John Caldigate | Page 5

had postponed this scene till the moment
before his departure from the house. He was at this time going to
Cambridge, where he was to be the guest, for one night, of a certain Mr.
Bolton, who was one of the very few friends to whom his father was
still attached. Mr. Bolton was a banker, living close to Cambridge, an

old man now, with four sons and one daughter; and to his house John
Caldigate was going in order that he might there discuss with Mr.
Bolton certain propositions which had been made between him and his
father respecting the Folking property. The father had now realised the
idea of buying his son out; and John himself, who had all the world and
all his life before him, and was terribly conscious of the obligations
which he owed to his friend Davis, had got into his head a notion that
he would prefer to face his fortune with a sum of ready money, than to
wait in absolute poverty for the reversion of the family estate. He had
his own ideas, and in furtherance of them he had made certain inquiries.
There was gold being found at this moment among the mountains of
New South Wales, in quantities which captivated his imagination. And
this was being done in a most lovely spot, among circumstances which
were in all respects romantic. His friend, Richard Shand, who was also
a Trinity man, was quite resolved to go out, and he was minded to
accompany his friend. In this way, and, as he thought, in this way only,
could a final settlement be made with that most assiduous of attendants,
Mr. Davis. His mind was fully set upon New South Wales, and his little
interview with his cousin Julia did not tend to bind him more closely to
his own country, or to Babington, or to Folking.

Chapter II
Puritan Grange

Perhaps there had been a little treachery on the part of Mr. Davis, for he
had, in a gently insinuating way, made known to the Squire the fact of
those acceptances, and the additional fact that he was, through
unforeseen circumstances, lamentably in want of ready money. The
Squire became eloquent, and assured Mr. Davis that he would not pay a
penny to save either Mr. Davis or his son from instant
imprisonment,--or even from absolute starvation. Then Mr. Davis
shrugged his shoulders, and whispered the word, 'Post-obits.' The
Squire, thereupon threatened to kick him out of the house, and, on the
next day, paid a visit to his friend Mr. Bolton. There had, after that,

been a long correspondence between the father, the son, and Mr. Bolton,
as to which John Caldigate said not a word to the Babingtons. Had he
been more communicative, he might have perhaps saved himself from
that scene in the linen-closet. As it was, when he started for Cambridge,
nothing was known at Babington either of Mr. Davis or of the New
South Wales scheme.
Mr. Bolton lived in a large red-brick house, in the village of Chesterton,
near to Cambridge, which, with a large garden, was surrounded by an
old, high, dark-coloured brick-wall. He rarely saw any company; and
there were probably not many of the more recently imported
inhabitants of the town who had ever been inside the elaborate iron
gates by which the place was to be approached. He had been a banker
all his life, and was still reported to be the senior partner in Bolton's
bank. But the management of the concern had, in truth, been given up
to his two elder sons. His third son was a barrister in London, and a
fourth was settled in Cambridge as a solicitor. These men were all
married, and were doing well in the world, living in houses better than
their father's, and spending a great deal more money. Mr. Bolton had
the name of being a hard man, because, having begun life in small
circumstances, he had never learned to chuck his shillings about easily;
but he had, in a most liberal manner, made over the bulk of his fortune
to his sons; and though he himself could rarely be got to sit at their
tables, he took delight in hearing that they lived bounteously with their
friends. He had been twice married, and there now lived with him his
second wife and a daughter, Hester,--a girl about sixteen years of age at
the period of John Caldigate's visit to Puritan Grange, as Mr. Bolton's
house was called. At this time Puritan Grange was not badly named; for
Mrs. Bolton was a lady of stern life, and Hester Bolton was brought up
with more of seclusion and religious observances than are now
common in our houses.
Mr. Bolton was probably ten