The Honourable Mr. Tawnish Part 4

To be particular, you could not but notice the very objectionable conduct, I might say, the wanton insolence of Sir Harry Raikes upon the occasion of our last interview. Now, Sir John, you, together with Sir Richard Eden and Mr. Bentley, will bear witness to the fact that I not only pa.s.sed over the affront, but even went so far as to apologise to him myself, wherein I think I can lay claim to having achieved that which each one of you will admit to have been beyond his powers.

Having thus fulfilled the first undertaking a.s.signed me, there remain but two, namely, to make a laughing stock of Sir Harry Raikes (which I purpose to do at the very first opportunity) and to place you three gentlemen at a disadvantage.

So, my dear Sir John, in hopes of soon gaining your esteem and blessing (above all), I rest your most devoted, humble, obedient,

HORATIO TAWNISH.

"This pa.s.ses all bounds," says I, tossing the letter upon the table, "such audacity--such presumption is beyond all belief; the question is, whether the fellow is right in his head."

"No, d.i.c.k," says Bentley, helping himself to the Oporto, "the question is rather--whether he is wrong in his a.s.sertion."

"Why, as to that--" I began, and paused, for look at it as I might 'twas plain enough that Mr. Tawnish had certainly scored his first point.

"We all agree," continued Bentley, "that we none of us could do the like; it therefore follows that this Tawnish fellow wins the first hand."

"Sheer trickery!" cries Jack, hurling his wig into the corner--"sheer trickery--damme!"

"Fore gad! Jack," says I, "this fellow's no fool, if he 'quits himself of his other two tasks as featly as this, sink me! but I must needs begin to love him, for look you, fair is fair all the world over and I agree with Bentley, for once, that Mr. Tawnish wins the first hand."

"Ha!" cries Jack, "and because the rogue has tricked us once, would you have us sit by and let Pen throw herself away upon a worthless, fortune-hunting fop--"

"Why, as to that, Jack," says Bentley, "a bargain's a bargain--"

"Pis.h.!.+" roared Jack, fumbling in his pocket, "why only this very morning I came upon more of his poetry-stuff! Here," he continued, tossing a folded paper on the table in front of Bentley, "it seems the young rascal's been meeting her--over the orchard wall. Read it, Bentley--read it, and see for yourself." Obediently Bentley took up the paper and read as here followeth:

"'Dear Heart--'"

"Bah!" snorted Jack.

"'Dear Heart!'" read Bentley again and with a certain unction:

"'DEAR HEART,

I send you these few lines, poor though they be, for since they were inspired by my great love for thee, that of itself, methinks, should make them more worthy,

Thine, as ever,

HORATIO.'"

"You mark that?" cries Jack, excitedly, "'hers as ever,' and 'Horatio!'

Horatio--faugh! I could ha' taken it kinder had he called himself Tom, or Will, or George, but 'Horatio'--oh, damme! And now comes the poetry-stuff."

Hereupon Bentley hummed and ha'd, and clearing his throat, read this:

"'When drowsy night with sombre wings O'er this world his shadow flings And thou, dear love, doth sleep, Then do I send my soul to thee Thy guardian till the dawn to be And thy sweet slumbers keep.'"

"'Slumbers keep,'" snorted Jack, "the insolence of the fellow! Now look on t'other side."

"'I shall be in the orchard to-morrow at the usual hour, in the hope of a word or a look from you.'"

Bentley read, and laid down the paper.

"At the usual hour--d'ye mark that!" cries Jack, thumping himself in the chest--"'tis become a habit with 'em, it seems--and there's for ye, and a nice kettle o' fish it is!"

"Ah, Bentley," says I, "if only your nephew, the young Viscount, were here--"

"To the deuce with Bentley's nephew!" roars Jack. "I say he shouldn't marry her now, no--not if he were ten thousand times Bentley's nephew, sir--deuce take him!"

"So then," says I, "all our plans are gone astray, and she will have her way and wed this adventurer Tawnish, I suppose?"

"No, no, d.i.c.k!" cries Jack; "curse me, am I not her father?"

"And is she not--herself?" says I.

"True!" Jack nodded, "and as stubborn as--as--"

"Her father!" added Bentley. "Why, Jack--d.i.c.k--I tell you she's ruled us all with a rod of iron ever since she used to climb up our knees to pull at our wigs with her little, mischievous fingers!"

"Such very small, pink fingers!" says I, sighing. "Indeed we've spoiled her wofully betwixt us."

"Ha!" snorted Jack, "and who's responsible for all this, I say; who's petted and pampered, and coddled and condoned her every fault? Why--you, d.i.c.k and Bentley. When I had occasion to scold or correct her, who was it used to sneak behind my back with their pockets bulging with cakes and sticky messes? Why, you, d.i.c.k and Bentley!"

"You scold her, Jack?" says Bentley, "yes, egad! in a voice as mild as a sucking dove! And when she wept, you'd frown tremendously to hide thine own tears, man, and end by smothering her with your kisses. And thus it has ever been--for her dead mother's sake!"

"But now," says I after a while, "the time is come to be resolute, for her sake--and her mother's."

"Aye," cries Jack, "we must be firm with her, we must be resolute!

Penelope's my daughter and shall obey us for once, if we have to lock her up for a week. I'll teach her that our will is law, for once!"

"You're in the right on 't, Jack," says I, "we must show her that she can't ride rough-shod over us any longer. We must be stern to be kind."

"We must be adamant!" says Bentley, his eyes twinkling.

"We must be harsh," says I, "if need be and--"

But here, perceiving Bentley's face to be screwed up warningly, observing his ponderous wink and eloquent thumb, I glanced up and beheld Penelope herself regarding us from the doorway. And indeed, despite the pucker at her pretty brow, she looked as sweet and fresh and fair as an English summer morning. But Jack, all innocent of her presence, had caught the word from me.

"Hars.h.!.+" cries he, thumping the table at his elbow, "I'll warrant me I'll be harsh enough--if 'twas only on account of the fellow's poetry-stuff--the jade! We'll lock her up--aye, if need be, we'll starve her on bread and water, we'll--"

But he got no further, for Penelope had stolen up behind him and, throwing her arms round his neck, kissed him into staring silence.

"Uncle Bentley!" says she, giving him one white hand to kiss, "and you, dear uncle d.i.c.k!" and she gave me the other.

"What, my pretty la.s.s!" cries Bentley, rising, and would have kissed the red curve of her smiling lips, but she stayed him with an authoritative finger.

"Nay, sir," says she, mighty demure, "you know my new rule,--from Monday to Wednesday my hand; from Wednesday to Sat.u.r.day, my cheek; and on Sunday, my lips--and to-day is Tuesday, sir!"

"Drat my memory, so it is!" says Bentley, and kissed her slender fingers obediently, as I did likewise. Hereupon she turns, very high and haughty, to eye Jack slowly from head to foot, and to shake her head at him in dignified rebuke.