"I am only a cause of irritation to you, and home is no longer home
to me, but a place in which I am to be controlled in trifles, and
scolded about trifles as if I were a child. Put me in a way of making
a living for myself--that much your oldest son has a right to ask of
you--I will then leave this house, and you shall be no longer vexed
by my dress, or my want of punctuality."
"You make your request pretty much as another son did long ago: 'Give
me the portion that falleth to me.' But I don't think what he did
with his money is much encouragement for me to--." Then the thought
of how little he could give his son his "portion," or any part of it,
stopped the Squire.
Osborne took up the speech.
"I'm as ready as any man to earn my living; only the preparation for
any profession will cost money, and money I haven't got."
"No more have I," said the Squire, shortly.
"What is to be done then?" said Osborne, only half believing his
father's words.
"Why, you must learn to stop at home, and not take expensive
journeys; and you must reduce your tailor's bill. I don't ask you
to help me in the management of the land--you're far too fine a
gentleman for that; but if you can't earn money, at least you needn't
spend it."
"I've told you I'm willing enough to earn money," cried Osborne,
passionately at last. "But how am I to do it? You really are very
unreasonable, sir."
"Am I?" said the Squire--cooling in manner, though not in temper, as
Osborne grew warm. "But I don't set up for being reasonable; men who
have to pay away money that they haven't got for their extravagant
sons aren't likely to be reasonable. There's two things you've gone
and done which put me beside myself, when I think of them; you've
turned out next door to a dunce at college, when your poor mother
thought so much of you--and when you might have pleased and gratified
her so if you chose--and, well! I won't say what the other thing is."
"Tell me, sir," said Osborne, almost breathless with the idea that
his father had discovered his secret marriage; but the father was
thinking of the money-lenders, who were calculating how soon Osborne
would come into the estate.
"No!" said the Squire. "I know what I know; and I'm not going to
tell you how I know it. Only, I'll just say this--your friends no
more know a piece of good timber when they see it than you or I know
how you could earn five pounds if it was to keep you from starving.
Now, there's Roger--we none of us made an ado about him; but he'll
have his Fellowship now, I'll warrant him, and be a bishop, or a
chancellor, or something, before we've found out he's clever--we've
been so much taken up thinking about you. I don't know what's come
over me to speak of 'we'--'we' in this way," said he, suddenly
dropping his voice,--a change of tone as sad as sad could be. "I
ought to say 'I;' it will be 'I' for evermore in this world."