Bold finished the number; and as he threw it aside,
he thought that that at least had no direct appliance
to Mr Harding, and that the absurdly strong colouring
of the picture would disenable the work from doing
either good or harm. He was wrong. The
artist who paints for the million must use glaring
colours, as no one knew better than Mr Sentiment when
he described the inhabitants of his almshouse; and
the radical reform which has now swept over such establishments
has owed more to the twenty numbers of Mr Sentiment’s
novel, than to all the true complaints which have
escaped from the public for the last half century.
A LONG DAY IN LONDON
The warden had to make use of all his very moderate
powers of intrigue to give his son-in-law the slip,
and get out of Barchester without being stopped on
his road. No schoolboy ever ran away from school
with more precaution and more dread of detection; no
convict, slipping down from a prison wall, ever feared
to see the gaoler more entirely than Mr Harding did
to see his son-in-law as he drove up in the pony carriage
to the railway station, on the morning of his escape
to London.
The evening before he went he wrote a note to the
archdeacon, explaining that he should start on the
morrow on his journey; that it was his intention to
see the attorney-general if possible, and to decide
on his future plans in accordance with what he heard
from that gentleman; he excused himself for giving
Dr Grantly no earlier notice, by stating that his
resolve was very sudden; and having entrusted this
note to Eleanor, with the perfect, though not expressed,
understanding that it was to be sent over to Plumstead
Episcopi without haste, he took his departure.
He also prepared and carried with him a note for Sir
Abraham Haphazard, in which he stated his name, explaining
that he was the defendant in the case of “The
Queen on behalf of the Wool-carders of Barchester
v. Trustees under the will of the late
John Hiram,” for so was the suit denominated,
and begged the illustrious and learned gentleman to
vouchsafe to him ten minutes’ audience at any
hour on the next day. Mr Harding calculated
that for that one day he was safe; his son-in-law,
he had no doubt, would arrive in town by an early
train, but not early enough to reach the truant till
he should have escaped from his hotel after breakfast;
and could he thus manage to see the lawyer on that
very day, the deed might be done before the archdeacon
could interfere.
On his arrival in town the warden drove, as was his
wont, to the Chapter Hotel and Coffee House, near
St Paul’s. His visits to London of late
had not been frequent; but in those happy days when
“Harding’s Church Music” was going
through the press, he had been often there; and as
the publisher’s house was in Paternoster Row,
and the printer’s press in Fleet Street, the
Chapter Hotel and Coffee House had been convenient.
