The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 38

"Excuse me, but that is my chair and my paper."

"Eh?" The poet looked up sweetly. "Surely, the Club chair and the Club paper--"

"I have but this moment left them."

"By a singular coincidence, I have but this moment taken possession of them."

"Give them up, sir."

"I shall do nothing of the kind, sir."

At this point Sam was seized with the unlucky inspiration of quoting from Mr. Moggridge's published works:

"Forbid the flood to wet thy feet, Or bind its wrath in chains; But never seek to quench the heat That fires a poet's veins!"

This stanza, delivered with nice attention to its author's drawing-room manner, was too much.

"Sir, you are no gentleman!"

"You seem," retorted Sam, "to be an authority on manners as well as on Customs. I won't repeat your charge; but I'll be dashed if you're a poet!"

My Muse is in a very pretty pa.s.s. Gentlest of her sisterhood, she has wandered from the hum of Miss Limpenny's whist-table into the turmoil of Mars. Even as one who, strolling through a smiling champaign, finds suddenly a lion in his path, and to him straightway the topmost bough of the plata.n.u.s is dearer than the mother that bare him--in short, I really cannot say how this history would have ended, had not Fortune at this juncture descended to the Club-room in form and speech like to Admiral Buzza.

The Admiral did not convey his son away in a hollow cloud, or even break the Club telescope in Mr. Moggridge's hand; he made a speech instead, to this effect:

"My sons, attend and cease from strife implacable; neither be as two ravening whelps that, having chanced on a kid in the dells of the mountain, dispute thereover, dragging this way and that with gnas.h.i.+ng jaws. For to youth belong anger and biting words, but to soothe is the gift of old age."

What the Admiral actually said was--"Hullo! what the devil are you young cubs quarrelling about?"

And now, satisfied that no blood is to be spilt, the Muse hies gladly to a very different scene.

In the drawing-room of "The Bower" Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys was sitting with a puzzled face and a letter on her lap. She had gone to the front door to learn Sam Buzza's answer, and, having dismissed her messenger, was returning, when the garden-gate creaked, and a blue-jerseyed man, with a gravely humorous face, stood before her.

The new comer had regarded her long and earnestly before asking--

"Be you Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys?"

"I am."

"Answerin' to name o' Geraldine, an' lawful wife o' party answerin'

to name o' Honorubble Frederic?"

"Certainly!" she smiled.

"H'm. Then this 'ere's for you." And the blue-jerseyed man handed a letter, and looked at her again, searchingly.

"Is there an answer?"

"No, I reckon."

She was turning, when the man suddenly laid a finger on her arm.

"Axin' pardon, but you'll let 'un down aisy, won't 'ee? He don't bear no malice, tho' he've a-suffered a brave bit. Cure 'un, that's what I say--cure 'un: this bein', o' cou'se, atween you an' me.

An' look 'ee here," he continued, with a slow nod; "s'posin' the party lets on as he's a-falled in love wi' another party, I reckon you won't be the party to hinder et. Mind, I bain't sayin' you cou'd, but you won't try, will 'ee? That's atween you an' me, o'

cou'se."

The man winked solemnly, and turned down the path. Before she recovered of her astonishment he had paused again at the gate, and was looking back.

"That's understood," he nodded; "atween you an' me an' the gate-post, o' cou'se."

With that he had disappeared.

Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, if bewildered at this, was yet more astonished at the contents of the letter.

"Fogo?" she repeated, with a glance at the signature--"Fogo?

Won't that be the name of the woman-hater up at Kit's House, me dear?"

"Certainly," answered the Honourable Frederic.

"Then I'll trouble yez to listen to this."

She read as follows:--

"My Dear Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, When last you left me I prayed that we might never meet again.

But time is stronger than I fancied, and here I am writing to you. Fate must have been in her most ironical mood to bring us so near in this corner of the world. I thought you were in another continent; but if you will let me accept the chance which brings us together, and call upon you as an old friend, I shall really be grateful: for there will be much to talk about, even if we avoid, as I promise to do, all that is painful; and I am very lonely. I have seen your husband, and hope you are very happy.--Believe me, very sincerely yours, Philip Fogo."

"What does it mean?" asked Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys helplessly.

"It means, Nellie, that we have just time enough, and none to spare; in other words, that 'Goodwyn-Sandys' has come near to being a confoundedly fatal--"

"Then he must have known--"

"Known! My treasure, where are your wits? Beautiful namesake-- jilted lover--'hence, perjured woman'--bleeding heart--years pa.s.s-- marry another--finger of fate--Good Lord!" wound up the Honourable Frederic. "I met the fellow one day, and couldn't understand why he stared so--gave me the creeps--see it all now."

He lay back in his chair and whistled.

There was a tap at the drawing-room door, and the b.u.t.toned youth announced that Mrs. Buzza was without, and earnestly begged an interview with Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys. The Honourable Frederic obligingly retired to smoke, and the visitor was shown in.

Her appearance was extraordinary. Her portly figure shook; her eyes were red; her bonnet, rakishly poised over the left eye, had dragged askew the "front" under it, as though its wearer had parted her hair on one side in a distracted moment. A sob rent her bosom as she entered.

"My poor soul!" murmured Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, "you are in trouble."

Mrs. Buzza tried to speak, but dropped into a chair and nodded instead.

"What _is_ the matter?"

"It's--it's _him_."

"The Admiral?"