A day or two after the interview which was described in the last chapter John Eames dined with his uncle Mr Thomas Toogood, in Tavistock Square.
He was in the habit of doing this about once a month, and was a great favourite both with his cousins and with their mother. Mr Toogood did not give dinner-parties; always begging those whom he asked to enjoy his hospitality, to take pot luck, and telling young men whom he could treat with familiarity --such as his nephew--that if they wanted to be regaled a la Russe they must not come to Number 75 Tavistock Square. 'A leg of mutton and trimmings; that will be about the outside of it,' he would say; but he would add in a whisper--'and a glass of port such as you don't get every day of your life.' Polly and Lucy Toogood were pretty girls, and merry withal, and certain young men were well contented to accept the attorney's invitation --whether attracted by the promised leg of mutton, or the port wine, or the young ladies, I will not attempt to say. But it had so happened that one young man, a clerk from John Eames's office, had partaken so often of the put luck and port wine that Polly Toogood had conquered him by her charms, and he was now a slave, waiting an appropriate time for matrimonial sacrifice. William Summerkin was the young man's name; and as it was known that Mr Summerkin was to inherit a fortune amounting to three hundred pounds from his maiden aunt, it was considered that Polly Toogood was not doing amiss. 'I'll give you three hundred pounds, my boy, just to put a few sheets on the beds,' said Toogood the father, 'and when the old birds are both dead she'll have a thousand pounds out of the nest. That's the extent of Polly's fortune;--so now you know.' Summerkin was, however, quite contented to have his own money settled on his darling Polly, and the whole thing was looked at with pleasant and propitious eyes by the Toogood connexion.
When John Eames entered the drawing-room Summerkin and Polly were already there. Summerkin blushed up to his eyes, of course, but Polly sat as demurely as though she had been accustomed to having lovers all her life. 'Mamma will be down almost immediately, John,' said Polly as soon as the first greetings were over, 'and papa has come in, I know.'
'Summerkin,' said Johnny, 'I'm afraid you left the office before four o'clock.'
'No, I did not,' said Summerkin. 'I deny it.'
'Polly,' said her cousin, 'you should keep him in better order. He will certainly come to grief if he goes on like this. I suppose you could do without him for half an hour.'
'I don't want him I assure you,' said Polly.
'I have only been here just five minutes,' said Summerkin, 'and I came because Mrs Toogood asked me to do a commission.'
'That's civil to you, Polly,' said John.
'It's quite as civil as I wish him to be,' said Polly. 'And as for you, John, everybody knows that you're a goose, and that you always were a goose. Isn't he always doing foolish things at the office, William?' But as John Eames was rather a great man at the Income-Tax Office, Summerkin could not fall into his sweetheart's joke on this subject, finding it easier and perhaps safer to twiddle the bodkins of Polly's work-basket.
Then Toogood and Mrs Toogood entered the room together, and the lovers were able to be alone again during the general greetings with which Johnny was welcomed.
'You don't know the Silverbridge people--do you?' asked Mr Toogood.
Eames said that he did not. He had been at Silverbridge more than once, but did not know very much of the Silverbridgians. 'Because Walker is coming here to dine here. Walker is the leading man in Silverbridge.'
'And what is Walker;--besides being the leading man in Silverbridge?'
'He's a lawyer. Walker and Winthrop. Everybody knows Walker in Barsetshire. I've been down at Barchester since I saw you.'
'Have you indeed?' said Johnny.
'And I'll tell you what I've been about. You know Mr Crawley; don't you?'
'The Hogglestock clergyman that has come to grief? I don't know him personally. He's a sort of cousin by marriage, you know.'
'Of course he is,' said Toogood. 'His wife is my first-cousin, and your mother's first cousin. He came here to me the other day;--or rather to the shop. I had never seen the man before in my life, and a very queer fellow he is too. He came to me about this trouble of his, and of course I must do what I can for him. I got myself introduced to Walker, who has the management of the prosecution, and I asked him to come and dine tonight.'
'And what sort of fellow did you find Crawley, Uncle Tom?'
'Such a queer fish;--so unlike anybody else in the world.'
'But I suppose he did take the money,' said Johnny.
'I don't know what to say about it. I don't indeed. If he took it he didn't mean to steal it. I'm as sure that man didn't mean to steal twenty pounds as I ever could be of anything. Perhaps I shall get something about it out of Walker after dinner.' Then Mr Walker entered the room. 'This is very kind of you, Mr Walker; very indeed. I take it quite as a compliment, your coming in in this sort of way. It's just pot luck, you know, and nothing else.' Mr Walker of course assured his host that he was delighted. 'Just a leg of mutton and a bottle of old port, Mr Walker,' continued Toogood. 'We never get beyond that in the way of dinner-giving; do, we, Maria?'
But Maria was at this moment descanting on the good luck of the family to her nephew--and on one special piece of good luck which had just occurred. Mr Summerkin's maiden aunt had declared her intention of giving up the fortune to the young people at once. She had enough to live upon, she said, and would therefore make two lovers happy. 'And they're to be married on the first day of May,' said Lucy--that Lucy of whom her father had boasted to Mr Crawley that she knew Byron by heart--'and won't that be jolly? Mamma is going out to look for a house for them tomorrow. Fancy Polly with a house of her own! Won't it be stunning? I wish you were going to be married too, Johnny.'
'Don't be a fool, Lucy.'