The Amateur Gentleman Part 15

IN WHICH FISTS ARE CLENCHED; AND OF A SELFISH MAN, WHO WAS AN APOSTLE OF PEACE

Conversation, though in itself a blessed and delightful thing, yet may be sometimes out of place, and wholly impertinent. If wine is a loosener of tongues, surely food is the greatest, pleasantest, and most complete silencer; for what man when hunger gnaws and food is before him--what man, at such a time, will stay to discuss the wonders of the world, of science--or even himself?

Thus our two young travellers, with a very proper respect for the n.o.ble fare before them, paid their homage to it in silence--but a silence that was eloquent none the less. At length, however, each spoke, and each with a sigh.

_The Viscount_. "The ham, my dear fellow--!"

_Barnabas_. "The beef, my dear d.i.c.k--!"

_The Viscount and Barnabus_. "Is beyond words."

Having said which, they relapsed again into a silence, broken only by the occasional rattle of knife and fork.

_The Viscount_ (hacking at the loaf). "It's a grand thing to be hungry, my dear fellow."

_Barnabas_ (glancing over the rim of his tankard). "When you have the means of satisfying it--yes."

_The Viscount_ (becoming suddenly abstracted, and turning his piece of bread over and over in his fingers). "Now regarding--Mistress Clemency, my dear Bev; what do you think of her?"

_Barnabas_ (helping himself to more beef). "That she is a remarkably handsome girl!"

_The Viscount_ (frowning at his piece of bread). "Hum! d'you think so?"

_Barnabas_. "Any man would. I'll trouble you for the mustard, d.i.c.k."

_The Viscount_. "Yes; I suppose they would."

_Barnabas_. "Some probably do--especially men with an eye for fine women."

_The Viscount_ (frowning blacker than ever). "Pray, what mean you by that?"

_Barnabas_. "Your friend Carnaby undoubtedly does."

_The Viscount_ (starting). "Carnaby! Why what the devil put him into your head? Carnaby's never seen her."

_Barnabas_. "Indeed, I think it rather more than likely."

_The Viscount_ (crus.h.i.+ng the bit of bread suddenly in his fist).

"Carnaby! But I tell you he hasn't--he's never been near this place."

_Barnabas_. "There you are quite wrong."

_The Viscount_ (flinging himself back in his chair). "Beverley, what the devil are you driving at?"

_Barnabas_. "I mean that he was here this morning."

_The Viscount_. "Carnaby? Here? Impossible! What under heaven should make you think so?"

"This," said Barnabas, and held out a small, crumpled piece of paper.

The Viscount took it, glanced at it, and his knife clattered to the floor.

"Sixty thousand pounds!" he exclaimed, and sat staring down at the crumpled paper, wide-eyed. "Sixty thousand!" he repeated. "Is it sixty or six, Bev? Read it out," and he thrust the torn paper across to Barnabas, who, taking it up, read as follows:--

--felicitate you upon your marriage with the lovely heiress, Lady M., failing which I beg most humbly to remind you, my dear Sir Mortimer Carnaby, that the sixty thousand pounds must be paid back on the day agreed upon, namely July 16,

Your humble, obedient Servant,

JASPER GAUNT.

"Jasper Gaunt!" exclaimed the Viscount. "Sixty thousand pounds! Poor Carnaby! Sixty thousand pounds payable on July sixteenth! Now the fifteenth, my dear Bev, is the day of the race, and if he should lose, it looks very much as though Carnaby would be ruined, Bev."

"Unless he marries 'the lovely heiress'!" added Barnabas.

"Hum!" said the Viscount, frowning. "I wish I'd never seen this cursed paper, Bev!" and as he spoke he crumpled it up and threw it into the great fireplace. "Where in the name of mischief did you get it?"

"It was in the corner yonder," answered Barnabas. "I also found this."

And he laid a handsomely embossed coat b.u.t.ton on the table.

"It has been wrenched off you will notice."

"Yes," nodded the Viscount, "torn off! Do you think--"

"I think," said Barnabas, putting the b.u.t.ton back into his pocket, "that Mistress Clemency's tears are accounted for--"

"By G.o.d, Beverley," said the Viscount, an ugly light in his eyes, "if I thought that--!" and the hand upon the table became a fist.

"I think that Mistress Clemency is a match for any man--or brute,"

said Barnabas, and drew his hand from his pocket.

Now the Viscount's fist was opening and shutting convulsively, the breath whistled between his teeth, he glanced towards the door, and made as though he would spring to his feet; but in that moment came a diversion, for Barnabas drew his hand from his pocket, and as he did so, something white fluttered to the floor, close beside the Viscount's chair. Both men saw it and both stooped to recover it, but the Viscount, being nearer, picked it up, glanced at it, looked at Barnabas with a knowing smile, glanced at it again, was arrested by certain initials embroidered in one corner, stooped his head suddenly, inhaling its subtle perfume, and so handed it back to Barnabas, who took it with a word of thanks and thrust it into an inner pocket, while the Viscount stared at him under his drawn brows.

But Barnabas, all unconscious, proceeded to cut himself another slice of beef, offering to do the same for the Viscount.

"Thank you--no," said he.

"What--have you done, so soon?"

"Yes," said he, and thereafter sat watching Barnabas ply knife and fork, who, presently catching his eye, smiled.

"Pray," said the Viscount after a while, "pray are you acquainted with the Lady Cleone Meredith?"

"No," answered Barnabas. "I'll trouble you for the mustard, d.i.c.k."

"Have you ever met the Lady Cleone Meredith?"

"Never", answered Barnabas, innocent of eye.

Hereupon the Viscount rose up out of the chair and leaned across the table.

"Sir," said he, "you are a most consummate liar!"