"Alas! the heart that inly bleeds
Has naught to fear from outward blow;
Who falls from all he knows of bliss,
Cares little into what abyss."
Byron.
When Arthur left the store, the evening after the unfortunate affair of
the bank deposit, he had gone forth with no definite purpose, no chosen
course for his footsteps, only with a longing desire to feel the breath
of Heaven upon his hot brow once again, and to look up at the stars,
which he felt glad would gaze on him always the same, from the deep blue
sky above; no matter what changes came o'er the heart of man, or how
black the frown adversity might bend upon him. Perhaps had the youth,
that night, been left to commune with his own rebel thoughts, and to the
companionship of those holy stars, and the still voice of the night, he
would have become himself again, and sought his pillow with a heart
refreshed from the storm that had swept over it. But his evil genius
pursued him; and before he reached the first corner, he heard a quick
step behind him, and turning, stood face to face with the last person
he at that moment wished to meet--Quirk, his fellow-clerk.
Since the Sabbath which they had spent so disgracefully together, he had
shunned Quirk in every way. He had avoided his glances, shunned his
presence, and turned a deaf ear to his sneers and gibes. But now there
was no way to avoid him, and Arthur greeted him with as good a grace as
possible.
"What the devil's the matter with you, Pratt?" he exclaimed, after the
first words of recognition. "I can see plainly there's been a muss
between you and old D., someway, but I'll be hanged if I could find out
what 'twas about. He hasn't found out we lost that pass-key, has he?"
"D----n the key," said Arthur, uttering his first oath with cool
nonchalance; "I don't know whether he's found it out or not, and care
less."
"You'd have to care, I reckon, if he did find it out, though," returned
the other. "Don't you see the store is liable to be entered any night,
if a clever fellow happened to find that key? You see the number of the
store and all is on it."
Arthur walked on for a moment in silence, then replied:
"If a 'clever fellow,' as you say, had found it, and wanted to use it
for such a purpose, he'd have been in, I guess, before now--that key
has been gone a month or more."
"Aye, but the nights have been too fine; starlight or moonlight all the
while; and may be he is waiting for the new stock of goods, who knows?"
"Well, if that's going to happen," said Arthur, earnestly, "I only hope
it will not come just yet; I've got trouble enough for one season."
"Trouble! what have you got to trouble you, I'd like to know? But I
forgot, you haven't told me what occurred to-day; and that's just what I
come after you for, to find out."
"Well, I may as well tell you, I suppose, if you are so anxious to know.
Delancey, I don't believe, will keep it to himself, and you may as well
know it from me as him."
"Never hope for him to keep anything secret that could hurt a body; I
never knew him to screen a clerk's faults yet. He is of the opinion that
to make the matter public, is the best way to ensure better luck next
time. Let's step in here, and take something refreshing; and you can
tell me the story over our glasses."
Arthur complied, and entering one of those gorgeous saloons, which can
be found in almost every block of the Crescent City, Quirk stepped to
the counter, and ordered a bottle of wine, and, in an under-tone,
added:--"A private apartment, also, if you have one empty."
The clerk, who was a portly, sensual-faced, red-haired man, raised his
brows, and, tipping a sly wink at Quirk, said:--"Up stairs or down?"
"Both, perhaps," returned the other, with a laugh; "but if we want an
upper one, we'll let you know. Down stairs for the present."
The man had by this time lighted a lamp, at the wick of which he had
been working for some time, and taking the bottle of wine, he led the
way into the back part of the saloon, where was a door partially
concealed by red moreen hangings. He shoved aside the curtain, and
passed into a long vestibule, elegantly furnished, with doors opening on
each side, not unlike the state-rooms of a steamboat. These doors led
into small apartments, carpeted, lighted, and containing four chairs and
a card-table, with a pack of cards.
"You are perfectly private here, gentlemen."
"Yes," replied Quirk, seating himself with the air of a man who has
bought his comfort, and means to enjoy it. "Ah, Quibbles, what shall we
do for cigars? I forgot them."
"We have some prime Havanas, sir; how many did you order?"
"Oh, bring me half a dozen; that's enough after wine."
Quibbles departed on his mission.
"This is a nice place, Pratt, to tell secrets in; don't you think so?"
"I do, indeed," said Arthur, looking around with a knowing air, and
thrumming on the table with his fingers.
The clerk at this moment returned with cigars and wine glasses, and drew
the cork of the wine bottle.
"Quibbles."
"Yes, sir."
"Has Clinton been here to-night?"
"Not yet."
"When he comes tell him we are here, and send him in, will you?"
Quibbles bowed, and retired.
"Is that the proprietor of this establishment, Quirk?" asked Arthur,
helping himself to a glass of wine.
"Ho, ho, bless your heart, no. The proprietor is one of the pillars of
an up-town church, and would feel his reputation ruined, and himself
disgraced, if seen behind the counter of such a concern. He hires this
man to play proprietor, and keeps the place open for the benefit of
those who prefer bar-rooms to churches. You see, Christians go into
anything that pays well, here."
Arthur bent over his glass with something like a frown on his young
brow; then holding his wine up between his eye and the light, he shook
it slowly, and watched the ruddy reflection playing on his hand.
"Didn't I hear you ask if Clinton had been here, Quirk?"
"Aye, just so."
"Does he frequent this place?"
"Well, between you and me, he does."
"Does he use these?" said Arthur, lifting a few of the cards, and
letting them fall slowly through his fingers.
"Well, sometimes he does one thing, sometimes another; you see this is a
very extensive establishment, and sometimes he drinks in the saloon,
sometimes gambles in here, and sometimes passes the evening up stairs
with the ladies, and occasionally does all in the course of an evening.
He's a fine fellow, I tell you; a fast un, though."
"What ladies are in the house, the family of the man out yonder?"
"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Quirk, uproariously; "what a prime innocent it is,
though. Why, my boy, this is one of the fashionable establishments of
the city."
A glow of shame crossed Arthur's cheek, as the truth flashed upon his
mind, and dashing his glass angrily down, blushing at the thought of
being led into such a place, he was about to pass out of the door.
"Why, hold on, Pratt; have you forgotten what you came here for? You
haven't told me a word of what you were going to."
"Nor shall I in this hole," returned Arthur, laying his hand upon the
door-key; "if you want to hear it you must get out of here."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Quirk, trying to detain him; "hold on till we
finish this bottle."
"Not I," replied Arthur, "I've had enough;" and dashing open the door,
he rushed against the trim figure of Clinton, who was just about to
enter.