Wives and Daughters: An Every-Day Story - Page 209/572

"Why isn't dinner ready?" he called out sharply. "It's ten minutes

past six. And, pray, why are you using this wood? It's impossible to

get oneself warm by such a fire as this."

"I believe, sir, that Thomas--"

"Don't talk to me of Thomas. Send dinner in directly."

About five minutes elapsed, spent by the hungry Squire in all sorts

of impatient ways--attacking Thomas, who came in to look after

the fire; knocking the logs about, scattering out sparks, but

considerably lessening the chances of warmth; touching up the

candles, which appeared to him to give a light unusually insufficient

for the large cold room. While he was doing this, Osborne came in

dressed in full evening dress. He always moved slowly; and this, to

begin with, irritated the Squire. Then an uncomfortable consciousness

of a black coat, drab trousers, checked cotton cravat, and splashed

boots, forced itself upon him as he saw Osborne's point-device

costume. He chose to consider it affectation and finery in Osborne,

and was on the point of bursting out with some remark, when the

butler, who had watched Osborne downstairs before making the

announcement, came in to say dinner was ready.

"It surely isn't six o'clock?" said Osborne, pulling out his dainty

little watch. He was scarcely more unaware than it of the storm that

was brewing.

"Six o'clock! It's more than a quarter past," growled out his father.

"I fancy your watch must be wrong, sir. I set mine by the Horse

Guards only two days ago."

Now, impugning that old steady, turnip-shaped watch of the Squire's

was one of the insults which, as it could not reasonably be resented,

was not to be forgiven. That watch had been given him by his

father when watches were watches long ago. It had given the law to

house-clocks, stable-clocks, kitchen-clocks--nay, even to Hamley

Church clock in its day; and was it now, in its respectable old age,

to be looked down upon by a little whipper-snapper of a French watch

which could go into a man's waistcoat pocket, instead of having to

be extricated, with due effort, like a respectable watch of size and

position, from a fob in the waistband? No! not if the whipper-snapper

were backed by all the Horse Guards that ever were, with the Life

Guards to boot. Poor Osborne might have known better than to cast

this slur on his father's flesh and blood; for so dear did he hold

his watch!

"My watch is like myself," said the squire, 'girning,' as the Scotch

say--"plain, but steady-going. At any rate, it gives the law in my

house. The King may go by the Horse Guards if he likes."