'Yes, William, yes. No doubt,' returned the other, lifting his dim eyes

to his face. 'But I am not like you.' The Father of the Marshalsea said, with a shrug of modest

self-depreciation, 'Oh! You might be like me, my dear Frederick;

you might be, if you chose!' and forbore, in the magnanimity of his

strength, to press his fallen brother further.

There was a great deal of leave-taking going on in corners, as was usual

on Sunday nights; and here and there in the dark, some poor woman, wife

or mother, was weeping with a new Collegian. The time had been when the

Father himself had wept, in the shades of that yard, as his own

poor wife had wept. But it was many years ago; and now he was like

a passenger aboard ship in a long voyage, who has recovered from

sea-sickness, and is impatient of that weakness in the fresher

passengers taken aboard at the last port. He was inclined to

remonstrate, and to express his opinion that people who couldn't get on

without crying, had no business there. In manner, if not in words, he

always testified his displeasure at these interruptions of the general

harmony; and it was so well understood, that delinquents usually

withdrew if they were aware of him.

On this Sunday evening, he accompanied his brother to the gate with an

air of endurance and clemency; being in a bland temper and graciously

disposed to overlook the tears. In the flaring gaslight of the Lodge,

several Collegians were basking; some taking leave of visitors, and

some who had no visitors, watching the frequent turning of the key, and

conversing with one another and with Mr Chivery. The paternal entrance

made a sensation of course; and Mr Chivery, touching his hat (in a short

manner though) with his key, hoped he found himself tolerable.

'Thank you, Chivery, quite well. And you?'

Mr Chivery said in a low growl, 'Oh! he was all right.' Which was his

general way of acknowledging inquiries after his health when a little

sullen. 'I had a visit from Young John to-day, Chivery. And very smart he

looked, I assure you.' So Mr Chivery had heard.

Mr Chivery must confess, however, that his wish

was that the boy didn't lay out so much money upon it. For what did it

bring him in? It only brought him in wexation. And he could get that

anywhere for nothing. 'How vexation, Chivery?' asked the benignant father. 'No odds,' returned Mr Chivery. 'Never mind. Mr Frederick going out?'

'Yes, Chivery, my brother is going home to bed. He is tired, and

not quite well. Take care, Frederick, take care. Good night, my dear

Frederick!' Shaking hands with his brother, and touching his greasy hat to the

company in the Lodge, Frederick slowly shuffled out of the door which

Mr Chivery unlocked for him. The Father of the Marshalsea showed the

amiable solicitude of a superior being that he should come to no harm.




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