Her son, Mr Henry Gowan, inheriting from his father, the Commissioner, that
very questionable help in life, a very small independence, had been
difficult to settle; the rather, as public appointments chanced to
be scarce, and his genius, during his earlier manhood, was of that
exclusively agricultural character which applies itself to the
cultivation of wild oats. At last he had declared that he would become
a Painter; partly because he had always had an idle knack that way,
and partly to grieve the souls of the Barnacles-in-chief who had not
provided for him.
So it had come to pass successively, first, that
several distinguished ladies had been frightfully shocked; then, that
portfolios of his performances had been handed about o' nights, and
declared with ecstasy to be perfect Claudes, perfect Cuyps, perfect
phaenomena; then, that Lord Decimus had bought his picture, and had
asked the President and Council to dinner at a blow, and had said, with
his own magnificent gravity, 'Do you know, there appears to me to
be really immense merit in that work?' and, in short, that people of
condition had absolutely taken pains to bring him into fashion. But,
somehow, it had all failed. The prejudiced public had stood out against
it obstinately. They had determined not to admire Lord Decimus's
picture. They had determined to believe that in every service, except
their own, a man must qualify himself, by striving early and late, and
by working heart and soul, might and main. So now Mr Gowan, like that
worn-out old coffin which never was Mahomet's nor anybody else's, hung
midway between two points: jaundiced and jealous as to the one he had
left: jaundiced and jealous as to the other that he couldn't reach.
Such was the substance of Clennam's discoveries concerning him, made
that rainy Sunday afternoon and afterwards.
About an hour or so after dinner time, Young Barnacle appeared, attended
by his eye-glass; in honour of whose family connections, Mr Meagles had
cashiered the pretty parlour-maids for the day, and had placed on duty
in their stead two dingy men. Young Barnacle was in the last
degree amazed and disconcerted at sight of Arthur, and had murmured
involuntarily, 'Look here! upon my soul, you know!' before his presence
of mind returned. Even then, he was obliged to embrace the earliest opportunity of taking
his friend into a window, and saying, in a nasal way that was a part of
his general debility: 'I want to speak to you, Gowan. I say. Look here. Who is that fellow?'
'A friend of our host's. None of mine.' 'He's a most ferocious Radical, you know,' said Young Barnacle. 'Is he? How do you know?'