# What Will He Do With It? (Belford)/Book 1/Chapter 17

CHAPTER XVII.
Vance, returning late at night, found his friend still up in the little parlor, the windows open, pacing the floor with restless strides, stopping now and then to look at the moon upon the river.
"Such a day as I have had! and twelve shillings for the fly, 'pikes not included," said Vance, much out of humor.
"'I fly from plate, I fly from pomp, I fly from falsehood's specious grin'—
I forget the third line; I know the last is,
'To find my welcome at an inn.'
You are silent: I annoyed you by going—could not help it—pity me, and lock up your pride."
"No, my dear Vance, I was hurt for a moment—but that's long since over!"
"Still you seem to have something on your mind," said Vance, who had now finished reading his letters, lighted his cigar, and was leaning against the window as the boy continued to walk to and fro,
"That is true—I have. I should like your advice. Read that letter. Ought I to go?—would it look mercenary—grasping? You know what I mean.
Vance approached the candles, and took the letter. He ​glanced first at the signature. "Darrell!" he exclaimed. "Oh, it is so, then!" He read with great attention, put down the letter, and shook Lionel by the hand. "I congratulate you; all is settled as it should be. Go? of course—you would be an ill-mannered lout if you did not. Is it far from hence—must you return to town first?"
Lionel. "No! I find I can get across the country—two hours by the railway. There is a station at the town which bears the postmark of the letter. I shall make for that, if you advise it."
"You knew I should advise it, or you would not have made those researches into Bradshaw."
"Shrewdly said," answered Lionel, laughing; "but I wished for your sanction of my crude impressions."
"You never told me your cousin's name was Darrell—not that I should have been much wiser, if you had; but, thunder and lightning, Lionel, do you know that your cousin Darrell is a famous man?"
Lionel. "Famous!—nonsense. I suppose he was a good lawyer, for I have heard my mother say, with a sort of contempt, that he had made a great fortune at the bar!"
Vance. "But he was in Parliament."
Lionel. "Was he? I did not know."
Vance. "And this is senatorial fame! You never heard your school-fellows talk of Mr. Darrell?—they would not have known his name if you had boasted of it!"
Lionel. "Certainly not."
Vance. "Would your school-fellows have known the name of Wilkie, of Landseer, of Turner, Maclise—I speak of Painters!"
Lionel. "I should think so, indeed."
Vance (soliloquizing). "And yet Her Serene Sublimityship, Lady Selina Vipont, says to me with divine compassion, 'Not in the way of your delightful art to know such men as Mr. Darrell!' Oh, as if I did not see through it—oh, as if I did not see through it too when she said, apropos of my jean cap and velveteen jacket, 'What matters how you dress? Every one knows who you are!' Would she have said that to the Earl of Dunder, or even to Sir Jasper Stollhead? No. I am the painter Frank Vance—nothing more nor less; and if I stood on my head in a check shirt and a sky-colored apron, Lady Selina Vipont would kindly murmur, 'Only Frank Vance the painter—what does it signify?' Aha!—and they think to put me to use!—puppets and lay figures!—it is I who put them to use! Harkye, Lionel, you are nearer akin to these fine folks than I knew of. Promise me one thing: you may become of their set, by ​right of your famous Mr. Darrell; if ever you hear an artist, musician, scribbler, no matter what, ridiculed as a tuft-hunter—seeking the great—and so forth—before you join in the laugh, ask some great man's son, with a pedigree that dates from the Ark, 'Are you not a toad-eater too? Do you want political influence?—do you stand contested elections?—do you curry and fawn upon greasy Sam the butcher, and grimy Tom the blacksmith for a vote? Why? useful to your career—necessary to your ambition!' Aha! is it meaner to curry and fawn upon whitehanded women and elegant coxcombs? Tut, tut! usefui to a career—necessary to ambition?" Vance paused, out of breath. The spoiled darling of the circles—he—to talx such radical rubbish! Certainly he must have taken his two guineas' worth out of those light wines. Nothing so treacherous! they inflame the brain like fire, while melting on the palate like ice. All inhabitants of light-wine countries are quarrelsome and democratic.
Lionel (astounded). "No one, I am sure, could have meant to call you a tuft-hunter—of course, every one knows that a great painter—"
Vance. "Dates from Michael Angelo, if not from Zeuxis! Common individuals trace their pedigree from their own fathers!—the children of Art from Art's founders!"
Oh Vance, Vance, you are certainly drunk! If that comes from dining with fine people at the Star and Garter, you would be a happier man and as good a painter if you sipped your toddy in honey-suckle arbors.
"But," said Lionel, bewildered, and striving to turn his friend's thoughts, "what has all this to do with Mr. Darrell?"
Vance. "Mr. Darrell might have been one of the first men in the kingdom. Lady Selina Vipont says so, and she is related, I believe, to every member in the Cabinet. Mr. Darrell can push you in life, and make your fortune, without any great trouble on your own part. Bless your stars, and rejoice that you are not a painter!"
Lionel flung his arm round the artist's broad breast. "Vance, you are cruel!" It was his turn to console the painter, as the painter had three nights before (apropos of the same Mr. Darrel) consoled him. Vance gradually sobered down, and the young men walked forth in the moonlight. And the eternal stars had the same kind looks for Vance as they had vouchsafed to Lionel.
"When do you start?" asked the painter, as they mounted the stairs to bed.
​"To-morrow evening. I miss the early train, for I must call first and take leave of Sophy. I hope I may see her again in after-life."
"And I hope, for your sake, that if so, she may not be in the same colored print with Lady Selina Vipont's eye-glass upon her!"
"What!" said Lionel, laughing; "is Lady Selina Vipont so formidably rude?"
"Rude! nobody is rude in that delightful set. Lady Selina Vipont is excruciatingly—civil."