Vanity Fair
Page 451Punctually, as the shrill-toned bell of the black marble study clock
began to chime nine, Sir Pitt made his appearance, fresh, neat, smugly
shaved, with a waxy clean face, and stiff shirt collar, his scanty hair
combed and oiled, trimming his nails as he descended the stairs
majestically, in a starched cravat and a grey flannel dressing-gown--a
real old English gentleman, in a word--a model of neatness and every
propriety. He started when he saw poor Rawdon in his study in tumbled
clothes, with blood-shot eyes, and his hair over his face. He thought
his brother was not sober, and had been out all night on some orgy.
"Good gracious, Rawdon," he said, with a blank face, "what brings you
here at this time of the morning? Why ain't you at home?"
not drunk. Shut the door; I want to speak to you."
Pitt closed the door and came up to the table, where he sat down in the
other arm-chair--that one placed for the reception of the steward,
agent, or confidential visitor who came to transact business with the
Baronet--and trimmed his nails more vehemently than ever.
"Pitt, it's all over with me," the Colonel said after a pause. "I'm
done."
"I always said it would come to this," the Baronet cried peevishly, and
beating a tune with his clean-trimmed nails. "I warned you a thousand
times. I can't help you any more. Every shilling of my money is tied
promised to my lawyer to-morrow morning, and the want of it will put me
to great inconvenience. I don't mean to say that I won't assist you
ultimately. But as for paying your creditors in full, I might as well
hope to pay the National Debt. It is madness, sheer madness, to think
of such a thing. You must come to a compromise. It's a painful thing
for the family, but everybody does it. There was George Kitely, Lord
Ragland's son, went through the Court last week, and was what they call
whitewashed, I believe. Lord Ragland would not pay a shilling for him,
and--"
"It's not money I want," Rawdon broke in. "I'm not come to you about
"What is the matter, then?" said Pitt, somewhat relieved.
"It's the boy," said Rawdon in a husky voice. "I want you to promise
me that you will take charge of him when I'm gone. That dear good wife
of yours has always been good to him; and he's fonder of her than he is
of his . . .--Damn it. Look here, Pitt--you know that I was to have
had Miss Crawley's money. I wasn't brought up like a younger brother,
but was always encouraged to be extravagant and kep idle. But for this
I might have been quite a different man. I didn't do my duty with the
regiment so bad. You know how I was thrown over about the money, and
who got it."