The Amateur Gentleman Part 116

"Not yet--"

"Has he seen her?"

"No, that's the deuce of it, she's away with her father, y' know.

Bit of a mystery about him, I fancy--she made me promise to be patient a while, and ask no questions."

"And where is she?"

"Haven't the least idea. However, I went down to beard my Roman, y'

know, alone and single handed. Great mistake! Had Clemency been with me the flintiest of Roman P's would have relented, for who could resist--Clemency? As it was, I did my best, Bev--ran over her points--I mean--tried to describe her, y' know, but it was no go, Bev, no go--things couldn't have gone worse!"

"How?"

"'Sir,' says I--in an easy, off-hand tone, my dear fellow, and it was _after_ dinner, you'll understand,--'Sir, I've decided to act upon your very excellent advice, and get married. I intend to settle down, at once!' 'Indeed, Horatio?' says he,--(Roman of eye, Bev) 'who is she, pray?' 'The most glorious woman in the world, sir!'

says I. 'Of course,' says he, 'but--which?' This steadied me a little, Bev, so I took a fresh grip and began again: 'Sir,' says I, 'beauty in itself is a poor thing at best--' 'Therefore,' says my Roman (quick as a flash, my dear fellow) 'therefore it is just as well that beauty should not come--entirely empty-handed!' 'Sir,' says I--(calmly, you'll understand, Bev, but with just sufficient firmness to let him see that, after all, he was only a father) 'Sir,'

says I, 'beauty is a transient thing at best, unless backed up by virtue, honor, wisdom, courage, truth, purity, n.o.bility of soul--'

'Horatio,' says my father (pulling me up short, Bev) 'you do well to put these virtues first but, in the wife of the future Earl of Bamborough, I hearken for such common, though necessary attributes as birth, breeding, and position, neither of which you have yet mentioned, but I'm impatient, perhaps, and these come at the end of your list,--pray continue.' 'Sir,' says I, 'my future wife is above such petty considerations!' 'Ah!' says my Roman, 'I feared so! She is then, a--n.o.body, I presume?' 'Sir--most beautiful girl in all England,' says I. 'Ha!' says my Roman, nodding, 'then she _is_ a n.o.body; that settles it.' 'She's all that is pure and good!' says I.

'And a n.o.body, beyond a doubt!' says he. 'She's everything sweet, n.o.ble and brave,' says I. 'But--a n.o.body!' says he again. Now I'll confess I grew a little heated at this, my dear fellow, though I kept my temper admirably--oh, I made every allowance for him, as a self-respecting son should, but, though filial, I maintained a front of adamant, Bev. But, deuce take it! he kept on at me with his confounded 'n.o.body' so long that I grew restive at last and jibbed.

'So you are determined to marry a n.o.body, are you, Horatio?' says he.

'No, my Lord,' says I, rising, (and with an air of crus.h.i.+ng finality, Bev) 'I am about to be honored with the hand of one who, by stress of circ.u.mstances, was for some time waiting maid at the 'Spotted Cow'

inn, at Frittenden.' Well, Bev--that did it, y' know! My Roman couldn't say a word, positively gaped at me and, while he gaped, I bowed, and walked out entirely master of the situation. Result-- independence, happiness, and--beggary."

"But, d.i.c.k,--how shall you live?"

"Oh, I have an old place at Devenham, in the wilds of Kent,--we shall rusticate there."

"And you will give up Almack's, White's--all the glory of the Fas.h.i.+onable World?"

"Oh, man!" cried the Viscount, radiant of face, "how can all these possibly compare? I shall have Clemency!"

"But surely you will find it very quiet, after London and the clubs?"

"Yes, it will be very quiet at Devenham, Bev," said the Viscount, very gently, "and there are roses there, and she loves roses, I know!

We shall be alone in the world together,--alone! Yes, it will be very quiet, Bev--thank heaven!"

"The loneliness will pall, after a time, d.i.c.k--say a month. And the roses will fade and wither--as all things must, it seems," said Barnabas bitterly, whereupon the Viscount turned and looked at him and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Why, Bev," said he, "my dear old Bev,--what is it? You're greatly changed, I think; it isn't like you to be a cynic. You are my friend, but if you were my bitterest enemy I should forgive you, full and freely, because of your behavior to Clemency. My dear fellow, are you in any trouble--any danger? I have been away only a week, yet I come back to find the town humming with stories of your desperate play. I hear that D'Argenson plucked you for close on a thousand the other day--"

"But I won fifteen hundred the same night, d.i.c.k."

"And lost all that, and more, to the Poodle later!"

"Why--one can't always win, d.i.c.k."

"Oh, Bev, my dear fellow, do you remember shaking your grave head at me because I once dropped five hundred in one of the h.e.l.ls?"

"I fear I must have been very--young then, d.i.c.k!"

"And to-day, Bev, to-day you are a notorious gambler, and you sneer at love! Gad! what a change is here! My dear fellow, what does it all mean?"

Barnabas hesitated, and this history might have been very different in the ending but, even as he met the Viscount's frank and anxious look, the door was flung wide and Tressider, the thinnish, youngish gentleman in sandy whiskers, rushed in, followed by the Marquis and three or four other fine gentlemen, and, beholding the Viscount, burst into a torrent of speech:

"Ha! Devenham! there you are,--back from the wilds, eh? Heard the latest? No, I'll be shot if you have--none of you have, and I'm bursting to tell it--positively exploding, damme if I'm not. It was last night, at Crockford's you'll understand, and every one was there--Skiffy, Apollo, the Poodle, Red Herrings, No-grow, the Galloping Countryman and your obedient humble. One o'clock was striking as the game broke up, and there's Beverley yawning and waiting for his hat, d' ye see, when in comes the Golden Ball. 'Ha, Beverley!' says he, 'you gamble, they tell me?' 'Oh, now and then,'

says Beverley. 'Why then,' says Golden Ball, 'you may have heard that I do a little that way, myself?' Now you mention it, I believe I have,' says Beverley. 'Ha!' says Golden Ball, winking at the rest of us, 'suppose we have a match, you and I--call your game.' 'Sir,'

says Beverley, yawning again, 'it is past one o'clock, and I make it a rule never to play after one o'clock except for rather high stakes,'

(Rather high stakes says he! and to the Golden Ball,--oh curse me!) 'Do you, begad!' says Golden Ball, purple in the face--'ha!

you may have heard that I occasionally venture a hundred or so myself--whatever the hour! Waiter--cards!' 'Sir,' says Beverley, I've been playing ever since three o'clock this afternoon and I'm weary of cards.' 'Oh, just as you wish,' says Golden Ball, 'at battledore and shuttlec.o.c.k I'm your man, or rolling the bones, or--'

'Dice, by all means!' says Beverley, yawning again. 'At how much a throw?' says Golden Ball, sitting down and rattling the box. 'Well,'

says Beverley, 'a thousand, I think, should do to begin with!'

('A thou-sand,' says he, damme if he didn't!) Oh Gad, but you should have seen the Golden Ball, what with surprise and his cravat, I thought he'd choke--shoot me if I didn't! 'Done!' says he at last (for we were all round the table thick as flies you'll understand) --and to it they went, and in less than a quarter of an hour, Beverley had bubbled him of close on seven thousand! Quickest thing I ever saw, oh, curse me!"

"Oh, Bev," sighed the Viscount, under cover of the ensuing talk and laughter, "what a perfectly reckless fellow you are!"

"Why, you see, d.i.c.k," Barnabas answered, as Peterby re-entered with his hat and cloak, "a man can't always lose!"

"Beverley," said the Marquis, proffering his arm, "I have my chariot below; I thought we might drive round to the club together, you and Devenham and I, if you are ready?"

"Thank you, Marquis, yes, I'm quite ready."

Thus, with a Marquis on his right, and a Viscount on his left, and divers n.o.ble gentlemen in his train, Barnabas went forth to his triumph.

CHAPTER LXII

WHICH TELLS HOW BARNABAS TRIUMPHED IN SPITE OF ALL

Never had White's, that historic club, gathered beneath its roof a more distinguished company; dukes, royal and otherwise, elbow each other on the stairs; earls and marquises sit cheek by jowl; viscounts and baronets exchange snuff-boxes in corners, but one and all take due and reverent heed of the flattened revers and the innovation of the riband.

Yes, White's is full to overflowing for, to-night, half the Fas.h.i.+onable World is here, that is to say, the masculine half; beaux and wits; bucks and Corinthians; dandies and macaronis; all are here and, each and every, with the fixed and unshakable purpose of eating and drinking to the glory and honor of Barnabas Beverley, Esquire.

Here, also, is a certain "Mr. Norton," whom Barnabas immediately recognizes by reason of his waistcoat and his whiskers. And Mr. Norton is particularly affable and is graciously pleased to commend the aforesaid flattened revers and riband; indeed so taken with them is he, that he keeps their wearer beside him, and even condescends to lean upon his arm as far as the dining-room.

Forthwith the banquet begins and the air hums with talk and laughter punctuated by the popping of corks; waiters hurry to and fro, dishes come and dishes vanish, and ever the laughter grows, and the buzz of talk swells louder.

And Barnabas? Himself "the gla.s.s of fas.h.i.+on and the mould of form,"

in very truth "the observed of all observers," surely to-night he should be happy! For the soaring pinions of youth have borne him up and up at last, into the empyrean, far, far above the commonplace; the "Coursing Hound," with its faded sign and weatherbeaten gables, has been lost to view long and long ago (if it ever really existed), and to-night he stands above the clouds, his foot upon the topmost pinnacle; and surely man can attain no higher, for to-night he feasts with princes.

Thus Barnabas sits among the glare and glitter of it all, smiling at one, bowing to another, speaking with all by turns, and wondering in his heart--if there is yet any letter from Hawkhurst. And now the hurrying tread of waiters ceases, the ring and clatter of gla.s.s and silver is hushed, the hum of talk and laughter dies away, and a mottle-faced gentleman rises, and, clutching himself by the s.h.i.+rt-frill with one hand, and elevating a br.i.m.m.i.n.g gla.s.s in the other, clears his throat, and holds forth in this wise:

"Gentlemen, I'm an Englishman, therefore I'm blunt,--deuced blunt--d.a.m.ned blunt! Gentlemen, I desire to speak a word upon this happy and memorable occasion, and my word is this: Being an Englishman I very naturally admire pluck and daring--Mr. Beverley has pluck and daring--therefore I drink to him. Gentlemen, we need such true-blue Englishmen as Beverley to keep an eye on old Bony; it is such men as Beverley who make the d.a.m.ned foreigners shake in their accursed shoes. So long as we have such men as Beverley amongst us, England will scorn the foreign yoke and stand forth triumphant, first in peace, first in war. Gentlemen, I give you Mr. Beverley, as he is a true Sportsman I honor him, as he is an Englishman he is my friend. Mr. Beverley, gentlemen!"

Hereupon the mottle-faced gentleman lets go of his s.h.i.+rt-frill, bows to Barnabas and, tossing off his wine, sits down amid loud acclamations and a roaring chorus of "Beverley! Beverley!"

accompanied by much clinking of gla.s.ses.

And now, in their turn, divers other n.o.ble gentlemen rise in their places and deliver themselves of speeches, more or less eloquent, flowery, witty and laudatory, but, one and all, full of the name and excellences of Barnabas Beverley, Esquire; who duly learns that he is a Maecenas of Fas.h.i.+on, a sportsman through and through, a s.h.i.+ning light, and one of the bulwarks of Old England, b'gad! etc., etc., etc.