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This rival in the regards of Polly Neefit was not at that time personally known to Ralph Newton; but the name, as mentioned by his servant, was painfully familiar to him. "Oh, Mr. Moggs, ah; it's your father, I suppose, that I know. Sit down, Mr. Moggs; will you have a cup of tea; or perhaps a glass of brandy? Take a cigar, Mr. Moggs." But Moggs declined all refreshment for the body.
"A trifle like that ain't nothing between me and your master, Jack," said Mr. Neefit, after accounting for the accident by his coat-tails. "I am not Jack," said the indignant valet, with a strong foreign accent. "I am named Adolphe." "Adolphe, are you? I don't think much of Adolphe for a name; but it ain't no difference to me. Just pick up them bits; will you?"
How was he to manage about that £500 which Horsball would demand of him in September? In what terms could he speak to Neefit of the money due both for breeches and the loan, in the event of his declining Polly? And then, generally, how was he to carry on the war? He was thoroughly disgusted with himself as he thought of all the evil that he had done, and of the good which he had omitted to do.
It was a frightful nuisance, but anything would be better than sending for the police to take away Mr. Neefit. "Keep your eye on that man in the front room," said he, to his Swiss valet. "On Mr. Neefit, saar?" "Yes; on Mr. Neefit. He wants me to marry his daughter, and I can't oblige him. Let him have what he wants to eat and drink. Get rid of him if you can, but don't send for the police.
Now he was the proud possessor of a villa residence at Hendon, two miles out in the country beyond the Swiss Cottage; and all his customers knew that he was never to be found before 9.30 A.M., or after 5.15 P.M. As we have said, Mr. Neefit had his troubles, and one of his great troubles was our young friend, Ralph Newton.
The thing must be done, and then; why, then he would have nothing to offer to Polly worthy of her acceptance. "Bother," said Mr. Neefit, who had not once taken his eyes off Ralph's face. Ralph said that that might be all very well, but such were the facts. "You ain't that soft that you're going to let 'em rob you of the estate?" said the breeches-maker in a tone of horror.
As the reader knows, he had already decided that he would not sell himself even to so pretty a girl as Polly Neefit for any amount of money; but not the less might it be agreeable to him to pass a Sunday afternoon in her company. Ralph Newton at this time occupied very comfortable bachelor's rooms in a small street close to St. James's Palace.
Neefit had warned him from the house, and he felt unwilling to knock at the door of a man in that man's absence, who, if present, would have refused to him the privilege of admittance. That Mrs.
Neefit had been able to promise, he had determined that nothing should induce him to marry the daughter of a breeches-maker; and therefore the answer might have been easy. Nevertheless he made no answer, but kept out of Conduit Street, and allowed the three pair of breeches to be sent home to him without trying them on. This was very wrong; for Mr.
Say the word, and come down to tea this evening." "The fact is, Mr. Neefit, this is a very serious matter." "Serious! Twenty thousand pounds is serious. There ain't a doubt about that. If you mean to say you don't like the bargain," and as he said this there came a black cloud upon Mr. Neefit's brow, "you've only got to say the word. Our Polly is not to be pressed upon any man.
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