Samson's Youngest. A novel

Front matter

SAMSON'S YOUNGEST BY MARIAN BOWER AUTHOR OF "PAY NIC JACKS, GEN TLEM AN" RICE ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE SAA/SON'S YOUNGEST By the Same Author. Paynton Jacks, Gentleman. Cloth, 6s. Academy :—u The very simply-constructed story, in which there are not more than half-a-dozen prominent characters, is redeemed from conventionality by considerable freshness of treatment ; and the book, which is entirely free from crude amateurish ness, is well thought out and admirably written. We shall look forward with interest to Miss Bower's second novel." Whitehall Review: — u 'Paynton Jack' is a character that has been well thought out. Moreover, Marian Bower has a fresh manner of writing which is very pleasing, and which suggests promise of better work to come. Her conversations are natural without being dull, and amusing without being strained.

The five persons who con stitute the principal characters in the book are each endowed with the breath of reality — they possess personalities ; and slight though the story be, it has spirit and force— more than the authoress allows herself to give out. Weak points there are, but they deserve to be overlooked." Speaker : — " It is a refreshing and delightful experience to come upon a novel so full of humour, observation and sympathy as the author of ' Paynton jacks, Gentle man,' has given us. Commendably modest in compass, the story loses nothing thereby, for its racy and sparkling pages attract and retain the reader's interest from start to finish. . . , Comedy is the mainstay of the book, but there is an under current of subdued pathos in the sketching of two subsidiary characters. The story is vigorous and consistent throughout, and the dialogue both spirited and natural.

So good a novel is * Paynton Jacks,' indeed, that we shall look with real interest for its successor." Daily Telegraph: — "In 'Paynton Jacks, Gentleman,' Marian Bower writes one of the pleasantest and most satisfactory books of the year. . . . This delightful story is told with such winning grace and delicate humour that its perusal only suggests one complaint— probably the rarest of all reproaches addressed to contemporary writers of fiction— to wit, that it is not at least thrice as long as its over-discreet author has deemed fit to make it. . . . The volume in bidding for public favour carries with it our cordial recommendation." Athenæum :—" 'Paynton Jacks, Gentleman.' The story reads like a first attempt, and if so, it is decidedly promising. Well written, delicate in tone and with a true insight into character and the springs of human action, it gives evidence of a genuine talent for the weaving of quietly attractive romance."

Prologue

. I The Remfreys were not born to Polkthorpe Hall ; they had risen to it. No one would have made greater haste to assure you of that fact than old Samson Remsrey himself. He looked upon it as a highly creditable performance. It bore witness to a power of getting on, and to " get on " was certainly the eleventh commandment of his creed. "Shows t man's got summat i' 'im," he would insist, if any one ventured to animadvert upon the sudden and glowing appearance of the commercial comet. " When er chap can lay by 'is bit o' brass, yer may make yer mind easy 'e's none so soft. Now," he continued on one occasion, " I can mind me on t' time when me and me brother lived i' er cottage along wi' me father and mother that 'ud go why," casting about in his mind for a

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. 2 suitable illustration — "into that wash'us there," and he jerked his thumb over his left shoulder to indicate the brand-new laundry, replete with all the most modern improvements, that had recently been added to the Polkthorpe establishment. " We's gotten on sin then er bit, I can tell yer," Samson resumed, the flow of re miniscence being upon him. " I likes er man as gets on ; and there's that deal o' difference i' 'em. Now, my Sam, 'e won't be left far behind. He sticks ter er thing close, 'e does, but it's 'Zekial's Joe as beats me. 'E'll be up and doin' as long as there's aught i' wind. Do'sn't take after 'is father no more than er potater takes after er pea. 'E' favours me, 'e does ; but 'e's er bit sharper than I ever was. Mayhap it's edication. Joe allers sticks ter it that it's er grand thing is edication, and 'Zekial 'e thought t' same.

But I never 'ad none ; and queer stuff er deal on it is. I'se seed Joe at 'is Latin. ' Latin,' says I, ' I'se never corned nigh naught on that i' ledgers ; learn ter be on right side there, lad, and other folks 'ull take care then that yer none so far wrong wi' em.' " But, bless yer, Joe when 'e war nobbut so high," spreading out a broad, firm hand some four feet from the ground, " 'e com'd

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. 3 ter me, 'e did, as bold as brass. ' Uncle,' he says, ' I mun go ter school, and ter er proper school, mind yer.'" And the old man paused in the interval of filling the bowl of his long, churchwarden, clay pipe with tobacco, and laughed con tentedly at the recollection of his nephew's youthful peremptoriness. " 'E'd never lose naught fur \vant on askin' straight, wouldn't Joe," he added, with another chuckle of satisfaction. This particular conversation took place one evening when Mr. Remsrey was entertaining a friend. " I can't see that 'e favours 'is father at all," replied Mr. Spong, as he removed his pipe from between his lips, and pondered with great deliberation upon the problem. " I tell'd yer that," rejoined Samson. " Unless t' schoolin' war it comin' out," con tinued Mr. Spong, and he lifted one hand and stroked his grey hair thoughtfully.

"Aye," said Samson, " yer's right there. His father war one fur learnin', and no mistake war 'Zekial. Yer don't mind 'im at 'is best, John, yer over young fur that," with a sympathising air, and John was obliged to admit that his youth had denied him that privilege. There was a silence in the little room.

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. 4 Samson balanced his Windsor chair, first on its hind legs and then back again, whilst Mr. Spong, seated on the opposite side of the fireplace in another, puffed away at his pipe meditatively, with his bandy legs far apart, and his toes, which seemed to have a perpetual disinclination that way, just touching the ground. " Yer's warm and comfortable like 'ere after all," he observed, as though he had been forced to a remarkable conclusion, directly contrary to what might have been expected ; and he put out his hand for his glass, which stood upon a little round deal table, covered with the fami liar red and blue checked cloth of the cottage house. "Aye," said Samson, and then with a burst of confidence, as he brought his chair firmly on to its four legs with a bang — " Fact is, yer knows, I can't abide 'em big rooms.

I'se never at 'ome i' 'em. I said ter t' lads, when we corned 'ere, ' Now I'll do t' thing proper no one shall say as I ain't. When so be as it's necessary like I'll sit down ter me dinner when I ought ter be 'avin' me supper, and if I can think on I'll use all 'em forks and spoons yer lays such store by ' — though it's a rum go when pie crusts is 'ard and knives is gain aud that yer maunt cut wi' 'em, now isn't it, John ? " with an appeal to his friend.

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. 5 "Ter be sure, ter be sure," acquiesced Mr. Spong, promptly. "And I'll buy anything i' reason, I says," continued Samson, who always believed in telling his story to the end if once he began. " Fur me sen I'se partial ter 'em big glasses i' gold frames ; and there's summat i' 'avin' er chair covered wi' satin fine enough fur er queen, but there ain't no comfort — yer can't look fur it, and I mun 'ave me comfort." "It's nobbut like," put in Mr. Spong, with much feeling. " Martha, now, at bottom on 'er 'eart was of same mind as me," resumed Mr, Remsrey, "only women is that ways built that they'd put their sens out until they don't know whether they's standin' on their 'eads or their 'eels, all fur er bit o' show." " It's er pity, that," rejoined the attentive John, with a lengthening of his face over such a testimony to the weakness of the opposite sex.

" But yer can't alter it," declared Samson, and he emphasised the saying upon the lump of sugar in his toddy ; " it's born i' 'em, and it 'ull stay i' 'em. Well " — before returning to the original topic, as he fastened the spoon to the side of the glass with his thumb and prepared for a drink — "fill up, John," and John complied.

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. " Sam 'e didn't think it 'ud be 'advisable ' — he likes er sine word, does our Sam ; it's wi' 'im being in t' council, and like ter be t' mayor, I reckon," continued Mr. Remsrey ; " but I looks ter Joe. There's that deal o' common sense i' Joe. 'E looks back at me. ' Uncle,' 'e says, with 'is smile, and our Joe does smile pleasant ; now do'sn't 'e ? yer can't say 'e do'sn't" — aggressively, and as though Mr. Spong had shown an inclination to dispute the assertion, which he had not ; " 'e minds me on 'Zekial there if yer like. 'Would yer take ter that little room nigh ter t' back door, uncle ? ' says Joe. 'Right, me boy,' says I. 'But yer maun't let on ter everybody, uncle,' says 'e. ' Yer is Remsrey on Polkthorpe 'all now.' 'Yer don't take me fur er flat,' I answers, and Joe 'e laughs." Samson paused, and stretched out his hand for the glass.

He repeated the performance with his thumb and the spoon, for it seemed to him a more simple business than taking the latter out and laying it on the table. "Baccy?" he asked, looking towards his guest, but Mr. Spong preferred to fill his pipe from his own pouch. " When t' parson calls," resumed Samson, " or any on 'em fine folks round about, as mostlings comes ter look and turn up their

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. 7 noses — if so be as they don't want anything on us — Martha and me goes i' drawing-room and I struts as fine as er peacock. When Joe's swell friends comes it's t' same. Millicent, she'll bring some on 'em kind 'ome I reckon, and then I'll do me duty. But fur an old friend like yer sen, John" — and Mr. Remsrey waved his pipe around the room. "Aye," said Mr. Spong, " ter be sure, ter be sure." And he meant it. He was more at ease in company with the cocoa-nut matting and the wooden-seated or horse-hair covered chairs, than he ever would be amid the grandeur of the rooms at the other side of the house. At that moment the eight-day clock chimed the hour. " Nine," remarked Samson ; " yer'll stay and 'ave er bit o' supper wi' us, John ? There's nobbut Martha and me, and we'll 'ave it ere." " Well," said Mr. Spong, replying to the invitation in his most cordial manner — " I don't mind if I do."

They smoked on, and in a short time Martha and the supper made their appearance together. Miss Remsrey was some five years the eldest of Samson's children. A tall, gaunt, angular person, who bore strongly marked traces of her origin. " She's tarred wi' t' same brush as me, is

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. Martha," Samson had one day remarked, with a touch of that clear vision which had enabled him to deal with, and to profit by, facts as they were. "Now, Millicent 'ull be different." Miss Remsrey, it happened, had resented the speech. " Millie 'asn't slaved as I ave," she replied. " I'm sayin' that," retorted Samson, without an idea of the storm in a teacup. But Martha was mightily offended. It was during the holidays, and she looked across to her tall, dark-eyed sister with a glitter in her sharp green eyes. Joe, of course, observed the storm. Equally of course it was Joe who hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters. It was a plan he always advocated, and which he held might always be followed if one did but know how to set about it. " Uncle is paying you a compli ment," he said. " Is 'e ?

" retorted Miss Remsrey, with a dis believing air. The sting remained, planted all the more deeply because Martha's own shrewdness recognised that the observation held a truth ; and as Millicent came home, holiday after holiday, bringing with her hints of an existence to which Martha could never hope to approach and which she accordingly resented in proportion,

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. 9 an old idea grew in distinctness, an idea which had led her to attire herself in her stiffest black silk gown, with a long gold watch-chain and her silver locket, on this particular occasion. " Good evenin', Mr. Spong," she said, a large smile overspreading her marked features. Mr. Spong "oped" that Miss Remsrey found herself well. " Thank you kindly," the lady rejoined ; " yes, I'm pretty fair," as she deposited herself, with angular precision, before the steak and onions — " but there's er deal o' worrit i' er 'ouse like this, Mr. Spong, er deal." The little man nervously replied that his observations had led him to the same con clusion. "Now yours is er nice size i' 'ouses," pursued Miss Martha, benignly. " Yer maunt forget ter reckon on t' land," put in her listener, hurriedly. " Aye," said Miss Remsrey, nothing daunted, "but yer's nobbut t' men ter deal wi' there.

I doubt yer, Mr. Spong, but yer finds yer lasses i' t' 'ouse er sight o' worry. Galls allers wants er missus over 'em." Mr. Spong seemed to be deeply absorbed in his plate, and did not venture upon a reply. He did glance furtively towards Samson, but apparently the head of the house was wholly

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. 10 occupied in sopping up his gravy with a huge slice of bread. " Eh," Mr. Remsrey said, as though about half conscious of an awkward pause — "I maunt do this i' dinin'-room, John," and his left eyelid drooped with a suggestion that stolen fruit was sweet. "Joe's 'minded me on that time and again ; though why good gravy war made for naught better than ter swim i' plates beats me clean." " Lord ! yes," acquiesced his guest " Don't yer think wi' me, Mr. Spong?" put in Miss Remsrey, who had no intention of allowing her argument to go by default. " Maybe, maybe," admitted the little man. " Yer'll find it out one o' these days, mark my words yer will," decreed Miss Martha. " Lasses wants er mistress over 'em. I allers thinks yers 'ud be er nice little 'ouse fur er body ter manage." " 'Deed ! but it's awful damp, and that lone some i' winter," faltered Mr. Spong; and Miss Martha's tight lips went to with a snap.

" Steak's tender," observed Samson, looking towards his guest. "Aye," returned Mr. Spong, heaving a deep breath of relief. "I'm partial ter steak." "I'm wi' yer," continued Samson. "Yer may take yer grand dinners fur me — wi' er

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. 11 mouthful 'ere and er snack there, and folks starin' at yer if yer asks fur more on what's ter yer mind. But gi'e me er steak — tender, mind — and onions browned i' oven fust, and no one ter gainsay yer if yer comes "earty." " And would it be tender and onions browned if I didn't keep my eye on it ? " demanded Miss Martha. " Like not," said her father ; but the lady's glance was fixed on Mr. Spong. The late post brought Samson a letter. After his guest had gone, and Miss Martha had set out on her rounds to plant alarm bells on every door and window for fear that a robber might get in, and much more for fear that a man or a maid might get out, Samson mixed himself another glass of whisky and water, and, pulling the deal table closer to the fire, spread out the sheet upon it. It was covered with those large, half mascu line characters which the modern young woman affects, and as he went down line by line, Samson's forefinger pointed the word under consideration.

" Dear," he muttered, when he had mastered the contents, and he looked into the fire with an air of perplexity, "things 'as altered er bit, and no mistake, sin' I war er young un."

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. 12 He turned and re-read a line or two of the letter. "I mun ask Joe," he concluded; "it fair beats me 'ow that lad knows rights on things." He pulled the bell. "Tell Mr. Joseph I wants 'im as soon as he comes in," he com manded, when it was answered. " Here, sir ? " inquired the irreproachable Watson, and he permitted himself the faintest accent of remonstrance. The Remsrey servants were so excellently paid that the situation was not lightly to be abandoned, but a man of Watson's calibre, " who had always served real gentlemen be fore," considered that his residence at Polk thorpe Hall entailed severe personal sacrifices "Where else? of course," rejoined Samson, testily, for he was sharp enough to see the man's attitude. " Confound 'is impedince," he muttered, when the door closed. He took a pull or two at his long pipe, and the cloud gradually lifted from his face. -..

" I'm nobbut Brummagen," he muttered ; " 'tain't no good ter make two bites off that cherry ; it's nobbut er fool as calls black white, and there's that kind of dirt that no bucketsful on soap and water 'ull wash off. I'm a plain man, and there's no gettin' over that. Now, Sam is a bit farther along, but it's Joe as 'ull

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. 13 be top o' tree. Eh ! "—with a sigh — " if 'Zekial could nobbut see that lad ! Millicent, too, 'ull make some on 'em sit up. When Joe comes in " and Samson referred to his letter again, but presently it fell idly between his fingers, and the old man sat looking into the fire. "'E war er proper man, war 'Zekial," he muttered. Yet an unprejudiced observer might have maintained that the principal employment of Ezekiel Remsrey during his lifetime was to serve as hanger-on to his more prosperous brother. He toiled not, neither did he spin. But he had a fluent tongue, and he played the concertina " beaute-ful, until yer'd almost think yer war i' chapel " (to quote Samson), and in several other such remarkable ways acquired a reputation for culture. Still, he did not make money. Perhaps anything so commonplace was beneath him.

At any rate, when he died he was graciously pleased to charge his brother with the care and education of his only child. To that part of the bargain Samson also cheer fully agreed. Indeed, he looked upon it as an honour. There is a great deal in the way you look at things, you know.

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. 14 II. The clock wanted five minutes to twelve as the parlour door opened. "Eh, lad." said Samson, "it's yer, is it? Come and sit yer down." " Thanks," and Joe Remsrey settled himself in the chair lately tenanted by Mr. Spong, with that smile on his face which Samson maintained was so like 'Zekial's. " You wanted me ? " in quired the young man. "Aye." Joe waited. " What is the difficulty now ? " he asked himself, for he knew his uncle. He opened his case, took out a cigarette, then rose and stood with his back to the fire. He watched the blue rings of smoke as they curled upwards. He was in no hurry. It was not his way. Isa thing had to be done quickly, then let the speed be as lightning; otherwise, he believed that patience held the key to most things. Tout vicnt a lui qui sait attcndre.

That, in brief, was his creed, and he had the courage of his convictions. Samson's glance followed him. " Eh, lad, I wish yer father could set eyes on yer ! " he exclaimed. His nephew smiled quietly. Joe could not

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. 15 remember his father, and from what he had gathered concerning him he felt rather grateful to him for not prolonging his existence, only he did not say so. He was a young man who was eminently wise in his generation. "Yer knows," continued Samson, " yer looks t' real thing, and no mistake. Why, lad, yer might go in ter dinner wi' lords and ladies and they'd never know, if they wasn't tell'd, that yer wasn't one on 'em." " I hope so." Samson gasped. Joe's self-confidence some times took his breath away. " I never could be comfortable i' 'em things, never," resumed Mr. Remsrey, and he referred to his nephew's evening dress ; " it's bein' brought up to 'em like, I reckon. Same way as 'em folks as twists 'emselves i' circuses is brought up to it, and thinks no more on it than I thinks on walkin' over t' room."

"Exactly." said Joe, restraining a smile. " Dear, dear," muttered Samson, as he com menced to fill his pipe anew; "now t' same way," he went on, " I never could abide 'em paper things : seems like playin' wi' yer bacca." Joe lifted the cigarette between the first two fingers of his shapely hand — for nature had dealt handsomely with him. Good-looking, well-built, he gave the lie to that fiction which

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. a glance at the nouveaux riches so often helps to discredit. Perhaps the blue blood is begin ning to run thin ; any way, the duke often approaches Caliban, the parvenu Adonis. " You wanted me, uncle," the young man observed, since the fact seemed entirely to have escaped Mr. Remfrey's recollection. The old man brought down his chair with his usual sharp movement. " I did," he said — " see ere," and he held out the letter. "From Millicent," began Joe. "You'll let her go ? " he inquired, as he folded and returned it. " That's yer way o' thinkin' ? " " Decidedly." Samson took a pull or two at the church warden. "It seems er deal o' brass ter spend on er girl's schoolin'," he observed, "when most ever she can do wi' it is ter get married as soon as she's up-grow'd. Martha, she never went to Paris nor nowhere."

Joe felt that circumstances alter cases. He set this view of the matter as delicately as might be before his uncle, and his counsel prevailed. Millicent '"/fished her education in Paris.

Chapter I

When Millicent came home at nineteen, a tall, queenly girl, beautiful after a restless, discon tented fashion, she was a source of perpetual dismay to her father. " She beats me clean," Samson confided to his nephew. " I can't make 'ead nor tail on > ji er. Joe saw the old man's perplexity, and guessed that a little disappointment worked beneath it. He was ready with a way out of the difficulty. " She's young and inexperienced," he sug gested, " but she's a fine girl, plenty of intel lect " " Intellect," broke in his uncle — "your father used ter talk er deal on that. He set er store by it, did 'Zekial," and Samson would have regarded such a piece of information as a sufficient excuse for interrupting her Majesty herself in the midst of a state oration. " You will find that with her knowledge " 'Zekial war allers one fur book-larnin' — but i' boys.

I can't," with a troubled look, "call er mind 'e ever as much as spoke on galls." " He had not one, you see," suggested Joe. " Right," cried Samson, slapping his thigh ; " what a sharp lad yer is, ter be sure ! " Joe modestly disclaimed such an honour, and then, seeing that his uncle's mind was some what relieved, he left him. He made his way into the hall — and the hall at Polkthorpe was beautiful. The shabbiness and dinginess had gone, but the old-world air remained, the old furniture, the old tapestry, that indefinable something which clings to weighty associations. The Kymers of Polk thorpe had once played their part bravely on their country's stage, and though gambling, free living, and such things had forced the last of the name to part with every acre of his ancestral possessions, yet the very walls and stones proclaimed what had been, and Joe took care that nothing should hide or deface their testimony.

Samson, indeed, had remonstrated at spend ing such " er deal on 'em old things " when as much brand-new furniture as a heart could desire might have been bought for about half the sum ; but Joe was ready with a multitude of good reasons, so the old man had pulled out his cheque-book obediently. <■<) " T' lad allers knew." It was a comfort to have confidence in some one. At this moment the setting sun was shed ding its flood of light through the high stained windows. The golds and reds and purples gleamed upon the dark polished floor, creeping along until they touched the hem of a girl's dress, and then made slanting patterns along her skirt. Millicent was seated by the fire. A book lay beside her, her eyes were fixed on the blaze. Her face in repose was expressive, and Joe, as he paused and caught the look upon it, read it as easily as though it had been a printed page.

"She's going through the small sieve," he told himself, making use of one of his uncle's colloquialisms, " and she do'sn't like it. We none of us do." He came a little nearer. The girl raised her head, but kept silent. He stood before her, resting his elbow on one of the projections of the high oak mantelpiece. Of all her world, he was the only one who in the least understood. He asked himself now, whether he was the more amused or sorry. " What are you doing ? " he said. "Nothing." " An interesting occupation. Does it," with a hint of laughter in his voice, " take up much of your time ? " The girl raised her dark eyes to his face. She had the gift of gesture; she could be effective without speaking. The irony of her cousin's tone had not escaped her, but she chose to ignore it. She, as she would have put it, had not made up her mind about Joe, and she wanted to give him a fair chance.

" Will you tell me what there is to do ? " she demanded, a little catch in her voice. Joe waved his hand around. " The house," she returned. " I suppose that you think that hunting for cobwebs and scolding the maids ought to be sufficient for any woman. But I can't even do that — if I would. Martha is at it perpetually, always, from morning to night, unless she takes a turn at me for a change." Joe's lips parted in a half-smile. He remembered that in his schoolboy days he had found a certain satisfaction in teasing his little slip of a cousin. She scratched so fiercely, and fought so hard — and — and she generally let him kiss her to make it up. The last, of course, had been a boy's folly ; but he was not above pro voking her still. " Are there no poor around your gates ? " he quoted. She turned on him.

She could not kick or scratch now, but the old feeling was there. " And why do you think they would say I had come ? " she demanded. " Because I was aping the ways of Lady Sudbury, or because I wanted their vote at the next election. We are to show our superiority by housing one of the candidates here, are we not ? Does it matter which ? " "Well," returned her cousin, "personally, I think I should prefer the Radical." Millicent bent forward. She forgot to be antagonistic. " Why ? " she asked. " Because," said Joe, " if ever I do go in for politics actively, I intend to enlist under that banner." " You believe in the people, in their needs, their hopes," broke in the girl. " Do you feel as I feel, as I am forced to feel, that you spring from them, that this wealth is but an accident, a sham, an artificial wall of separation, arising from one of the crying evils of the age, and that their hopes and fears, their needs and wrongs are really yours ?

" Joe gave her a long look. It was evident that she bade fair to be a woman of her day, learned in catch-words, and primed with cheap socialistic ideas. They sat well on her — at least when she gave vent to them with so much spirit. "Not that I know of." He really could not help it. His voice was as the shower of cold water dashing on her heat. " No," she cried, her tone rising; " then why do you vote Radical ? Why " He checked her. "Have mercy! I'm not prepared with a confession of political faith, I'm afraid." The girl threw him a glance of scorn. She echoed his words. " That," she said, looking him full in the face, " is the chivalrous way in which you men treat a woman. You silence argument with a sneer. We are not to think, we are not to act. We are to sit and admire — you. I, for one, am tired of doing nothing.