"What has become of Smith?" asked Cornelius.
"He is in the army."
"And Griffiths in the navy. You know that Blake is a physician, at Manchester?"
"Yes, and Reed has turned gentleman-farmer--is going to marry--"
"And lead a pastoral life. I am glad they are all doing well."
"Smalley!" observed Mr. Trim, wakening up, "tell O'Reilly you think it a shame for a fine fellow like him to poke in an office."
"_Et tu Brute!_" exclaimed Cornelius, turning round to Mr. Smalley, who replied, a little embarrassed--
"I confess I was surprised--"
"What did you expect from me?"
"Well, remembering your argumentative powers and flow of speech--"
"The law! Smalley, do you, a clergyman, advise me to set unfortunate people by the ears?"
Mr. Smalley looked startled, and took refuge in the healing art.
"The medical profession affords opportunities of benevolence--"
"And of being called up at two in the morning, to the relief of apoplectic gentlemen and ladies in distress."
"Shall I then suggest the army?"
"Would you advise me to make fighting a profession?"
"I fear the navy is open to the same objection," gently observed Mr.
Smalley; but he suddenly brightened, laid one hand on the arm of Cornelius, and, raising the forefinger of the other, to impress on him the importance of the discovery, he said earnestly, "My dear friend, how odd it is that you should have forgotten the wide world of science, literature, and art, for which you are so wonderfully gifted!"
"Am I?" carelessly replied Cornelius. He sat on the hearth, facing the fire; he stooped, took up the poker, and began to drive in the coals, much in his sister's way.
"Why, you are a first-rate scholar."
"Learning is worthless now. Besides, cannot I enjoy my old authors without driving bargains out of them?"
"But science?"
"I have no patience for it; then it is hard work, and I am indolent."
"And literature?"
"Bid me become one of the builders of the Tower of Babel," hastily interrupted Cornelius. "No, Smalley, the office, with its paltry salary, moderate labour, and, heaven be praised for it, its absence from care, is the thing for me." He laid down the poker, and reclined back in his chair with careless indolence. Mr. Smalley slowly rubbed his forehead with his forefinger, and looked at Cornelius through his glasses and over his neckcloth, with a gently puzzled air. Then he turned to Miss O'Reilly, and said simply--
"Your brother's philosophy puts me to shame, Ma'am: yet I used to think him ambitious, and I remember that once--I mean no reflection--one of the older boys having doubted his ability to--to do something or other--our dear friend being somewhat hasty, pushed him so that he fell."
"Say I knocked him down," replied Cornelius, reddening and trying to laugh. "Well, those days are gone, and with them the knocking-down propensity, as well as the ambition: I have become as meek and lowly as a lamb."
He threw back his head with the clear keen look of a hawk, and a curl of the lip implying no great degree of meekness.
"Yes," quietly said Kate from her corner, "the child is not always father of the man."
Cornelius bit his lip; Mr. Trim, who was again napping, woke up with a Ha! ha! Then, standing up to look at the clock on the mantelpiece, asked Mr. Smalley "if he called this Christian conduct."
"You know," he added with feeling reproach, "that we have that appointment at seven with Jameson, that I am half blind, the most unfortunate fellow for dozing and forgetting, whilst you always have your wits about you, and are quite a telescope for seeing. Oh! Smalley!" He shook his head at him, peering around the room with eyes that looked smaller than ever. Mr. Smalley attempted a justification on the score of not remembering that the appointment had been made; but Leopold Trim hinted that it was too much to expect him to believe that; though, having been always more or less victimized and imposed upon by Smalley, he was getting used to it. Mr. Smalley expressed his penitence by rising at once, and this brought their visit to an abrupt close. The door was scarcely shut on them, when Miss O'Reilly, poking the fire with great vigour and vivacity, looked up at Cornelius and said--
"I don't believe in Trim; I don't believe in his voice; in his bark and whistle laugh: in his eyes or in his dozing: I don't believe in him at all."
"But Smalley?"
"He is a good young man," she replied impressively.
"Cornelius is a great deal better," I put in, quickly; "he fought for Mr.
Smalley, who never fought for him."
"Did you ever hear such a conclusion!" exclaimed Miss O'Reilly, laying down the poker; "fighting made the test of excellence! You naughty girl!
don't you see Mr. Smalley was a Christian lad, and Cornelius a young heathen?"
"I like the heathens," was my reply, more prompt than orthodox: "they were always brave; Achilles was, and so was Hector," I added, with a shy look at Cornelius, whom I had secretly identified with the Trojan hero.
Hector laughed, and told me to bring the books for the lessons. I remember that I answered him particularly well,--so well, that his sister asked if I was not progressing.
"Very much," he carelessly replied. "Kate, what has become of that 'Go where Glory waits thee'?"
"I really don't know. Child, what are you about?" I was on my knees, hunting through the music, ardent and eager to find the piece he wanted.
He allowed me to search, and sat down by his sister.
"Cornelius, here it is," I said, standing before him with the piece of music in my hand.
"Thank you, put it there. Kate, Smalley is smitten with you!"
"Nonsense, boy, go and sing your song."
He laughed; rose and kissed her blooming cheek. He had never so much as looked at me. Whilst he sang, I sat at the end of the piano as usual; when he closed the instrument and went to the sofa, I followed him and drew my stool at the foot of the couch. There he indolently lay for awhile; then suddenly started up, and walked, or rather lounged about the room, looking at the books on the table, at the flowers in the stand, and talking to his sister. I rose, and, unperceived as I thought, I followed him quietly; walking when he walked, stopping when he stopped, and waiting for the favourable moment to catch a look and obtain, perhaps, a negligent caress.
"It is most extraordinary," exclaimed Miss O'Reilly, who had been watching me.
"What is extraordinary, Kate?"
"How that child persists in sneaking after you, as if she were a little spaniel and you were her master!"
"Is she not gone to bed yet?" asked Cornelius, turning round to give me a surprised look.
"She is going," replied Miss O'Reilly, rising and taking my hand: "early to bed and early to rise. By the bye, Cornelius, do try and get up earlier. It is too bad to keep breakfast as you do until near nine every morning, with the tea not worth drinking, and the ham getting cold with waiting."