"Follows here the strict receipt
For that sauce to dainty meat,
Named Idleness, which many eat
By preference, and call it sweet:
First watch for morsels, like a hound
Mix well with buffets, stir them round
With good thick oil of flatteries,
And froth with mean self-lauding lies.
Serve warm: the vessels you must choose
To keep it in are dead men's shoes."
Mr. Bulstrode's consultation of Harriet seemed to have had the effect
desired by Mr. Vincy, for early the next morning a letter came which
Fred could carry to Mr. Featherstone as the required testimony.
The old gentleman was staying in bed on account of the cold weather,
and as Mary Garth was not to be seen in the sitting-room, Fred went
up-stairs immediately and presented the letter to his uncle, who,
propped up comfortably on a bed-rest, was not less able than usual to
enjoy his consciousness of wisdom in distrusting and frustrating
mankind. He put on his spectacles to read the letter, pursing up his
lips and drawing down their corners.
"Under the circumstances I will not decline to state my
conviction--tchah! what fine words the fellow puts! He's as fine as an
auctioneer--that your son Frederic has not obtained any advance of
money on bequests promised by Mr. Featherstone--promised? who said I
had ever promised? I promise nothing--I shall make codicils as long as
I like--and that considering the nature of such a proceeding, it is
unreasonable to presume that a young man of sense and character would
attempt it--ah, but the gentleman doesn't say you are a young man of
sense and character, mark you that, sir!--As to my own concern with any
report of such a nature, I distinctly affirm that I never made any
statement to the effect that your son had borrowed money on any
property that might accrue to him on Mr. Featherstone's demise--bless
my heart! 'property'--accrue--demise! Lawyer Standish is nothing to
him. He couldn't speak finer if he wanted to borrow. Well," Mr.
Featherstone here looked over his spectacles at Fred, while he handed
back the letter to him with a contemptuous gesture, "you don't suppose
I believe a thing because Bulstrode writes it out fine, eh?"
Fred colored. "You wished to have the letter, sir. I should think it
very likely that Mr. Bulstrode's denial is as good as the authority
which told you what he denies."
"Every bit. I never said I believed either one or the other. And now
what d' you expect?" said Mr. Featherstone, curtly, keeping on his
spectacles, but withdrawing his hands under his wraps.
"I expect nothing, sir." Fred with difficulty restrained himself from
venting his irritation. "I came to bring you the letter. If you like
I will bid you good morning."