CHAPTER IV.

idlyranoverthesethoughts,andthenIlaughedalowandinvoluntarylaugh,movedtheretobyaslightinwardrevelationoftheinconsistencyofman.ItwasasIthought:Hunsdenhadexpectedmetotakewithcalmhisincorrectandoffensivesurmises,hisbitterandhaughtytauntsandhimselfwaschafedbyalaugh,scarcelouderthanawhisper. Hisbrowdarkened,histhinnostrildilatedalittle. “Yes,”hebegan,“Itoldyouthatyouwereanaristocrat,andwhobutanaristocratwouldlaughsuchalaughasthat,andlooksuchalook?Alaughfrigidlyjeeringalooklazilymutinousgentlemanlikeirony,patricianresentment.Whatanoblemanyouwouldhavemade,WilliamCrimsworth!YouarecutoutforonepityFortunehasbaulkedNature!Lookatthefeatures,figure,eventothehands—distinctionallover—uglydistinction!Now,ifyou’donlyanestateandamansion,andapark,andatitle,howyoucouldplaytheexclusive,maintaintherightsofyourclass,trainyourtenantryinhabitsofrespecttothepeerage,opposeateverysteptheadvancingpowerofthepeople,supportyourrottenorder,andbereadyforitssaketowadeknee-deepinchurls’bloodasitis,you’venopoweryoucandonothingyou’rewreckedandstrandedontheshoresofcommerceforcedintocollisionwithpracticalmen,withwhomyoucannotcope,forYOU’LLNEVERBEATRADESMAN.” ThefirstpartofHunsden’sspeechmovedmenotatall,or,ifitdid,itwasonlytowonderattheperversionintowhichprejudicehadtwistedhisjudgmentofmycharactertheconcludingsentence,however,notonlymoved,butshookmetheblowitgavewasasevereone,becauseTruthwieldedtheweapon.IfIsmilednow,it,wasonlyindisdainofmyself. Hunsdensawhisadvantagehefolloweditup. “You’llmakenothingbytrade,”continuedhe“nothingmorethanthecrustofdrybreadandthedraughtoffairwateronwhichyounowliveyouronlychanceofgettingacompetencyliesinmarryingarichwidow,orrunningawaywithanheiress.” “Ileavesuchshiftstobeputinpracticebythosewhodevisethem,”saidI,rising. “Andeventhatishopeless,”hewentoncoolly.“Whatwidowwouldhaveyou?Muchless,whatheiress?You’renotboldandventuresomeenoughfortheone,norhandsomeandfascinatingenoughfortheother.Youthinkperhapsyoulookintelligentandpolishedcarryyourintellectandrefinementtomarket,andtellmeinaprivatenotewhatpriceisbidforthem.” Mr.Hunsdenhadtakenhistoneforthenightthestringhestruckwasoutoftune,hewouldfingernoother.Aversetodiscord,ofwhichIhadenougheverydayandalldaylong,Iconcluded,atlast,thatsilenceandsolitudewerepreferabletojarringconverseIbadehimgood-night. “What!Areyougoing,lad?Well,good-night:you’llfindthedoor.”Andhesatstillinfrontofthefire,whileIlefttheroomandthehouse.IhadgotagoodwayonmyreturntomylodgingsbeforeIfoundoutthatIwaswalkingveryfast,andbreathingveryhard,andthatmynailswerealmoststuckintothepalmsofmyclenchedhands,andthatmyteethweresetfastonmakingthisdiscovery,Irelaxedbothmypace,fists,andjaws,butIcouldnotsosooncausetheregretsrushingrapidlythroughmymindtoslackentheirtide.WhydidImakemyselfatradesman?WhydidIenterHunsden’shousethisevening?Why,atdawnto-morrow,mustIrepairtoCrimsworth’smill?AllthatnightdidIaskmyselfthesequestions,andallthatnightfiercelydemandedofmysoulananswer.Igotnosleepmyheadburned,myfeetfrozeatlastthefactorybellsrang,andIsprangfrommybedwithotherslaves.