Seeking one's fortune is a very gambling sort of affair. It is leaving
so much to chance, trusting so implicitly to what is called “luck,” that
it makes all individual exertion a merely secondary process,--a kind of
“auxiliary screw” to aid the gale of Fortune. It was pretty much in this
spirit that Tony Butler arrived in London; nor did the aspect of that
mighty sea of humanity serve to increase his sense of self-reliance. It
was not merely his loneliness that he felt in that great crowd, but it
was his utter inutility--his actual worthlessness--to all others. If
the gamester's sentiment, to try his luck, was in his heart, it was
the spirit of a very poor gambler, who had but one “throw” to risk on
fortune; and, thus thinking, he set out for Downing Street.
If he was somewhat disappointed in the tumble-down, ruinous old mass of
building which held the state secrets of the empire, he was not the less
awestruck as he found himself at the threshold where the great men who
guide empires were accustomed to pass in. With a bold effort he swung
back the glass door of the inner hall, and found himself in presence of
a very well-whiskered, imposing-looking man, who, seated indolently in a
deep armchair, was busily engaged in reading the “Times.” A glance over
the top of the paper was sufficient to assure this great official
that it was not necessary to interrupt his perusal of the news on the
stranger's account, and so he read on undisturbed.
“I have a letter here for Sir Harry Elphinstone,” began Tony; “can I
deliver it to him?”
“You can leave it in that rack yonder,” said the other, pointing to a
glass-case attached to the wall.
“But I wish to give it myself,--with my own hand.”
“Sir Harry comes down to the office at five, and, if your name is down
for an audience, will see you after six.”
“And if it is not down?”
“He won't see you; that 's all.” There was an impatience about the last
words that implied he had lost his place in the newspaper, and wished to
be rid of his interrogator.
“And if I leave my letter here, when shall I call for the answer?” asked
Tony, diffidently.
“Any time from this to this day six weeks,” said the other, with a wave
of the hand to imply the audience was ended.
“What if I were to try his private residence?” said Tony.
“Eighty-one, Park Lane,” said the other, aloud, while he mumbled over
to himself the last line he had read, to recall his thoughts to the
passage.
“You advise me then to go there?”
“Always cutting down, always slicing off something!” muttered the other,
with his eyes on the paper. “'For the port-collector of Hallihololulo,
three hundred and twenty pounds. Mr. Scrudge moved as amendment that
the vote be reduced by the sum of seventy-four pounds eighteen and
sevenpence, being the amount of the collector's salary for the period of
his absence from his post during the prevalence of the yellow fever
on the coast. The honorable member knew a gentleman, whose name he
was unwilling to mention publicly, but would have much pleasure in
communicating confidentially to any honorable gentleman on either side
of the House, who had passed several days at Haccamana, and never was
attacked by any form of yellow fever.' That was a home-thrust, eh?”
cried the reader, addressing Tony. “Not such an easy thing to answer old
Scrudge there?”
“I'm a poor opinion on such matters,” said Tony, with humility; “but
pray tell me, if I were to call at Park Lane--”
The remainder of his question was interrupted by the sudden start to his
legs of the austere porter, as an effeminate-looking young man with his
hat set on one side, and a glass to his eye, swung wide the door, and
walked up to the letter-rack.
“Only these, Willis?” said he, taking some half-dozen letters of various
sizes.
“And this, sir,” said the porter, handing him Tony's letter; “but the
young man thinks he 'd like to have it back;” while he added, in a low
but very significant tone, “he's going to Park Lane with it himself.”
The young gentleman turned round at this, and took a Tery leisurely
survey of the man who contemplated a step of such rare audacity.
“He 's from Ireland, Mr. Darner,” whispered the porter, with a
half-kindly impulse to make an apology for such ignorance.
Mr. Darner smiled faintly, and gave a little nod, as though to say that
the explanation was sufficient; and again turned towards Tony.
“I take it that you know Sir Harry Elphinstone?” asked he.
“I never saw him; but he knew my father very well, and he 'll remember
my name.”
“Knew your father? And in what capacity, may I ask?”
“In what capacity?” repeated Tony, almost fiercely.
“Yes; I mean, as what--on what relations did they stand to each other?”
“As schoolfellows at Westminster, where he fagged to my father; in the
Grenadier Guards afterwards, where they served together; and, last of
all, as correspondents, which they were for many years.”
“Ah, yes,” sighed the other, as though he had read the whole story, and
a very painful story too, of change of fortune and ruined condition.
“But still,” continued he, “I 'd scarcely advise your going to Park
Lane. He don't like it. None of them like it!”
“Don't they?” said Tony, not even vaguely guessing at whose prejudices
he was hinting, but feeling bound to say something.
“No, they don't,” rejoined Mr. Darner, in a half-confidential way.
“There is such a deal of it,--fellows who were in the same 'eleven' at
Oxford, or widows of tutors, or parties who wrote books,--I think
they are the worst, but all are bores, immense bores! You want to get
something, don't you?”
Tony smiled, as much at the oddity of the question as in acquiescence.
“I ask,” said the other, “because you'll have to come to me: I 'm
private secretary, and I give away nearly all the office patronage. Come
upstairs;” and with this he led the way up a very dirty staircase to a
still dirtier corridor, off which a variety of offices opened, the open
doors of which displayed the officials in all forms and attitudes of
idleness,--some asleep, some reading newspapers, some at luncheon, and
two were sparring with boxing-gloves.
“Sir Harry writes the whole night through,” said Mr. Damer; “that's the
reason these fellows have their own time of it now;” and with this bit
of apology he ushered Tony into a small but comfortably furnished room,
with a great coal-fire in the grate, though the day was a sultry one in
autumn.
Mr. Skeffington Darner's first care was to present himself before a
looking-glass, and arrange his hair, his whiskers, and his cravat;
having done which, he told Tony to be seated, and threw himself into a
most comfortably padded arm-chair, with a writing-desk appended to one
side of it.
“I may as well open your letter. It's not marked private, eh?”
“Not marked private,” said Tony, “but its contents are strictly
confidential.”
“But it will be in the waste-paper basket to-morrow morning for all
that,” said Darner, with a pitying compassion for the other's innocence.
“What is it you are looking for,--what sort of thing?”
“I scarcely know, because I 'm fit for so little; they tell me the
colonies, Australia or New Zealand, are the places for fellows like me.”
“Don't believe a word of it,” cried Darner, energetically. “A man with
any 'go' in him can do fifty thousand times better at home. You go some
thousand miles away--for what? to crush quartz, or hammer limestone,
or pump water, or carry mud in baskets, at a dollar, two dollars, five
dollars, if you like, a day, in a country where Dillon, one of our
fellows that's under-secretary there, writes me word he paid thirty
shillings for a pot of Yarmouth bloaters. It's a rank humbug all that
about the colonies,--take my word for it!”
“But what is there to be done at home, at least by one like me?”
“Scores of things. Go on to the Exchange,--go in for a rise, go in for
a fall. Take Peruvian Twelves--they 're splendid--or Montezuman mining
script. I did a little in Guatemalas last week, and I expect a capital
return by next settling-day. If you think all this too gambling, get
named director of a company. There's the patent phosphorus blacking,
will give fifty pounds for a respectable chairman; or write a
novel,--that's the easiest thing in life, and pays wonderfully,--Herd
and Dashen give a thousand down, and double the money for each edition;
and it's a fellow's own fault if it ain't a success. Then there's patent
medicine and scene-painting,--any one can paint a scene, all done with a
great brush--this fashion; and you get up to fifteen, ay, twenty pounds
a week. By the way, are you active?”
“Tolerably so. Why do you ask?” said Tony, smiling at the impetuous
incoherence of the other's talk.
“Just hold up this newspaper--so--not so high--there. Don't move; a very
little to the right.” So saying, Mr. Darner took three sofa-cushions,
and placed them in a line on the floor; and then, taking off his coat
and waistcoat, retired to a distant corner of the room. “Be steady, now;
don't move,” cried he; and then, with a brisk run, he dashed forward,
and leaped head-foremost through the extended newspaper, but with so
vigorous a spring as to alight on the floor a considerable distance in
advance of the cushions, so that he arose with a bump on his forehead,
and his nose bleeding.
“Admirably done! splendidly done!” cried Tony, anxious to cover the
disaster by a well-timed applause.
“I never got so much as a scratch before,” said Darner, as be proceeded
to sponge his face. “I 've done the clock and the coach-window at the
Adelphi, and they all thought it was Salter. I could have five pounds
a night and a free benefit. Is it growing black around the eye? I hope
it's not growing black around the eye?”
“Let me bathe it for you. By the way, have you any one here could manage
to get you a little newly baked dough? That's the boxer's remedy for a
bruise. If I knew where to go, I 'd fetch it myself.”
Darner looked up from his bathing proceedings, and stared at the
good-natured readiness of one so willing to oblige as not to think of
the ridicule that might attach to his kindness. “My servant will go for
it,” said he; “just pull that bell, will you, and I 'll send him. Is
not it strange how I could have done this?” continued he, still bent on
explaining away his failure; “what a nose I shall have to-morrow! Eh!
what's that? It's Sir Harry's bell ringing away furiously! Was there
ever the like of this! The only day he should have come for the last
eight months!” The bell now continued to ring violently, and Damer had
nothing for it but to huddle on his coat and rush away to answer the
summons.
Though not more than ten minutes absent, Tony thought the time very
long; in reality be felt anxious about the poor fellow, and eager to
know that his disaster had not led to disgrace.
“Never so much as noticed it,” said Darner,--“was so full of other
matters. I suspect,” added he, in a lower tone,--“I suspect we are going
out.”
“Out where?” asked Tony, with simplicity.
“Out of office, out of power,” replied the other, half testily; then
added in a more conciliatory voice, “I 'll tell you why I think so. He
began filling up all the things that are vacant. I have just named
two colonial secretaries, a chief justice, an auditor-general, and an
inspector of convicts. I thought of that for _you_, and handed him your
letter; but before he broke the seal he had filled up the place.”
“So then he has read the letter?”
“Yes, he read it twice; and when I told him you were here in waiting, he
said, 'Tell him not to go; I 'll see him.'”
The thought of presenting himself bodily before the great man made
Tony feel nervous and uncomfortable; and after a few moments of fidgety
uneasiness, he said, “What sort of person is he,--what is he like?”
“Well,” said Damer, who now stood over a basin, sponging his eye with
cold water, “he's shy--very shy--but you 'd never guess it; for he has
a bold, abrupt sort of way with him; and he constantly answers his own
questions, and if the replies displease him, he grows irritable. You 've
seen men like that?”
“I cannot say that I have.”
“Then it's downright impossible to say when he's in good humor with one,
for he 'll stop short in a laugh and give you such a pull up!”
“That is dreadful!” exclaimed Tony.
“_I_ can manage him! They say in the office I 'm the only fellow that
ever could manage him. There goes his bell,--that's for you; wait here,
however, till I come back.”
Darner hurried away, but was back in a moment, and beckoned to Tony to
follow him, which he did in a state of flurry and anxiety that a real
peril would never have caused him.
Tony found himself standing in the Minister's presence, where he
remained for full a couple of minutes before the great man lifted his
head and ceased writing. “Sit down,” was the first salutation; and as he
took a chair, he had time to remark the stern but handsome features of a
large man, somewhat past the prime of life, and showing in the lines of
his face traces of dissipation as well as of labor.
“Are you the son of Watty Butler?” asked he, as he wheeled his chair
from the table and confronted Tony.
“My father's name was Walter, sir,” replied Tony, not altogether without
resenting this tone of alluding to him.
“Walter! nothing of the kind; nobody ever called him anything but Watty,
or Wat Tartar, in the regiment. Poor Watty! you are very like him,--not
so large,--not so tall.” “The same height to a hair, sir.”
“Don't tell me; Watty was an inch and a half over you, and much broader
in the chest. I think I ought to know; he has thrown me scores of times
wrestling, and I suspect it would puzzle _you_ to do it.” Tony's face
flushed; he made no answer, but in his heart of hearts he 'd like to
have had a trial.
Perhaps the great man expected some confirmation of his opinion, or
perhaps he had his own doubts about its soundness; but, whatever
the reason, his voice was more peevish as he said: “I have read your
mother's note, but for the life of me I cannot see what it points to.
What has become of your father's fortune? He had something, surely.”
“Yes, sir, he had a younger son's portion, but he risked it in a
speculation--some mines in Canada--and lost it.”
“Ay, and dipped it too by extravagance! There's no need to tell me how
he lived; there wasn't so wasteful a fellow in the regiment; he 'd have
exactly what he pleased, and spend how he liked. And what has it come
to? ay, that's what I ask,--what has it come to? His wife comes here
with this petition--for it is a petition--asking--I 'll be shot if I
know what she asks.”
“Then I 'll tell you,” burst in Tony; “she asks the old brother-officer
of her husband--the man who in his letters called himself his
brother--to befriend his son, and there's nothing like a petition in the
whole of it.”
“What! what! what! This is something I 'm not accustomed to! You want
to make friends, young man, and you must not begin by outraging the very
few who might chance to be well disposed towards you.”
Tony stood abashed and overwhelmed, his cheeks on fire with shame, but
he never uttered a word.
“I have very little patronage,” said Sir Harry, drawing himself up
and speaking in a cold, measured tone; “the colonies appoint their own
officials, with a very few exceptions. I could make you a bishop or an
attorney-general, but I could n't make you a tide-waiter! What can you
do? Do you write a good hand?”
“No, sir; it is legible,--that's all.”
“And of course you know nothing of French or German?”
“A little French; not a word of German, sir.”
“I'd be surprised if you did. It is always when a fellow has utterly
neglected his education that he comes to a Government for a place. The
belief apparently is that the State supports a large institution of
incapables, eh?”
“Perhaps there is that impression abroad,” said Tony, defiantly.
“Well, sir, the impression, as you phrase it, is unfounded, I can
affirm. I have already declared it in the House, that there is not a
government in Europe more ably, more honestly, or more zealously served
than our own. We may not have the spirit of discipline of the French, or
the bureaucracy of the Prussian; but we have a class of officials proud
of the departments they administer; and, let me tell you,--it's no small
matter,--very keen after retiring pensions.”
Either Sir Harry thought he had said a smart thing, or that the theme
suggested something that tickled his fancy, for he smiled pleasantly
now on Tony, and looked far better tempered than before. Indeed, Tony
laughed at the abrupt peroration, and that laugh did him no disservice.
“Well, now, Butler, what are we to do with you?” resumed the Minister,
good-humoredly. “It's not easy to find the right thing, but I 'll
talk it over with Darner. Give him your address, and drop in upon him
occasionally,--not too often, but now and then, so that he should n't
forget you. Meanwhile brush up your French and Italian. I 'm glad you
know Italian.”
“But I do not, sir; not a syllable of the language.”
“Oh, it was German, then? Don't interrupt me. Indeed, let me take
the occasion to impress upon you that you have this great fault of
manners,--a fault I have remarked prevalent among Irishmen, and which
renders them excessively troublesome in the House, and brings them
frequently under the reproof of the Speaker. If you read the newspapers,
you will have seen this yourself.”
Second to a censure of himself, the severest thing for poor Tony to
endure was any sneer at his countrymen; but he made a great effort to
remain patient, and did not utter a word.
“Mind,” resumed the Minister, “don't misunderstand me. I do not say that
your countrymen are deficient in quickness and a certain ready-witted
way of meeting emergencies. Yes, they have that as well as some other
qualities of the same order; but these things won't make statesmen.
This was an old battle-ground between your father and myself thirty
years ago. Strange to think I should have to fight over the same
question with his son now.”
Tony did not exactly perceive what was his share in the conflict, but he
still kept silence.
“Your father was a clever fellow, too, and he had a brother,--a much
cleverer, by the way; there 's the man to serve you,--Sir Omerod Butler.
He 's alive, I know, for I saw his pension certificate not a week ago.
Have you written to him?”
“No, sir. My father and my uncle were not on speaking terms for years,
and it is not likely I would appeal to Sir Omerod for assistance.”
“The quarrel, or coolness, or whatever it was, might have been the fault
of your father.”
“No, sir, it was not.”
“Well, with that I have no concern. All that I know is, your uncle is
a man of a certain influence--at least with his own party--which is not
ours. He is, besides, rich; an old bachelor, too, if I 'm not mistaken;
and so it might be worth the while of a young fellow who has his way to
make in life, to compromise a little of his family pride.”
“I don't think so: I won't do it,” broke in Tony, hotly. “If you have
no other counsel to give me than one you never would have given to my
father, all I have to say is, I wish I had spared myself the trouble,
and my poor mother the cost of this journey.”
If the great man's wrath was moved by the insolent boldness of the
first part of this speech, the vibrating voice and the emotion that
accompanied the last words touched him, and, going over to where the
young man stood, he laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, and said:
“You'll have to keep this warm temper of yours in more subjection,
Butler, if you want to get on in life. The advice I gave you was very
worldly, perhaps; but when you live to be my age, such will be the
temper in which you'll come to consider most things. And, after all,”
said he, with a smile, “you 're only the more like your father for it!
Go away now; look up your decimals, your school classics, and such like,
to be ready for the Civil Service people, and come back here in a week
or so,--let Darner know where to find you,” were the last words, as Tony
retired and left the room.
“Well, what success?” cried Darner, as Tony entered his room.
“I can scarcely tell you, but this is what took place;” and he
recounted, as well as memory would serve him, all that had happened.
“Then it's all right,--you are quite safe,” said Darner.
“I don't see that, particularly as there remains this examination.”
“Humbug,--nothing but humbug! They only pluck the 'swells,' the fellows
who have taken a double-first at Oxford. No, no; you 're as safe as
a church; you 'll get--let me see what it will be--you'll get the
Postmaster-ship of the Bahamas; or be Deputy Coal-meter at St. Helena;
or who knows if he'll not give you that thing he exchanged for t'other
day with F. O. It's a Consul's place, at Trincolopolis. It was Cole
of the Blues had it, and he died; and there are four widows of his now
claiming the pension. Yes, that's where you 'll go, rely on't. There 's
the bell again. Write your address large, very large, on that sheet of
paper, and I 'll send you word when there 's anything up.”