The other parties present could not help laughing
at this explosion from Cophagus, neither could I.
Mr Masterton then asked the general if he required
any more proofs.
“No,” replied the general discourteously;
and speaking in Hindostanee to his attendants, they
walked to the door and opened it. The hint was
taken, Mr Masterton saying to the others in an ironical
tone, “After so long a separation, gentlemen,
it must be natural that the general should wish to
be left alone, that he may give vent to his paternal
feelings.”
Father and I grow warm
in our argument—Obliged to give him a
little schooling to
show my affection—Takes it at last very
kindly, and very dutifully
owns himself a fool.
In the meantime, I was left standing in the middle
of the room; the gentlemen departed, and the two native
servants resumed their stations on each side of the
sofa. I felt humiliated and indignant, but waited
in silence; at last, my honoured parent, who had eyed
me for some time, commenced.
“If you think, young man, to win my favour by
your good looks, you are very much mistaken:
you are too like your mother, whose memory is anything
but agreeable.”
The blood mounted to my forehead at this cruel observation;
I folded my arms and looked my father steadfastly
in the face, but made no reply. The choler of
the gentleman was raised.
“It appears that I have found a most dutiful
son.”
I was about to make an angry answer, when I recollected
myself, and I courteously replied, “My dear
general, depend upon it that your son will always
be ready to pay duty to whom duty is due; but excuse
me, in the agitation of this meeting you have forgotten
those little attentions which courtesy demands; with
your permission I will take a chair, and then we may
converse more at our ease. I hope your leg is
better.”
I said this with the blandest voice and the most studied
politeness, and drawing a chair towards the table,
I took my seat; as I expected, it put my honoured
father in a tremendous rage.
“If this is a specimen, sir, of your duty and
respect, sir, I hope to see no more of them.
To whom your duty is due, sir!—and pray
to whom is it due, sir, if not to the author of your
existence?” cried the general, striking the
table before him with his enormous fist, so as to
make the ink fly out of the stand some inches high
and bespatter the papers near it.
“My dear father, you are perfectly correct:
duty, as you say, is due to the author of our existence.
If I recollect right, the commandment says, ‘Honour
your father and your mother;’ but at the same
time, if I may venture to offer an observation, are
there not such things as reciprocal duties—some
which are even more paramount in a father than the
mere begetting of a son?”
“What do you mean, sir, by these insolent remarks?”
interrupted my father.
