funeral which the old man had himself dictated, he
had been named as a Bearer. There was no odious
cupidity in Mr. Borthrop Trumbull— nothing
more than a sincere sense of his own merit, which,
he was aware, in case of rivalry might tell against
competitors; so that if Peter Featherstone, who so
far as he, Trumbull, was concerned, had behaved like
as good a soul as ever breathed, should have done anything
handsome by him, all he could say was, that he had
never fished and fawned, but had advised him to the
best of his experience, which now extended over twenty
years from the time of his apprenticeship at fifteen,
and was likely to yield a knowledge of no surreptitious
kind. His admiration was far from being confined
to himself, but was accustomed professionally as well
as privately to delight in estimating things at a
high rate. He was an amateur of superior phrases,
and never used poor language without immediately correcting
himself— which was fortunate, as he was
rather loud, and given to predominate, standing or
walking about frequently, pulling down his waistcoat
with the air of a man who is very much of his own opinion,
trimming himself rapidly with his fore-finger, and
marking each new series in these movements by a busy
play with his large seals. There was occasionally
a little fierceness in his demeanor, but it was directed
chiefly against false opinion, of which there is so
much to correct in the world that a man of some reading
and experience necessarily has his patience tried.
He felt that the Featherstone family generally was
of limited understanding, but being a man of the world
and a public character, took everything as a matter
of course, and even went to converse with Mr. Jonah
and young Cranch in the kitchen, not doubting that
he had impressed the latter greatly by his leading
questions concerning the Chalky Flats. If anybody
had observed that Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, being an
auctioneer, was bound to know the nature of everything,
he would have smiled and trimmed himself silently with
the sense that he came pretty near that. On
the whole, in an auctioneering way, he was an honorable
man, not ashamed of his business, and feeling that
“the celebrated Peel, now Sir Robert,”
if introduced to him, would not fail to recognize
his importance.
“I don’t mind if I have a slice of that ham, and a glass of that ale, Miss Garth, if you will allow me,” he said, coming into the parlor at half-past eleven, after having had the exceptional privilege of seeing old Featherstone, and standing with his back to the fire between Mrs. Waule and Solomon.
“It’s not necessary for you to go out;—let me ring the bell.”
“Thank you,” said Mary, “I have an errand.”
“Well, Mr. Trumbull, you’re highly favored,” said Mrs. Waule.
“What! seeing the old man?” said the auctioneer, playing with his seals dispassionately. “Ah, you see he has relied on me considerably.” Here he pressed his lips together, and frowned meditatively.