Barrington Volume Ii Part 25

"And it was that story of yours of the Kerry election that won it. The old fellow had to rush out of the room to have his laugh out."

"Do you know, Tom," said Barrington, as he sipped his wine, "I believe, in another generation, n.o.body will laugh at all. Since you and I were boys, the world has taken a very serious turn. Not that it is much wiser, or better, or more moral, or more cultivated, but it is graver.

The old jollity would be now set down simply for vulgarity, and with many people a joke is only short of an insult."

"Shall I tell you why, Peter? We got our reputation for wit, just as we made our name for manufacture, and there sprung up a ma.s.s of impostors in consequence,--fellows who made poor jokes and rotten calicoes, that so disgusted the world that people have gone to France for their fun, and to Germany for their furniture. That is, to my taking, the reason of all this social reaction."

"Perhaps you are right, Tom. Old Joe Millers are not unlike cloth made out of devil's dust. One can't expect much wear out of either."

"We must secure another bottle from that bin before Nicholas changes his mind," said Withering, rising to ring the bell.

"No, Tom, not for me. I want all the calm and all the judgment I can muster, and don't ask me to take more wine. I have much to say to you."

"Of course you have. I knew well that packet of letters would bring you up to town; but you have had scarcely time to read them."

"Very hurriedly, I confess. They reached me yesterday afternoon; and when I had run my eyes hastily over them, I said, 'Stapylton must see this at once.' The man was my guest,--he was under my roof,--there could not be a question about how to deal with him. He was out, however, when the packet reached my hands; and while the pony was being harnessed, I took another look over that letter from Colonel Hunter. It shocked me, Tom, I confess; because there flashed upon me quite suddenly the recollection of the prompt.i.tude with which the India Board at home here were provided with an answer to each demand we made. It was not merely that when we advanced a step they met us; but we could scarcely meditate a move that they were not in activity to repel it."

"I saw that, too, and was struck by it," said Withering.

"True enough, Tom. I remember a remark of yours one day. 'These people,'

said you, 'have our range so accurately, one would suspect they had stepped the ground.'" The lawyer smiled at the compliment to his acuteness, and the other went on: "As I read further, I thought Stapylton had been betrayed,--his correspondent in India had shown his letters. 'Our enemies,' said I, 'have seen our despatches, and are playing with our cards on the table.' No thought of distrust,--not a suspicion against his loyalty had ever crossed me till I met him. I came unexpectedly upon him, however, before the door, and there was a ring and resonance in his voice as I came up that startled me! Pa.s.sion forgets to shut the door sometimes, and one can see in an angry mind what you never suspected in the calm one. I took him up at once, without suffering him to recover his composure, and read him a part of Hunter's letter. He was ready enough with his reply; he knew the Moonshee by reputation as a man of the worst character, but had suffered him to address certain letters under cover to him, as a convenience to the person they were meant for, and who was no other than the son of the notorious Sam Edwardes. 'Whom you have known all this while,' said I, 'without ever acknowledging to us?'

"'Whom I did know some years back,' replied he, 'but never thought of connecting with the name of Colonel Barrington's enemy.' All this was possible enough, Tom; besides, his manner was frank and open in the extreme. It was only at last, as I dwelt, what he deemed too pertinaciously, on this point, that he suddenly lost control of himself, and said, 'I will have no more of this'--or, 'This must go no further'--or some words to that effect."

"Ha! the probe had touched the sore spot, eh?" cried Withering. "Go on!"

"'And if you desire further explanations from me, you must ask for them at the price men pay for inflicting unmerited insult.'"

"Cleverly turned, cleverly done," said Withering; "but you were not to be deceived and drawn off by that feint, eh?"

"Feint or not, it succeeded, Tom. He made me feel that I had injured him; and as he would not accept of my excuses,--as, in fact, he did not give me time to make them--"

"He got you into a quarrel, is n't that the truth?" asked Withering, hotly.

"Come, come, Tom, be reasonable; he had perfect right on his side. There was what he felt as a very grave imputation upon him; that is, I had made a charge, and his explanation had not satisfied me,--or, at all events, I had not said I was satisfied,--and we each of us, I take it, were somewhat warmer than we need have been."

"And you are going to meet him,--going to fight a duel?"

"Well, if I am, it will not be the first time."

"And can you tell for what? Will you be able to make any man of common intelligence understand for what you are going out?"

"I hope so. I have the man in my eye. No, no, don't make a wry face, Tom. It's another old friend I was thinking of to help me through this affair, and I sincerely trust he will not be so hard to instruct as you imagine."

"How old are you, Barrington?"

"Dinah says eighty-one; but I suspect she cheats me. I think I am eighty-three."

"And is it at eighty-three that men fight duels?"

"' Not if they can help it, Tom, certainly. I have never been out since I shot Tom Connelly in the knee, which was a matter of forty years ago, and I had good hopes it was to be my last exploit of this kind. But what is to be done if a man tells you that your age is your protection; that if it had not been for your white hairs and your shaking ankles, that he 'd have resented your conduct or your words to him? Faith, I think it puts a fellow on his mettle to show that his heart is all right, though his hand may tremble."

"I 'll not take any share in such a folly. I tell you, Barrington, the world for whom you are doing this will be the very first to scout its absurdity. Just remember for a moment we are not living in the old days before the Union, and we have not the right, if we had the power, to throw our age back into the barbarism it has escaped from."

"Barbarism! The days of poor Yelverton, and Ponsonby, and Harry Grattan, and Parsons, and Ned Lysaght, barbarism! Ah! my dear Tom, I wish we had a few of such barbarians here now, and I 'd ask for another bottle or two of that port."

"I'll not give it a milder word; and what's more, I'll not suffer you to tarnish a time-honored name by a folly which even a boy would be blamed for. My dear old friend, just grant me a little patience."

"This is cool, certainly," said Barrington, laughing. "You have said all manner of outrageous things to me for half an hour unopposed, and now you cry have patience."

"Give me your honor now that this shall not go further."

"I cannot, Tom,--I a.s.sure you, I cannot."

"What do you mean by 'you cannot'?" cried Withering, angrily.

"I mean just what I said. If you had accepted a man's brief, Tom Withering, there is a professional etiquette which would prevent your giving it up and abandoning him; and so there are situations between men of the world which claim exactly as rigid an observance. I told Stapylton I would be at his orders, and I mean to keep my word."

"Not if you had no right to pledge it; not if I can prove to you that this quarrel was a mere got-up altercation to turn you from an inquiry which this man dare not face."

"This is too subtle for me, Withering,--far too subtle."

"No such thing, Barrington; but I will make it plainer. How if the man you are going to meet had no right to the name he bears?"

"What do I care for his name?"

"Don't you care for the falsehood by which he has a.s.sumed one that is not his own?"

"I may be sorry that he is not more clean-handed; but I tell you again, Tom, they never indulged such punctilios in our young days, and I 'm too old to go to school again!"

"I declare, Barrington, you provoke me," said the lawyer, rising, and pacing the room with hasty strides. "After years and years of weary toil, almost disheartened by defeat and failure, we at last see the outline of land; a few more days--or it may be hours--of perseverance may accomplish our task. Since I arose this morning I have learned more of our case, seen my way more clearly through matters which have long puzzled me, than the cost of years has taught me. I have pa.s.sed four hours with one who would give his life to serve you, but whose name I was not at liberty to divulge, save in the last necessity, and the reasons for which reserve I heartily concur in; and now, by a rash and foolish altercation, you would jeopardy everything. Do you wonder if I lose temper?"

"You have got me into such a state of bewilderment, Tom, that I don't know what I am asked to agree to. But who is your friend,--is n't it a woman?"

"It is not a woman."

"I'd have bet five pounds it was! When as sharp a fellow as you takes the wrong line of country, it's generally a woman is leading the way over the fences."

"This time your clever theory is at fault."

"Well, who is it? Out with him, Tom. I have not so many stanch friends in the world that I can afford to ignore them."

"I will tell you his name on one condition."

"I agree. What is the condition?"

"It is this: that when you hear it you will dismiss from your mind--though it be only for a brief s.p.a.ce--all the prejudices that years may have heaped against him, and suffer me to show you that _you_, with all your belief in your own fairness, are not just; and with a firm conviction in your own generosity, might be more generous. There 's my condition!"

"Well, it must be owned I am going to pay pretty smartly for my information," said Barrington, laughing. "And if you are about to preach to me, it will not be a 'charity' sermon; but, as I said before, I agree to everything."