"Nonsense! you must bring dockiments. It comes from authority."
"Name the authority, and make him name the man of whom I borrowed the
money, and then I can disprove the story."
"It's pretty good authority, I think--a man who knows most of what goes
on in Middlemarch. It's that fine, religious, charitable uncle o'
yours. Come now!" Here Mr. Featherstone had his peculiar inward shake
which signified merriment.
"Mr. Bulstrode?"
"Who else, eh?"
"Then the story has grown into this lie out of some sermonizing words
he may have let fall about me. Do they pretend that he named the man
who lent me the money?"
"If there is such a man, depend upon it Bulstrode knows him. But,
supposing you only tried to get the money lent, and didn't get
it--Bulstrode 'ud know that too. You bring me a writing from Bulstrode
to say he doesn't believe you've ever promised to pay your debts out o'
my land. Come now!"
Mr. Featherstone's face required its whole scale of grimaces as a
muscular outlet to his silent triumph in the soundness of his faculties.
Fred felt himself to be in a disgusting dilemma.
"You must be joking, sir. Mr. Bulstrode, like other men, believes
scores of things that are not true, and he has a prejudice against me.
I could easily get him to write that he knew no facts in proof of the
report you speak of, though it might lead to unpleasantness. But I
could hardly ask him to write down what he believes or does not believe
about me." Fred paused an instant, and then added, in politic appeal to
his uncle's vanity, "That is hardly a thing for a gentleman to ask."
But he was disappointed in the result.
"Ay, I know what you mean. You'd sooner offend me than Bulstrode. And
what's he?--he's got no land hereabout that ever I heard tell of. A
speckilating fellow! He may come down any day, when the devil leaves
off backing him. And that's what his religion means: he wants God
A'mighty to come in. That's nonsense! There's one thing I made out
pretty clear when I used to go to church--and it's this: God A'mighty
sticks to the land. He promises land, and He gives land, and He makes
chaps rich with corn and cattle. But you take the other side. You
like Bulstrode and speckilation better than Featherstone and land."
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Fred, rising, standing with his back to
the fire and beating his boot with his whip. "I like neither Bulstrode
nor speculation." He spoke rather sulkily, feeling himself stalemated.