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ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD 559
niece with a large fortune. Neither of these two young folks has a
penny. Well, well, the old father must help them as well as he
can !" And I am told there were ladies who dropped the tear of
sensibility, and said, " What a fond father this Doctor is ! How he
sacrifices himself for that scapegrace of a son! Think of the dear
Doctor at his age, toiling cheerfully for that young man, who helped
to ruin him !" And Firmin sighed ; and passed a beautiful white
handkerchief over his eyes with a beautiful white hand ; and, I
believe, really cried ; and thought himself quite a good, affectionate,
injured man. He held the plate at church ; he looked very handsome
and tall, and bowed with a charming melancholy grace to the
ladies as they put in their contributions. The dear man! His
plate was fuller than other people's—so a traveller told us who saw
him in New York ; and described a very choice dinner which the
Doctor gave to a few friends, at one of the smartest hotels just then
opened.
With all the Little Sister's good management Mr. and Mrs.
Philip were only able to instal themselves in their new house at a
considerable expense, and beyond that great Ringwood piano which
swaggered in Philip's little drawing-room, I am constrained to say
that there was scarce any furniture at all. One of the railway
accounts was not paid as yet, and poor Philip could not feed upon
mere paper promises to pay. Nor was he inclined to accept the
offers of private friends, who were willing enough to be his bankers.
"One in a family is enough for that kind of business," he said
gloomily ; and it came out that again and again the interesting exile
at New York, who was deploring his son's extravagance and foolish
marriage, had drawn bills upon Philip which our friend accepted
and paid—bills, who knows to what amount ? He has never told ;
and the engaging parent who robbed him—must I use a word so
unpolite ?—will never now tell to what extent he helped himself to
Philip's small means. This I know, that when autumn came—
when September was past—we in our cosy little retreat at the seaside
received a letter from the Little Sister, in her dear little bad
spelling (about which there used to be somehow a pathos which the
very finest writing does not possess); there came, I say, a letter
from the Little Sister in which she told us, with many dashes, that
dear Mrs. Philip and the children were pining and sick in London,
and " that Philip, he had too much pride and sperit to take money
from any one ; that Mr. Tregarvan was away travelling on the Continent,
and that wretch—that monster, you know who—have drawn
upon Philip again for money, and again he have paid, and the dear
dear children can't have fresh air."
" Did she tell you," said Philip, brushing his hands across his