The Amateur Gentleman Part 52

"Here, sir; we're in it,--Hatton Garden. Charmingly rustic spot, you'll observe, delightfully rural retreat! Famous for strawberries once, I believe,--flowers too, of course. Talking of flowers, sir, a few of 'em still left to--ah--blush unseen? I'm one, Barrymaine's another--a violet? No. A lily? No. A blush-rose? Well, let us say a blush-rose, but d.a.m.nably run to seed, like the rest of us.

And--ah--talking of Barrymaine, I ought, perhaps, to warn you that we may find him a trifle--queer--a leetle touched perhaps." And Mr. Smivvle raised an invisible gla.s.s, and tossed down its imaginary contents with an expression of much beat.i.tude.

"Is he given to--that sort of thing?"

"Sir," said Mr. Smivvle, "can you blame one who seeks forgetfulness in the flowing bowl--and my friend Barry has very much to forget--can you blame him?"

"No, poor fellow!"

"Sir, allow me to tell you my friend Barry needs no man's pity, though I confess I could wish Chichester was not quite so generous--in one respect."

"How?"

"In--ah--in keeping the flowing bowl continually br.i.m.m.i.n.g, my dear fellow."

"Is Mr. Chichester a friend of his?"

"The only one, with the exception of yours obediently, who has not deserted him in his adversity."

"Why?"

"Because, well,--between you and me, my dear fellow, I believe his regard for Barry's half-sister, the Lady Cleone, is largely accountable in Chichester's case; as for myself, because, as I think I mentioned, the hand of a Smivvle once given, sir, is never withdrawn, either on account of plague, poverty, pestilence, or Jews, --dammem! This way, my dear fellow!" and turning into Cross Street, up towards Leather Lane, Mr. Smivvle halted at a certain dingy door, opened it, and showed Barnabas into a dingier hall, and so, leading the way up the dingiest stairs in the world, eventually ushered him into a fair-sized, though dingy, room; and being entered, immediately stood upon tip-toe and laid a finger on his lips.

"Hus.h.!.+ the poor fellow's asleep, but you'll excuse him, I know."

Barnabas nodded, and, softly approaching the couch, looked down upon the sleeper, and, with the look, felt his heart leap.

A young face he saw, delicately featured, a handsome face with disdainful lips that yet drooped in pitiful weariness, a face which, for all its youth, was marred by the indelible traces of fierce, ungoverned pa.s.sions. And gazing down upon these features, so dissimilar in expression, yet so strangely like in their beauty and lofty pride, Barnabas felt his heart leap,--because of the long lashes that curled so black against the waxen pallor of the cheek; for in that moment he almost seemed to be back in the green, morning freshness of Annersley Wood, and upon his lips there breathed a name--"Cleone."

But all at once the sleeper stirred, frowned, and started up with a bitter imprecation upon his lips that ended in a vacant stare.

"Why, Barry," cried Mr. Smivvle leaning over him, "my dear boy, did we disturb you?"

"Ah, Dig--is that you? Fell asleep--brandy, perhaps, and--ha,--your pardon, sir!" and Ronald Barrymaine rose, somewhat unsteadily, and, folding his threadbare dressing-gown about him, bowed, and so stood facing Barnabas, a little drunk and very stately.

"This is my friend Beverley, of whom I told you," Mr. Smivvle hastened to explain. "Mr. Barnabas Beverley,--Mr. Ronald Barrymaine."

"You are--welcome, sir," said Mr. Barrymaine, speaking with elaborate care, as if to make quite sure of his utterance. "Pray be seated, Mr. Bev'ley. We--we are a little crowded I f-fear. Move those boots off the chair, Dig. Indeed my apartment might be a little more commodious, but it's all I have at p-present, and by G.o.d!"

he cried, suddenly fierce, "I shouldn't have even this but for Dig here! Dig's the only f-friend I have in the world--except Chichester.

Push the brandy over, Dig. Of course there's--Cleone, but she's only a sister, after all. Don't know what I should do if it wasn't for Dig--d-do I, Dig? And Chichester of course. Give Mr. Bev'ley a chair.

Dig. I'll get him--gla.s.s!" Hereupon Mr. Smivvle hurried forward with a chair which, like all the rest of the furniture, had long ago seen its best days, during which manoeuvre he contrived to whisper hurriedly:

"Poor Barry's decidedly 'touched' to-day, a little more so than usual, but you'll excuse him I know, my dear fellow. Hus.h.!.+" for Barrymaine, who had crossed to the other end of the room, now turned and came towards them, swaying a little, and with a gla.s.s in his hand.

"It's rickety, sir, you'll notice," said he, nodding. "I--I mean that chair--dev'lish rickety, like everything else 'bout here--especially myself, eh, Dig? B-but don't be alarmed, it--will bear you, sir. D-devil of a place to ask--gentleman to sit down in, --but the Spanswick hasn't been round to clean the place this week--d.a.m.n her! S-scarcely blame her, though--never gets paid--except when Dig remembers it. Don't know what I should do without D-Dig,--raised twenty pounds yesterday, damme if I know where!

said it was watch--but watch went weeks ago. Couldn't ever pay the Spanswick. That's the accursed part of it--pay, pay! debt on debt, and--n-nothing to pay with. All swallowed up by that merciless bloodsucker--that--"

"Now, Barry!" Mr. Smivvle expostulated, "my dear boy--"

"He's a cursed v-vampire, I tell you!" retorted Barrymaine, his pale cheeks suddenly flushed, and his dark eyes flas.h.i.+ng in swift pa.s.sion, --"he's a snake."

"Now, my dear fellow, calm yourself."

"Calm myself. How can I, when everything I have is his, when everything I g-get belongs to him before--curse him--even before I get it! I tell you, Dig, he's--he's draining my life away, drop by drop! He's g-got me down with his foot on my neck--crus.h.i.+ng me into the mud. I say he's stamping me down into h.e.l.l--d.a.m.n him!"

"Restrain yourself, Barry, my dear boy, remember Mr. Beverley is our guest--"

"Restrain myself--yes, Dig, yes. B-beg Mr. Beverley's pardon for me, Dig. Not myself to-day,--but must restrain myself--certainly. Give me some more brandy--ha! and pa.s.s bottle to Mr. Bev'ley, Dig. No, sir? Ah well, help yourself, Dig. Must forgive exhibition of feeling, sir, but I always do get carried away when I remember that inhuman monster--G.o.d's curse on him!"

"Sir," said Barnabas, "whom do you mean?"

"Mean? ha! ha! oh damme, hark to that, Dig! Dev'lish witty I call that--oh c-cursed rich! Whom do I mean? Why," cried Barrymaine, starting up from the couch, "whom should I mean but Gaunt! Gaunt!

Gaunt!" and he shook his clenched fists pa.s.sionately in the air. Then, as suddenly he turned upon Barnabas with a wild, despairing gesture, and stretching out his arms, pointed to each wrist in turn.

"D'ye see 'em?" he cried, "d'ye hear 'em; jangle? No? Ah, but they _are_ there! riveted on, never to come off, eating deeper into my flesh every day! I'm shackled, I tell you,--fettered hand and foot.

Oh! egad, I'm an object lesson!--point a moral and adorn a tale, --beware of p-prodigality and m-money lenders. Shackled--shackled hand and foot, and must drag my chain until I f-fall into a debtor's grave."

"No!" cried Barnabas, so suddenly that Ronald Barrymaine started, and thereafter grew very high and haughty.

"Sir," said he with upflung head, "I don't permit my word to be--to be--contra--dicted,--never did and never will. Though you see before you a m-miserable wretch, yet that wretch is still a gentleman at heart, and that wretch tells you again he's shackled, sir, hand and foot--yes, damme, and so I am!"

"Well then," said Barnabas, "why not free yourself?"

Ronald Barrymaine sank down upon the couch, looked at Barnabas, looked at Smivvle, drained his gla.s.s and shook his head.

"My dear Dig," said he, "your friend's either mad or drunk--mos'

probably drunk. Yes, that's it,--or else he's smoking me, and I won't be smoked, no man shall laugh at me now that I'm down. Show him the door, Dig. I--I won't have my private affairs discussed by s-strangers, no, by heaven!"

"Now, Barry," exclaimed Mr. Smivvle, "do be calm, Mr. Beverley only wants to help you--er--that is, in a friendly way, of course, and I 'm sure--"

"d.a.m.n his help! I'd rather die in the g-gutter than ask help or charity of any one."

"Yes, yes--of course, my dear fellow! But you're so touchy, Barry, so infernally proud, my dear boy. Mr. Beverley merely wishes to--"

"Be honored with your friends.h.i.+p," said Barnabas with his ingenuous smile.

"Why then, Dig," says his youthful Mightiness, beginning to relent, "pray beg Mr. Bev'ley's pardon for me again, and 'sure him the honor is mine."

"And I would have you trust me also," Barnabas pursued.

"Trust you?" repeated Barrymaine with a sudden laugh. "Gad, yes, willingly! Only it happens I've n-noth-ing left to trust you with, --no, not enough to pay the Spanswick."

"And yet, if you will, you may be free," said Barnabas the persistent.

"Free! He's at it again, Dig."

"Believe me it is my earnest desire to help you,--to--"

"Help me, sir! a stranger! by heaven,--no! A stranger, damme!"