My Brave and Gallant Gentleman Part 9

My finer sensibilities rose and protested within me, but I had no choice. If I wished to quell my craving for food, there was nothing left for me to do but to brave the foul air and the rough element of one of these sawdust-floored, gla.s.s-ornamented whisky palaces, where a snack and a gla.s.s of ale, at least, could be purchased.

I looked about me and pushed into what seemed the least disreputable one of its kind. I made through the haze of foul air and tobacco smoke to the counter, and stood idly by until the bar-tender should find it convenient to wait upon me.

The place was crowded with sea-faring men and the human sediment that is found in and around the docks of all s.h.i.+pping cities; it resounded with a babel of coa.r.s.e, discordant voices.

The greater part of this coterie was gathered round a huge individual, with enormous hands and feet, a stubbly, blue chin,--set, round and aggressive; a nose with a broken bridge spoiled the balance of his podgy face. He had beady eyes and a big, ugly mouth with stained, irregular teeth. From time to time, he laughed boisterously, and his laugh had an echo of h.e.l.l in it.

He and his followers appeared to be enjoying some good joke. But whenever he spoke every one else became silent. Each coa.r.s.e jest he mouthed was laughed at long and uproariously. He had a hold on his fellows. Even I was fascinated; but it was by the great similarity of some of the mannerisms of this uncouth man to those I had observed in the lower brute creation.

My attention was withdrawn from him, however, by the sound of the rattling of tin cans in another corner which was partly part.i.tioned from the main bar-room. I followed the new sound.

A tattered individual was seated there, his feet among a cl.u.s.ter of pots and pans all strung together. His head was in his hands and his red-bearded face was a study of dejection and misery.

There was something strangely familiar in the appearance of the man.

Suddenly I remembered, and I laughed.

I went over and sat down opposite him, setting my golf clubs by my side. He ignored my arriving. That same old trick of his!

"Donald,--Donald Robertson!" I exclaimed, laughing again.

Still he did not look across.

Suddenly he spoke, and in a voice that knew neither hope nor gladness.

"Ye laugh,--ye name me by my Christian name,--but ye don't say, 'Donald, will ye taste?'"

I leaned over and pulled his hands away from his head. He flopped forward, then glared at me. His eyes opened wide.

"It's,--it's you,--is it? The second son come to me in my hour o'

trial."

"Why! Donald,--what's the trouble?" I asked.

"Trouble,--ye may well say trouble. Have ye mind o' the sixpence ye gied me on the roadside this mornin'."

"Yes!"

"For thirteen long, unlucky hours I saved that six-pence against my time o' need. I tied it in the tail o' my sark for safety. I came in here an hour ago. I ordered a gla.s.s o' whisky and a tumbler o' beer.

I sat doon here for a while wi' them both before me, enjoying the sight o' them and indulgin' in the heavenly joy o' anteec.i.p.ation. Then I drank the speerits and was just settlin' doon to the beer,--tryin' to make it spin oot as long as I could; for, ye ken, it's comfortable in here,--when an emissary o' the deevil, wi' hands like shovels and a leer in his e'e, came in and picked up the tumbler frae under my very nose and swallowed the balance o' your six-pence before I could say squeak."

I laughed at Donald's rueful countenance and his more than rueful tale.

"Did the man have a broken nose and a heavy jaw?" I asked.

"Ay, ay!" said Donald, lowering his voice. "Do ye happen to ken him?"

"No!--but he is still out there and he thinks it a fine joke that he played on you."

"So would I," said Donald, "if I had drunk his beer."

"What did you do when he swallowed off your drink?" I asked.

"Do!--what do ye think I did? I remonstrated wi' a' the vehemence that a Struan Robertson in anger is capable o'. But the vehemence o' the Lord himsel' couldna bring the beer back."

"Why didn't you fight, man? Why didn't you knock the bully down?" I asked, pitying his wobegone appearance.

"Mister,--whatever your name is,--I'm a man o' peace; and, forby I'm auld enough to ken it's no' wise to fight on an empty stomach. I havena had a bite since I saw ye last."

"Never mind, Donald,--cheer up. I am going to have some bread and cheese, and a gla.s.s of ale, so you can have some with me, at my expense."

His face lit up like a Roman candle.

"Man,--I'm wi' ye. You're a man o' substance, and I'm fonder o'

substantial bread and cheese and beer than I am o' the metapheesical drinks I was indulgin' in for ten minutes before ye so providentially came."

I could not help wondering at some of the remarks of this wise, yet good-for-little, old customer; but I did not press him for more enlightenment.

I thumped the hand-bell on the table, and was successful in obtaining more prompt attention from the bar-tender than I had been able to do across the counter.

When the food and drink were placed between us and paid for, Donald stuffed all but one slice of his bread and cheese inside his waistcoat, and he sighed contentedly as he contemplated the sparkling ale.

But, all at once, he startled me by springing to his feet, seizing his tumbler in his hand and emptying the contents down his gullet at two monstrous gulps.

"No, no!--ye thievin' deevil," he shouted, as he regained his breath, "ye canna do that twice wi' Donald Robertson."

I looked toward the opening in the part.i.tion. Donald's recent enemy,--the man whom I had been studying at the other end of the bar-room,--was shouldering himself into our company. Behind him, in a semi-circle, a dozen faces grinned in antic.i.p.ation of some more fun at Donald's expense.

The big bully glared down at me as I sat.

"That there is uncommon good beer, young un," he growled, "and that there is most uncommon good bread and cheese."

I glanced at him with half-shut eyelids, then I broke off another piece of bread.

"Maybe you didn't 'ear me?" he shouted again, "I said that was uncommon good beer."

"I shall be better able to judge of that, my man, after I have tasted it," I replied.

"Not that beer, little boy,--you ain't going to taste that," he thundered, "because I 'appens to want it,--see! I 'appens to 'ave a most aggrawating thirst in my gargler."

A burst of laughter followed this ponderous attempt at humour.

"'And it over, sonny,--I wants it."

I merely raised my head and ran my eyes over him.

He was an ugly brute, and no mistake. A man of tremendous girth.