canon spratte was a man of buoyant temper, and did not grieve long over his frustrated hopes. after all there were richer sees than barchester. with youth and strength still on his side he need not resign himself yet to insignificance. importance lay in the position which a man had the ability to make for himself, and the vicar of st. gregory’s might wield greater power than the bishop of an obscure diocese in the western provinces. reconsidering his opinions, he came to the conclusion that barchester was a dull place, unhealthy, moribund, and tedious. he had always disliked a clay soil. and very soon he sincerely made up his mind that even if it had been offered to him, he would have refused. like wilhelm meister he cried that america was here and now; london offered the only opportunity for such a vigorous character as his. and what were earthly honours to a person of quality?
he consoled himself for everything with the thought that he had steered winnie successfully through the shoals of her amorous entanglements. she was now staying in the country with lady wroxham, and on her return the pleasing news of her engagement would be delivered to an envious world. the canon flattered himself that her foolish passion for bertram railing was definitely extinguished. her letters to lady sophia proved that this facile heart was now given in the properest way to harry wroxham. she wrote of him freely, with increasing affection, and her enthusiasm found daily new qualities to admire.
meanwhile the fine weather gave admirable opportunity for the canon’s matutinal rides with gwendolen durant. the effect upon his health was all that could be desired. he found her a more delightful girl than he had ever guessed; and his happy charm quickly brought their acquaintance to such a degree of intimacy that they might have known one another for ten years. it flattered him to see her flashing glance of pleasure when they met each morning, and he exerted himself to entertain her. sir john also had taken such a fancy to him that much of the canon’s time was spent at the brewer’s gorgeous mansion in park lane. his urbanity had never been more suave nor the scintillations of his wit more brilliant. gwendolen hung upon his lips.
but when canon spratte thought of lionel he was a little disconcerted.
on the day winnie was to come back to london, when he opened his times at breakfast, the canon uttered an exclamation. lady sophia and lionel looked up with alarm.
“a dreadful thing has happened,” he said, solemnly. “dr. gray has had an apoplectic stroke and died last night.”
“poor man,” cried lady sophia. “he hasn’t enjoyed his bishopric long.”
“i look upon it as a judgment of providence,” replied her brother, very gravely.
“what on earth do you mean?”
“i said at the time he was not fit to go to barchester. i have no doubt the excitement and the strain of altering all his plans proved too much for him. you see, i was right. when will men learn to put a rein upon their ambition?”
canon spratte read the details carefully, shaking his head, and then turned up the leading articles to see if by chance some reference was made to the sad event. but here a new surprise awaited him. he gave a start and smothered another cry. he ran his eyes down the column quickly to gather its gist, and then perused it with concentrated attention. he forgot entirely that the church of england had sustained a grievous loss, and that two lamb cutlets on the plate before him sought to tempt his appetite. the news he examined was of vital importance. the brewers, driven beyond endurance, were in full revolt against the government. on the previous night sir john durant, joining in the debate upon the bill to close certain public-houses, had made a violent speech in the house of commons. the government’s position was insecure already, and if the liquor interest withdrew its support, a dissolution was inevitable. sir john durant became suddenly a person of vast importance. the determination he took might throw the money-markets into confusion; it might alter the political balance of europe and have far-reaching effects in the uttermost parts of the earth. he had paramount influence with the trade and the other members in the house would follow his lead. he could command a large enough number of votes to make lord stonehenge’s tenure of office impossible. it was certain that the country would not return the conservative party again. canon spratte’s heart beat as though he were reading intelligence of the most sensational kind. he threw the paper down and his breath came very fast. for some time he stared straight in front of him and reviewed the situation from every side. he jumped up, and unmindful of his breakfast walked backwards and forwards.
“aren’t you going to eat your chop?” asked lady sophia.
“hang my chop,” he cried, impatiently.
she raised her eyebrows.
“how is it possible that the news of dr. gray’s death can have such an effect on you, theodore?”
“for goodness’ sake be quiet, and let me think,” he answered, without his usual politeness.
he had discussed the matter a dozen times with sir john, and knew with what angry vehemence the brewer regarded this new power wherewith it was proposed to invest the justices of the peace. he was a stubborn, obstinate man, and had persuaded himself that it was an interference with the liberty of trade. on the other hand, he was an enthusiastic conservative, and had no wish to put a liberal government in power, which would probably bring in temperance legislation of a much more drastic order. he was filled with the imperialistic sentiment and dreaded the radical indifference to his ideal of world supremacy. if sir john could be induced to hear reason, it was probable that he would not insist on the withdrawal of the bill which public opinion had forced the government to bring. but if left to himself, he might in a fit of temper throw all his influence with the opposition. whoever had durant’s ear on this occasion was for the moment the most powerful man in england. a smile broke on the canon’s lips. he drew a long breath.
“sophia, i should like to speak a few words to lionel.”
“i’ve just finished,” she said.
she did not hurry herself, but when it pleased her left the room. canon spratte turned eagerly to his son.
“now, lionel, i think you’ve shilly-shallied long enough. i want to know for good and all what you propose to do with regard to gwendolen.”
“what do you mean, father?”
“good lord, man, you’re not a perfect fool, are you? we’ve discussed your marriage ad nauseam. i want to know what your intentions are. it’s not fair to the girl to keep her dangling in this fashion. are you going to marry her or not?”
“well, father, there’s no hurry about it?”
“on the contrary there’s the greatest possible hurry.”
“why?”
“i have every reason to believe that some one else is thinking of proposing to her.”
“well, i don’t think she cares twopence about me,” answered lionel, rather sulkily. “lately when i’ve seen her she’s talked of nothing but you.”
“there are less diverting topics of conversation, lionel,” retorted the canon, with a smile.
“one can have too much of a good thing.”
“if you don’t look sharp some one else will step in and cut you out. i warn you candidly.”
“i shan’t break my heart, father.”
canon spratte shrugged his shoulders.
“i don’t know what the young men of the present day are coming to; they have no spirit and no enterprise. anyhow, i’ve done my duty and you mustn’t be surprised whatever happens.”
“i wonder you don’t marry her yourself,” said lionel, ironically.
“and would you have anything to say against my doing so?” retorted the canon, not without a suspicion of temper. “let me tell you that a man of fifty is in the very flower of his age. i flatter myself there are few men of your years who have half the vigour and energy that i have.”
he flung out of the room in a huff. his horse had been waiting for half-an-hour, and it was later than usual when he joined gwendolen in the park. her face lit up, and from his own all sign of vexation had vanished.
“i’d given you up,” she said. “i thought you weren’t able to come.”
“would you have been disappointed if i hadn’t?”
“awfully!”
“you make me regret more than ever that i’m not twenty-five,” he said, without any beating about the bush.
“why?”
“because if i were i should promptly ask you to marry me.”
“if you were i should probably refuse you,” she smiled.
“i wonder what you mean by that?”
they walked their horses side by side, and the canon was seized with an unaccountable shyness. it was by a real effort of will that at last he forced himself to speak.
“i suppose it never struck you that i took more than common pleasure in our conversations. but when i left you i was always seized with despair. i realized that my heart had remained as young as ever it was, but you never ceased to see in me a man old enough to be your father. do you know that i’m fifty?”
“i never asked myself what your age was. i never felt that you were any older than i.”
she answered nervously, looking straight in front of her. the canon shot a sidelong glance in her direction and saw that her cheeks were flaming. he recovered his courage at once. faint heart, he knew, never won fair lady.
“gwendolen, i sometimes think that you have worked a miracle, for by your side i feel as young as the summer morning. what can the years matter when i have the spirit and the strength of a youth! i admire you and i love you. do you think me very ridiculous?”
she shook her head, but did not speak. he put his hand lightly on hers.
“gwendolen, will you be my wife?”
she looked up with a little laugh that was almost hysterical. she did not answer directly.
“i’ll race you to the end,” she said.
without a word, smiling, the canon put the spurs to his horse; and they galloped up the row at a speed which was altogether beyond reason. the policeman on his beat watched with gaping mouth the strange spectacle of a comely young woman and an ecclesiastical dignitary, no longer in his first youth but handsome too, peltering towards the achilles statue as fast as they could go. gwendolen’s horse kept somewhat ahead, but the canon would not give way. again he clapped his spurs to the straining flanks. it seemed to him, romantically, that he rode for a great prize, and in his excitement he could have shouted at the top of his voice. they reached the end neck and neck, and when they stopped, panting, the horses were white with lather. there was no longer a shadow of humility in the canon’s breezy manner.
“and now for my answer,” he cried, gaily.
“what about lionel?” she smiled, blushing.
“oh, lionel can go to the dickens.”
canon spratte frequently said that he was unaccustomed to let grass grow under his feet. having left gwendolen at the door, he returned to the vicarage, changed his clothes, and promptly took a cab back to park lane. but he found that she had been before him, and sir john durant was already in possession of the happy news.
“upon my soul, i don’t know what you’ve done to the girl,” he said, in his hearty, boisterous tone. “she’s quite infatuated.”
the canon laughed and rubbed his hands.
“she’s made me the happiest of men.”
sir john was a man of affairs, whose pride it was that he went straight to the point; and notwithstanding canon spratte’s remonstrance, who sought to waive the matter airily aside, he insisted on discussing at once the business part of the projected union. it required all the fortunate lover’s self-control to prevent a little gasp of pleased surprise when the brewer in a casual way mentioned the sum he proposed to settle on his only daughter. it was larger even than he had expected.
“my dear durant, your generosity overwhelms me,” he cried. “i promise you i will do my best to make her happy, and i think it’s unlikely that either my brother or lionel will ever marry. in all probability gwendolen’s eldest son will inherit the title.”
this settled, he turned deftly to the political situation, and discovered that the brewer was somewhat taken aback by the responsibility which appeared to have fallen on him. he was anxious to do his duty by his party, but at the same time could not bear to sacrifice the interests of his trade. he had come to no decision whatever, and showed himself only too pleased to discuss his predicament with a man whose experience was so large, and whose mind so lucid. he insisted that his prospective son-in-law should stay to luncheon. during this meal canon spratte proved very neatly his skill in social intercourse, for he was able to show himself gallant and tender towards gwendolen, while at the same time he displayed keen sympathy with the brewer’s perplexity. but no sooner was the meal over than he jumped to his feet.
“you’re not going already?” cried sir john.
“my dear fellow, i must. i have a very busy day before me.” he smiled tenderly at gwendolen. “you can imagine that it is not without weighty reasons that i tear myself away.”
“then you must come back to dinner. you know, it’s private members’ night and i’m not going to the house.”
“impossible also! winnie is returning from the country to-day, and it would be unkind if i did not dine at home. besides, i have asked my brother. a christian family is one of the most beautiful as it is one of the most characteristic sights of our english life. i like to allow its mellowing influence to be exerted as often as possible on my rather harum-scarum relative.”
“then when shall we see you again?” asked the brewer, firmly grasping his hand.
“if it won’t disturb you i should like to come in for half-an-hour about ten o’clock.”
as soon as the door was closed behind him, he hailed a passing cab.
“i’ll give you a florin if you can get to the athenæum in three minutes,” he cried to the driver. he looked at his watch. “i think i shall just catch him.”
he knew that lord stonehenge was in the habit of passing an hour at the athenæum after luncheon. he sat always in a certain chair, near the window, which by common consent was invariably left vacant for him. no one ventured to disturb him. he went in and out of the club, indifferent to his fellow-members, as if he did not notice that a soul was there. but canon spratte was an audacious man and did not fear to be importunate. he smiled with satisfaction when he saw lord stonehenge, heavily seated in his accustomed place. that vast mass of flesh had a ponderous immobility which suggested that it would be difficult for the prime minister to escape from his agile hands. he was turning over the pages of a review, but his mind appeared busy with other things.
canon spratte walked up jauntily with the westminster gazette in his hand. it contained a very amusing cartoon in which sir john durant, as a turkish pasha, was seated on a beer-barrel, while the prime minister, in the garb of an odalisque, knelt humbly before him with uplifted hands. in the background were two satellites, one with a bow-string and the other with a scimitar.
“have you seen this?” said the canon, sitting down coolly and handing the paper. “capital, isn’t it?”
the prime minister turned his listless eyes on the intruder and for a moment wondered who on earth he was.
“i’ve just been lunching with durant. he’s rather sore about it. ticklish situation, isn’t it?”
“are you theodore spratte?” asked lord stonehenge.
“i am,” laughed the canon. “i hope durant won’t do anything rash. i have a good deal of influence with him, and of course i’m doing my best to persuade him not to kick over the traces.”
a sudden light flashed in the prime minister’s eyes, and he saw that canon spratte had an object in thus speaking to him. he dived into the abysses of his memory, and recalled that he had offered him a deanery, which the canon had refused. the man evidently wanted a bishopric or nothing. he remembered also something that his daughter had told him; he wondered what power the suave parson actually had with sir john.
“i hear that your son is going to marry durant’s daughter,” he said, slowly.
“you’ve been misinformed,” answered the canon, with a smile that was somewhat ironical. “i am going to marry her.”
“you!”
they looked at one another like two fencers, seeking to discover their strength in each other’s face. the prime minister’s eyes had a peculiar force which suggested the reason of his long-continued power; they lacked brilliancy, but there was in them a curious intensity of vision which seemed to absorb the thoughts of other men’s minds. the silence lasted interminably. canon spratte bore the great man’s gaze with perfect steadfastness, and presently lord stonehenge looked away. he stared out of the window, into space, and the canon thought he had entirely forgotten the subject in hand.
“i need not tell you that i will do everything i can to bring durant to a reasonable state of mind. at present he’s wavering. you probably know the facts better than i do, but he tells me the liquor party will follow him. i understand if they go against you the result will be—awkward.”
lord stonehenge apparently did not hear. his eyes still rested heavily on the trees in the park. canon spratte began to grow a little irritated, but still he waited patiently. at last the prime minister spoke.
“i suppose you’ve heard that gray is dead?”
“i have.”
“would you like to go to barchester?”
although he seemed desperately stupid lord stonehenge had understood. the canon’s heart gave a leap and he caught his breath. he forgot that barchester stood on a clay soil, and it no longer seemed a tedious place. at last! but he showed no eagerness to accept. he knew as well as the prime minister that the government was in the hollow of his hand.
at that moment a bishop came up to lord stonehenge with a telegram in his hand. canon spratte gave him an impatient frown.
“i’m sorry to disturb you, but i think you ought to see this,” said the newcomer.
he handed the telegram to lord stonehenge, who glanced at it irritably. the bishop knew canon spratte and nodded to him.
“it’s to tell me that the bishop of sheffield died in his sleep early this morning. he’s been ailing for some time.”
“thank you,” said the prime minister.
he returned the telegram, and the bishop withdrew. canon spratte and lord stonehenge looked at one another once more. a new factor had come into the game which they were playing. beside sheffield the diocese of barchester was quite insignificant; it was small and poor, and from the city itself all prosperity had long since vanished. the bishop of such a place might be a great man in his own neighbourhood, but he had no chance of activity outside it. sheffield, on the other hand, possessed two suffragans and patronage of vast importance. it was the centre of religious life in the midlands. year by year the town was growing in consequence; and its bishop, if a man of resource, might wield great power. by help of the rich manufacturers in his district he could raise huge sums for any purpose he pleased, and his influence need be second only to that of the archbishop. if it was possible to have sheffield, barchester was but a poor reward for such services as theodore spratte could render to his country. but he had no time to think it over. it was necessary to make his decision there and then. he was a bold man and did not hesitate.
lord stonehenge still waited for his answer.
“it’s very good of you to make me such an offer, and i need not say i am grateful for the honour, but—if i may put it frankly—i don’t think i feel inclined to go to such a dead and alive town as barchester. i have a passion for work, and i can’t live without plenty to do. if i leave london at all it must be for a place that offers ample scope for a man of energy, a place where there’s a vigorous civic life, and where you may feel yourself, as it were, at the centre of this busy modern world of ours. advance and progress are my watchwords.”
conversation with lord stonehenge was difficult, for he seldom opened his mouth. when you had said what you wanted, he merely waited for you to begin again; and unless possessed of much effrontery, you were utterly disconcerted. in the present case, however, there was but one word he needed to utter, and that word was sheffield. it remained unspoken. canon spratte, content to let things take their time, got up.
“but it’s too bad of me to take up the only moment in the day you have for recreation. i shall be seeing durant again after dinner.”
with a nod and a smile he left the prime minister to his own reflections.
theodore’s day had been somewhat exhausting. it is given to few, however eagerly they pursue the art of life, within twelve hours to win a wife and to refuse a bishopric. he had thoroughly earned the bath he took before dinner. he wondered how many people knew that he, theodore spratte, then pleasantly wallowing in cold water, mother naked, held as in a balance the destinies of the british empire. sir john durant would do as he suggested, and the next few hours might see determined the fall of an administration. he rubbed himself joyously with rough towels.
“when the clergy and the licensed victualers stand shoulder to shoulder, not all the powers of satan can avail against them,” he cried.
he dressed with unusual care and shaved a second time; he brushed his hair with feminine nicety. he put two rings on his little finger, and with a sigh of complete satisfaction, looked at himself in the glass. he felt very well and young and happy. his appetite was good and he was prepared to enjoy an excellent dinner.
when he reached the drawing-room he found that lord spratte was already arrived. winnie, whom he had not seen since her return, came up to kiss him.
“well, my dear, i hope you enjoyed yourself. you look positively radiant.”
“i’m so happy, father. you don’t know what a dear harry is. i’m awfully grateful to you.”
“your father’s a wise man, darling,” he laughed.
lionel came in, hat in hand, to see winnie, who had arrived but half-an-hour before and gone straight to her room. he expressed his regret that a choir-practice, which he must attend, forced him to go out.
“well, my boy, i’m sorry you can’t dine with us,” said the canon. “i should have liked to see my family united round my table on this night of all others, but since your duty calls i have no more to say.”
at this moment ponsonby announced that dinner was served, and at the same time handed a telegram to his master.
“hulloa, what’s this?”
he opened it and gave a cry. his heart beat so violently that he was obliged to sit down.
“papa, what’s the matter?” cried winnie.
“it’s so stupid of me, i’m quite upset. get me a glass of sherry, ponsonby.”
“what is it, theodore?” asked lady sophia, anxiously.
he waved his family aside and would not speak till ponsonby brought the wine. he drank a glass of sherry. a sigh of relief issued from his lips. he waited till ponsonby had left the room, and then slowly rose to his feet.
“sophia, you will be gratified to learn that the government has offered me the vacant bishopric of sheffield.”
“oh, papa, i’m so glad,” said winnie.
lionel seized his father’s hand and wrung it warmly.
“well, sophia, what do you say?”
“presumably you don’t want me to persuade you to take it.”
“no, i shall accept as it is offered me, frankly—and by telegram.”
he looked upon the members of his family and took no pains to hide his intense satisfaction.
“but i’m keeping you from your duties, lionel. you mustn’t wait a moment longer.” his son went to the door, but the canon called him back. “one moment, i was forgetting. i think the time has now arrived to announce winnie’s betrothal publicly. just sit down and write out a notice; you can leave it at the news agency as you pass.”
lionel obediently went to the desk and took a pen. the canon cleared his throat.
“we are authorized to announce that a marriage has been arranged between lord wroxham, of castle tanker, and winifred, only daughter of the honourable, (write that in full, lionel,) of the honourable and reverend canon theodore spratte, bishop elect of sheffield; better known as the——”
“better known as the—yes?”
“you’re very dull, lionel,” exclaimed the canon, with a laugh that was somewhat irritable. “better known as the popular and brilliant vicar of st. gregory’s, south kensington.”
when lionel had departed with this, canon spratte turned jovially to his brother.
“well, thomas, you see that virtue is sometimes rewarded even in this world. it is a great blessing to me to think that everything i desired has come about. winnie is to marry a man who will make her an excellent husband, and she will occupy a position which she cannot fail to adorn. while as for myself i am removing to a sphere where such poor abilities as providence has endowed me with, will have a fuller scope. i confess that i am gratified, not only for myself, but for the honour which has befallen our house. i cannot help regretting that my dear father is not alive to see this day. i need not say, thomas, that i shall always be pleased to see you at sheffield. i am convinced that the golf-links are excellent, and the poor hospitality of the palace will ever be at the command of the head of my family.”
“theodore, i shouldn’t like to be a rebellious parson in your diocese,” said lord spratte, gravely. “you’ll make it very hot for any one who don’t act accordin’ to your lights.”
“i shall not forget the watchwords of our house, which have ever been advance and progress. to these i shall now add: ‘discipline.’ but really we should go down to dinner.”
lady sophia thought it high time, for she had a healthy appetite. but at that instant came another interruption. ponsonby entered the room.
“a gentleman wishes to see you, sir,” he said, handing a card to the canon.
“oh, i can see no one at this hour. i can’t keep dinner waiting a moment longer.”
“i told him you could see nobody, sir,” answered ponsonby, “but the gentleman said he came from the daily mail.”
“that certainly makes a difference,” said the canon, taking the card.
“that’s what i thought, sir. he said he would be very much obliged if you could grant him a short interview.”
“say i shall be very happy, ponsonby, and show him into my study.”
“theodore, are we to have no dinner?” cried lady sophia, when ponsonby was gone.
“dinner, dinner!” exclaimed canon spratte, scornfully. “how can i think of dinner now, sophia? i have a duty to perform. you forgot that my position is radically altered.”
“i knew you’d remind us of it in less than five minutes,” said lady sophia, who felt that firmness now was needed or the future would be unbearable.
“i and my family have always been in the vanguard of progress,” replied the bishop elect, with a glance at the lord chancellor’s portrait.
“i know, but even your family wants its dinner sometimes.”
“sophia, i shall be obliged if you will not interrupt me. i cannot say i think it kind of you to insist in this vulgar way on the satisfaction of a gross and sensual appetite. i should have thought on such an occasion worthier thoughts would occupy your mind. but if your flesh is weak i am willing that you should begin. i am not a selfish man, and heaven forbid that i should ask as a right what an affectionate and christian disposition should grant as a pleasure.”
“fiddlesticks!”
canon spratte looked his sister up and down. he held himself very erect.
“sophia, i have long felt that you do not treat me with the respect i venture to consider my due. i must really beg you not to act towards me any longer with this mixture of indecent frivolity and vulgar cynicism. i do not wish to remind you that there is a change in my position.”
“you have done so twice in five minutes,” said lady sophia, acidly.
“it appears to be necessary. once for all, however, let me inform you that henceforth i expect to be treated in a different fashion. if you have not the affection to respect your brother theodore, if you have not the delicacy of sentiment to respect the son of the late lord chancellor—you will at least respect the bishop of sheffield.”
he stood for a moment to allow the effect of his words to be duly felt, and then marched to the door. here he stopped and turned round.
“it may also interest you to learn that on the thirty-first of july i am going to be married to gwendolen durant.”
he went out and slammed the door behind him. lady sophia stared at her eldest brother with helpless astonishment; but with a little smile, lord spratte shrugged his shoulders.
“he always has had the last word, sophia.”
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