smile.

A grim smile came to the lips of the lawyer also.

“It means a variety of things,” he said, looking at Verty;
“some people would say that you, sir, were outlandish.”

“Me!” said Verty.

“Yes, you; where are those costumes which I presented to
you?”

“My clothes, sir—from the tailor's?”

“Yes, sir.”

Verty shook his head.

“I did'nt feel easy in them, sir,” he said: “you know I am an
Indian—or if I am not, at least I am a hunter. They cramped
me.”

Mr. Rushton looked at the young man for some moments in
silence.

“You are a myth,” he said, grimly smiling, “a dream—a
chimera. You came from no source, and are going nowhere.
But I trifle. If I am permitted, sir, I shall institute proper inquiries
as to your origin, which has occasioned so much thought.
The press of business I have labored under during the last month
has not permitted me. Wretched life. I'm sick of it—and go to
it like a horse to the traces.”

“Don't you like law, sir?”

“No—I hate it.”

“Why, sir?”

“ `Why!' ” cried Mr. Rushton, “there you are with your
annoying questions! I hate it because it lowers still more my
opinion of this miserable humanity. I see everywhere rascality,
and fraud, and lies; and because there is danger of becoming the
color of the stuff I work in, `like the dyer's hand.' “I hate it,”
growled Mr. Rushton.

“But you must see many noble things, sir, too,—a great deal of
goodness, you know.”

“Well, sir, so I do. I don't deny it. There are some men
who are not entirely corrupt,—some who do not cheat systematically,
and lie by the compass and the rule. But these are the
exceptions. This life and humanity are foul sin from the beginning.
Trust no one, young man—not even me; I may turn out
a rogue. I am not better than the rest of the wretches!”

“Oh, Mr. Rushton!”

“There you are with your exclamations!”

“Oh, I'm sure, sir—”

“Be sure of nothing; let us end this jabber. How is your
mother?” said Mr. Rushton, abruptly.

“She's very well, sir.”

“A good woman.”

“Oh, indeed she is, sir—I love her dearly.”

“Hum! there's no harm in that, though much selfishness, I
do not doubt—all humanity is narrow and selfish. There are
some things I procured for her.”

And Mr. Rushton pointed to a large bundle lying on the
chair.

“For ma mere!” said Verty.

“Yes; I suppose that, in your outlandish lingo, means mother.
Yes, for her; the winter is coming on, and she will need something
warm to wrap her—poor creature—from the cold.”

“Oh, how kind you are, Mr. Rushton!”

“Nonsense; I suppose I am at liberty to spend my own
money.”

Verty looked at the lawyer with a grateful smile, and said:

“I don't think that what you said about everybody's being
selfish and bad is true, sir. You are very good and kind.”

“Flummery!” observed the cynic, “I had a selfish motive: I
wished to appear generous—I wished to be praised—I wished to
attach you to my service, in order to employ you, when the time
came, in some rascally scheme.”

“Oh, Mr. Rushton!”

“Yes, sir; you know not why I present that winter wardrobe
to your mother,” said the lawyer, triumphantly; “you don't
even know that it is my present!”

“How, sir?”

“May I not stop it from your salary, I should like to know,
sir?”

And Mr. Rushton scowled at Verty.

“Oh!” said the young man.

“I may do anything—I may have laid a plot to have you
arrested for receiving stolen goods,” said the shaggy cynic,
revelling in the creations of his invention; “I may have wrapped
up an infernal machine, sir, in that bundle, which, when you
open it, will explode like a cannon, and carry ruin and destruction
to everything around!”

This terrific picture caused Verty to open his eyes, and look
with astonishment at his interlocutor.

“I may have bought them in to spite that young villain at the
store. I heard him,” said Mr. Rushton, vindictively—“yes, distinctly
heard him whisper, `There's old Rushton again, come to
growl, and not buy anything.' The villain! but I disappointed
him; and when he said, `Shall they be sent to your office,
sir?' in his odious obsequious voice, I replied, `No, sir! I am
not a dandy or fine gentleman, nor a woman;—you, sir, may be
accustomed to have your bundles sent—I carry mine myself.'
And so, sir, I took the bundle on my shoulder and brought it
away, to the astonishment of that young villain, who, I predict,
will eventually come to the gallows!”

And the lawyer, having grown tired of talking, abruptly went
into his sanctum, and slammed the door.

Verty gazed after him for some moments with a puzzled expression—then
smiled—then shook his head; then glanced at
the bundle. It was heavy enough for two porters, and Verty
opened his eyes at the thought of Mr. Rushton's having appeared

in public, in the town of Winchester, with such a mass upon his
back.

“He's very good, though,” said Verty; “I don't know why
he's so kind to me. How ma mere will like them—I know they
are what she wants.”

And Verty betook himself to his work, only stopping to partake
of his dinner of cold venison and biscuits. By the afternoon,
he had done a very good task; and then mounting Cloud,
with the bundle before him, he took his way homeward, via
Apple Orchard.