The Amateur Gentleman Part 100

"What, Bev!" he exclaimed, "not dressed yet?"

"Why I've only just woke up, d.i.c.k!"

"Woke up! D' you mean to say you've actually--been asleep?" demanded the Viscount reproachfully. "Gad! what a devilish cold-blooded fish you are, Bev! Haven't closed a peeper all night, myself. Couldn't, y' know, what with one deuced thing or another. So I got up, hours ago, went and looked at the horses. Found your man Martin on guard with a loaded pistol in each pocket, y' know,--deuced trustworthy fellow. The horses couldn't look better, Bev. Egad! I believe they know to-day is--the day! There's your 'Terror' pawing and fidgeting, and 'Moonraker' stamping and quivering--"

"But how is your arm, d.i.c.k?"

"Arm?" said the Viscount innocently. "Oh,--ah, to be sure,--thanks, couldn't be better, considering."

"Are you--quite sure?" persisted Barnabas, aware of the Viscount's haggard cheek and feverish eye.

"Quite, Bev, quite,--behold! feel!" and doubling his fist, he smote Barnabas a playful blow in the ribs. "Oh, my dear fellow, it's going to be a grand race though,--ding-dong to the finis.h.!.+ And it's dry, thank heaven, for 'Moonraker"s no mud-horse. But I shall be glad when we line up for the start, Bev."

"In about--four hours, d.i.c.k."

"Yes! Devilish long time till eleven o'clock!" sighed the Viscount, seating himself upon the bed and swinging his spurred heels petulantly to and fro. "And I hate to be kept waiting, Bev--egad, I do!"

"Viscount, do you love the Lady Cleone?"

"Eh? Who? Love? Now deuce take it, Beverley, how sudden you are!"

"Do you love her, d.i.c.k?"

"Love her--of course, yes--aren't we rivals? Love her, certainly, oh yes--ask my Roman parent!" And the Viscount frowned blackly, and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Why then," said Barnabas, "since you--honor me with your friends.h.i.+p, I feel constrained to tell you that she has given me to--to understand she will--marry me--some day."

"Eh? Oh! Marry you? The devil! Oh, has she though!" and hereupon the Viscount stared, whistled, and, in that moment, Barnabas saw that his frown had vanished.

"Will you--congratulate me, d.i.c.k?"

"My dear fellow," cried the Viscount, springing up, "with all my heart!"

"d.i.c.k," said Barnabas, as their hands met, "would you give me your hand as readily had it been--Clemency?"

Now here the Viscount's usually direct gaze wavered and fell, while his pallid cheek flushed a dull red. He did not answer at once, but his sudden frown was eloquent.

"Egad, Bev, I--since you ask me--I don't think I should."

"Why?"

"Oh well, I suppose--you see--oh, I'll be shot if I know!"

"You--don't love her, do you, d.i.c.k?"

"Clemency? Of course not--that is--suppose I do--what then?"

"Why then she'd make a very handsome Viscountess, d.i.c.k."

"Beverley," said the Viscount, staring wide-eyed, "are you mad?"

"No," Barnabas retorted, "but I take you to be an honorable man, my Lord."

The Viscount sprang to his feet, clenched his fists, then took two or three turns across the room.

"Sir," said he, in his iciest tones, "you presume too much on my friends.h.i.+p."

"My Lord," said Barnabas, "with your good leave I'll ring for my servant." Which he did, forthwith.

"Sir," said the Viscount, pale and stern, and with folded arms, "your remark was, I consider, a direct reflection upon my honor."

"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his breeches, "your honor is surely your friend's, also?"

"Sir," said the Viscount, with arms still folded, and sitting very upright on the bed, "were I to--call you out for that remark I should be only within my rights."

"My Lord," answered Barnabas, struggling with his s.h.i.+rt, "were you to call from now till doomsday--I shouldn't come."

"Then, sir," said the Viscount, cold and sneering, "a whip, perhaps,--or a cane might--"

But at this juncture, with a discreet knock, Peterby entered, and, having bowed to the scowling Viscount, proceeded to invest Barnabas with polished boots, waistcoat and scarlet coat, and to tie his voluminous cravat, all with that deftness, that swift and silent dexterity which helped to make him the marvel he was.

"Sir," said he, when Barnabas stood equipped from head to foot, "Captain Slingsby's groom called to say that his master and the Marquis of Jerningham are expecting you and Viscount Devenham to breakfast at 'The Chequers'--a little higher up the street, sir.

Breakfast is ordered for eight o'clock."

"Thank you, Peterby," said Barnabas, and, bowing to the Viscount, followed him from the room and downstairs, out into the dewy freshness of the morning. To avoid the crowded street they went by a field-path behind the inn, a path which to-day was beset by, and wound between, booths and stalls and carts of all sorts. And here was gathered a motley crowd; bespangled tumblers and acrobats, dark-browed gipsy fortune-tellers and horse-coupers, thimble-riggers, showmen, itinerant musicians,--all those nomads who are to be found on every race-course, fair, and village green, when the world goes a-holiday making. Through all this bustling throng went our two young gentlemen, each remarkably stiff and upright as to back, and each excessively polite, yet walking, for the most part, in a dignified silence, until, having left the crowd behind, Barnabas paused suddenly in the shade of a deserted caravan, and turned to his companion.

"d.i.c.k!" said he smiling, and with hand outstretched.

"Sir?" said the Viscount, frowning and with eyes averted.

"My Lord," said Barnabas, bowing profoundly, "if I have offended your Lords.h.i.+p--I am sorry, but--"

"But, sir?"

"But your continued resentment for a fancied wrong is so much stronger than your avowed friends.h.i.+p for me, it would seem--that henceforth I--"

With a warning cry the Viscount sprang forward and, turning in a flash, Barnabas saw a heavy bludgeon in the air above him; saw the Viscount meet it with up-flung arm; heard the thud of the blow, a snarling curse; saw a figure dart away and vanish among the jungle of carts; saw the Viscount stagger against the caravan and lean there, his pale face convulsed with pain.

"Oh, Bev," he groaned, "my game arm, ye know. Hold me up, I--"

"d.i.c.k!" cried Barnabas, supporting the Viscount's writhing figure, "oh, d.i.c.k--it was meant for me! Are you much hurt?"

"No--nothing to--mention, my dear fellow. Comes a bit--sharp at first, y' know,--better in a minute or two."

"d.i.c.k--d.i.c.k, what can I do for you?"

"Nothing,--don't worry, Bev,--right as ninepence in a minute, y' know!"

stammered the Viscount, trying to steady his twitching mouth.