A Rent In A Cloud Part 11

"Fifty-four Napoleons and a half," said the other, slowly. "Look ye, Calvert, I'm going to impound this. It's a sorry instalment, but, as far as it goes--"

"Take it, old fellow, and leave me quiet."

"One word more, Calvert," said Barnard, seriously. "I cannot muster courage to meet old Rep this morning, and if you like to start at once and settle this affair you have in Switzerland, I'm ready, but it must be done instanter."

"All right; I shall be ready within an hour. Tell the porter to send my bath up at once, and order coffee by the time you'll be dressed."

There was very little trace of sleep about Calvert's face now, as, springing from his bed, he prepared for the road. With such despatch, indeed, did he proceed, that he was already in the coffee-room before his friend had descended.

"Shall we say anything to the landlord before we start, Calvert?"

whispered he.

"Of course; send Signor Angelo, or Antonio, or whatever his name, here.

The padrone, I mean," said he to the waiter.

"He is called Luigi Filippo, Sir," said the man indignantly.

"A capital name for a rogue. Let us have him here."

A very burly consequential sort of man, marvellously got up as to beard, moustaches, and watch-chain, entered and bowed.

"Signor Luigi Filippo," said Calvert, "my friend here--the son of that immensely wealthy mi Lordo up stairs--is in a bit of sc.r.a.pe; he had an altercation last night with a fellow we take to be an Austrian spy."

The host spat out, and frowned ferociously.

"Just so; a dog of a Croat, I suspect," went on Culvert; "at all events, he must put a bullet in him, and to do so, must get over the frontier beyond Como; we want therefore a little money from you, and your secrecy, till this blows over."

The host bowed, and pursed up his lips like one who would like a little time for reflection, and at last said, "How much money, Signor?"

"What do you say, Bob? will a hundred Naps do, or eighty?"

"Fifty; fifty are quite enough," cried Barnard.

"On a circular note, of course, Signor?" asked the host.

"No, a draft at six days on my friend's father; mi Lordo means to pa.s.s a month here."

"I don't think I'll do that, Calvert," whispered Barnard; but the other stopped him at once with, "Be quiet; leave this to me."

"Though payable at sight, Signor Luigi, we shall ask you to hold it over for five or six days, because we hope possibly to be back here before Sat.u.r.day, and if so, we'll settle this ourselves."

"It shall be done, gentlemen," said the host "I'll go and draw out the bills, and you shall have the money immediately."

"How I touched the fellow's patriotism, Bob. It was the Austrian dodge stood us in stead, there. I know that I have jeopardised your esteem for me by the loss of that money last night; but do confess that this was a clever hit of mine."

"It's a bad business from beginning to end!" was however all that he could obtain from Barnard.

"Narrow-minded dog! he won't see any genius in a man that owes him five s.h.i.+llings."

"I wish it was only five s.h.i.+llings."

"What an ign.o.ble confession! It means this that your friends.h.i.+p depends on the rate of exchanges, and that when gold rises--But here comes Luigi Fillipo.

"Now, no squeamishness, but write your name firmly. 'Cut boldly,' said the auger, 'and he cut it through.' Don't you remember that cla.s.sic anecdote in your Roman history?"

It is a strange fact that the spirit of raillery, which to a dull man is, at first, but a source of irritation and fretfulness, will, when persevered in, become at last one of the most complete despotisms. He dreads it as a weapon which he cannot defend himself against; and he comes to regard it as an evidence of superiority and power. Barnard saw the dominion that the other exercised over him, but could not resist it.

"Where to now?" asked he, as they whirled rapidly along the road towards Monza.

"First of all, to Orta. There is an English family I want to see. Two prettier girls you can't imagine--not that the news has any interest for you, poor caged mouse that you are--but I am in love with one of them. I forget which, but I believe it's the one that won't have me."

"She's right," said Barnard, with a half smile.

"Well, I half suspect she is. I could be a charming lover, but I fear I'd make only a sorry husband. My qualities are too brilliant for every-day use. It is your dreary fellows, with a tiresome monotony of nature, do best in that melancholy mill they call marriage. You, for instance, ought to be a model 'mari.'"

"You are not disposed to give me the chance, I think," said Barnard, peevishly.

"On the contrary, I am preparing you most carefully for your career.

Conjugal life is a reformatory. You must come to it as a penitent Now I'll teach you the first part of your lesson; your wife shall supply the second."

"I'd relish this much better if--"

"I had not lost that money, you were going to say. Out with it, man.

When a fellow chances upon a witty thing, he has a right to repeat it; besides, you have reason on your side. A loser is always wrong. But after all, Bob, whether the game be war, or marriage, or a horse-race, one's skill has very little to say to it Make the wisest combinations that ever were fas.h.i.+oned, and you'll lose sometimes. Draw your card at hazard, and you'll win. If you only saw the fellow that beat me t'other day in a girl's affections--as dreary a dog as ever you met in your life, without manliness, without 'go' in him--and yet he wasn't a curate. I know you suspect he was a curate."

"If you come through this affair all right, what do you intend to turn to, Calvert?" said the other, who really felt a sort of interest in his fortunes.

"I have thought of several things: the Church--the Colonies--Patent Fuel--Marriage--Turkish Baths, and a Sympathy Society for Suffering Nationalities, with a limited liability to all who subscribe fifty pounds and upwards."

"But, seriously, have you any plans?"

"Ten thousand plans! I have plans enough to ruin all Threadneedle Street; but what use are plans? What's the good of an architect in a land were there are no bricks, no mortar, and no timber? When I've shot Graham, I've a plan how to make my escape out of Switzerland; but, beyond that, nothing; not one step, I promise you. See, yonder is Monte Rosa; how grand he looks in the still calm air of the morning. What a gentleman a mountain is! how independent of the changeful fortunes of the plains, where gra.s.s succeeds tillage, and what is barley to-day, may be a brick-field to-morrow; but the mountain is ever the same--proud and cold if you will, but standing above all the accidents of condition, and a.s.serting itself by qualities which are not money-getting. I'd like to live in a land of mountains, if it were not for the sn.o.bs that come to climb them."

"But why should they be sn.o.bs?"

"I don't know; perhaps the mountains like it. There, look yonder, our road leads along that ledge till we reach Chia.s.so, about twelve miles off; do you think you can last that long without breakfast? There, there, don't make that pitiful face; you shall have your beefsteak, and your chocolate, and your eggs, and all the other claims of your Anglo-Saxon nature, whose birthright it is to growl for every twenty-four hours, and 'grub' every two."

They gained the little inn at Orta by the evening, and learned, as Calvert expected, that nothing had changed in his absence--indeed what was there to change--so long as the family at the villa remained in the cottage. All was to Calvert as he left it.

Apologising to his friend for a brief absence, he took boat and crossed the lake. It was just as they had sat down to tea that he entered the drawing-room.

If there was some constraint in the reception of him, there was that amount of surprise at his appearance that half masked it "You have been away, Mr. Calvert?" asked Miss Grainger.

"Yes," said he, carelessly, "I got a rambling fit on me, and finding that Loyd had started for England, I grew fidgety at being alone, so I went up to Milan, saw churches and galleries, and the last act of a ballet; but, like a country mouse, got home-sick for the hard peas and the hollow tree, and hurried back again."

After some careless talk of commonplaces he managed at last to secure the chair beside Florence's sofa, and affected to take an interest in some work she was engaged at. "I have been anxious to see you and speak to you, Florry," said he, in a low tone, not audible by the others.

"I had a letter from Loyd, written just before he left. He has told me everything."