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Updated: June 22, 2025
"We shan't forget it all in a hurry, shall we, John?" said Mr Toogood, in a pleasant voice, as they parted at the door of the luncheon-house in Holborn. Toogood was returning to his office, and John Eames was to prepare himself for his last attempt.
He did not explain, as far as I can remember, why he wanted to see you; but he said it would be necessary, and that he was going to send off a messenger to find you first, and the dean afterwards. It has something to do with the money which was given to Mr Crawley last year, and which, if I remember right, was your present. But of course, Mr Toogood could not have known anything about that.
They talked in low voices, and any shrewd bystander would have perceived the mood of agitated expectancy in which they approached the house. "It's wonderful!" said little Miss Toogood, the lame dressmaker, as they turned a corner of the shrubbery, and the rambling south front rose before them, "wonderful! when you think of the people that used to live here!
"When was it received?" "Toogood received it in London only yesterday morning. Your father will not get his letter, as I calculate, till the day after to-morrow. But, perhaps, you had better go over and see him, and prepare him for it. Toogood has gone to Barchester this morning." To this proposition Grantly made no immediate answer.
"If you will be pleased to step out, sir, I will follow you," he said, waving his hand towards the door. "Jane, my dear, if you will remain with the children I will return to you presently. Bobby Studge has failed in saying his Belief. You had better set him on again from the beginning. Now, Mr Toogood." And again he waved his hand towards the door.
Mr Toogood did not give dinner-parties; always begging those whom he asked to enjoy his hospitality, to take pot luck, and telling young men whom he could treat with familiarity, such as his nephew, that if they wanted to be regaled a la Russe they must not come to Number 75, Tavistock Square.
Nobody would have taken him to be a partner in any of those great houses of which we have read in history, the Quirk, Gammon and Snaps of the profession, or the Dodson and Foggs, who are immortal. "That is my name, sir," said Mr Crawley, taking off his hat and bowing low, "and I am here by appointment to meet Mr Toogood, the solicitor, whose name I see affixed upon the door-post."
It was his constant practice to preach for full twenty minutes. As Barchester lay on the direct road from Plumstead to Hogglestock, it was thought well that word should be sent to Mr Toogood, desiring him not to come out to Plumstead on the Monday morning. Major Grantly proposed to call for him at "The Dragon", and to take him on from thence to Hogglestock.
You know he is a clergyman somehow, and he never lets you forget it; but that's about all. Most of 'em are never contented without choking you with their white cravats all the time you're with 'em. As for Crawley himself," Mr Toogood continued, "he's not like anybody else that ever was born, saint or sinner, parson or layman. I never heard of such a man in all my experience.
"Ah, why indeed?" answered Toogood. "If he had not been fool enough to do that, we should have been saved all this trouble. All the same, he did not steal your money, Mr Soames; and Jem Scuttle did steal it. Unfortunately, Jem Scuttle is in New Zealand by this time." "Of course, it is possible," said Mr Soames, as he bowed Mr Toogood out. Mr Soames did not like Mr Toogood.
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