This is a strange world; I am cut by a man of no character,
because he is fearful that I should injure his character.
Timothy returned, and brought me consolation--the bleeding had not
re-commenced, and Harcourt was in tolerable spirits. An eminent surgeon
had been sent for. "Go again, my dear Timothy, and as you are intimate
with Harcourt's servant, you will be able to find out what they are
about."
Timothy departed, and was absent about an hour, during which I lay on
the sofa, and groaned with anguish. When he returned, I knew by his
face that his intelligence was favourable. "All's right," cried Timothy;
"no amputation after all. It was only one of the smaller arteries which
was severed, and they have taken it up."
I sprang up from the sofa and embraced Timothy, so happy was I with the
intelligence, and then I sat down again, and cried like a child. At last
I became more composed. I had asked Captain Atkinson to dine with me,
and was very glad when he came. He confirmed Timothy's report, and I was
so overjoyed, that I sat late at dinner, drinking very freely, and when
he again proposed that we should go to the _rouge et noir_ table, I did
not refuse--on the contrary, flushed with wine, I was anxious to go, and
took all the money that I had with me. On our arrival Atkinson played,
but finding that he was not fortunate, he very soon left off. As I had
followed his game, I also had lost considerably, and he entreated me not
to play any more--but I was a gamester it appeared, and I would not pay
attention to him, and did not quit the table until I had lost every
shilling in my pocket. I left the house in no very good humour, and
Atkinson, who had waited for me, accompanied me home.
"Newland," said he, "I don't know what you may think of me--you may have
heard that I'm a _roué_, &c. &c. &c., but this I always do, which is,
caution those who are gamesters from their hearts. I have watched you
to-night, and I tell you, that you will be ruined if you continue to
frequent that table. You have no command over yourself. I do not know
what your means may be, but this I do know, that if you were a Croesus,
you would be a beggar. I cared nothing for you while you were the Mr
Newland, the admired, and leader of the fashion, but I felt for you when
I heard that you were scouted from society, merely because it was found
out that you were not so rich as you were supposed to be. I had a
fellow-feeling, as I told you. I did not make your acquaintance to win
your money--I can win as much as I wish from the scoundrels who keep the
tables, or from those who would not scruple to plunder others; and I now
entreat you not to return to that place--and am sorry, very sorry, that
ever I took you there. To me, the excitement is nothing--to you, it is
overpowering. You are a gamester, or rather, you have it in your
disposition. Take, therefore, the advice of a friend, if I may so call
myself, and do not go there again. I hope you are not seriously
inconvenienced by what you have lost to-night."
"Not the least," replied I. "It was ready money. I thank you for your
advice, and will follow it. I have been a fool to-night, and one folly
is sufficient."
Atkinson then left me. I had lost about two hundred and fifty pounds,
which included my winnings of the night before. I was annoyed at it,
but I thought of Harcourt's safety, and felt indifferent. The reader
may recollect, that I had three thousand pounds, which Mr Masterton
had offered to put out at mortgage for me, but until he could find an
opportunity, by his advice I had bought stock in the three per cents.
Since that he had not succeeded, as mortgages in general are for larger
sums, and it had therefore remained. My rents were not yet due, and I
was obliged to have recourse to this money. I therefore went into the
city, ordered the broker to sell out two hundred pounds, intending to
replace it as soon as I could--for I would not have liked that Mr
Masterton should have known that I had lost money by gambling. When I
returned from the city, I found Captain Atkinson in my apartments
waiting for me.
"Harcourt is doing well, and you are not doing badly. I have let all
the world know that you intend to call out whoever presumes to treat
you with indifference."
"The devil you have! but that is a threat which may easier be made
than followed up by deeds."
"Shoot two or three more," replied Atkinson, coolly, "and then, depend
upon it, you'll have it all your own way. As it is, I acknowledge there
has been some show of resistance, and they talk of making a resolution
not to meet you, on the score of your being an impostor."
"And a very plausible reason, too," replied I; "nor do I think I have
any right--I am sure I have no intention of doing as you propose. Surely,
people have a right to choose their acquaintance, and to cut me, if they
think I have done wrong. I am afraid, Captain Atkinson, you have
mistaken me; I have punished Harcourt for his conduct towards
me--deserved punishment. I had claims on him; but I have not upon the
hundreds, whom, when in the zenith of my popularity, I myself, perhaps,
was not over courteous to. I cannot _run the muck_ which you propose,
nor do I consider that I shall help my character by so doing. I may
become notorious, but certainly, I shall not obtain that species of
notoriety which will be of service to me. No, no; I have done too much,
I may say, already; and, although not so much to blame as the world
imagines, yet my own conscience tells me, that by allowing it to suppose
that I was what I was not, I have, to say the least, been a party to the
fraud, and must take the consequence. My situation now is very
unpleasant, and I ought to retire, and, if possible, re-appear with real
claims upon the public favour. I have still friends, thank God! and
influential friends. I am offered a writership in India--a commission in
the army--or to study the law. Will you favour me with your opinion?"
"You pay me a compliment by asking my advice. A writership in India is
fourteen years' transportation, returning with plenty to live on but no
health to enjoy it. In the army you might do well, and moreover, as an
officer in the army, none dare refuse to go out with you. At the same
time, under your peculiar circumstances, I think if you were in a crack
regiment you would, in all probability, have to fight one half the mess,
and be put in Coventry by the other. You must then exchange on half-pay,
and your commission would be a great help to you. As for the law--I'd
sooner see a brother of mine in his coffin. There, you have my opinion."
"Not a very encouraging one, at all events," replied I, laughing; "but
there is much truth in your observations. To India I will not go, as it
will interfere with the great object of my existence."
"And pray, if it be no secret, may I ask what that is?"
"To find out _who is my father._"
Captain Atkinson looked very hard at me. "I more than once," said he,
"have thought you a little cracked, but now I perceive you are
_mad_--downright _mad_; don't be angry, I couldn't help saying so, and
if you wish me to give you satisfaction, I shall most unwillingly be
obliged."
"No, no, Atkinson, I believe you are not very far wrong, and I forgive
you--but to proceed. The army, as you say, will give me a position in
society, from my profession being that of a gentleman, but as I do not
wish to take the advantage which you have suggested from the position,
I shrink from putting myself into one which may lead to much
mortification. As for the law, although I do not exactly agree with you
in your abhorrence of the profession, yet I must say, that I do not like
the idea. I have been rendered unfit for it by my life up to the present.
But I am permitted to select any other."
"Without wishing to pry into your affairs, have you sufficient to live
upon?"
"Yes, in a moderate way; about a younger brother's portion, which will
just keep me in gloves, cigars, and eau de cologne."
"Then take my advice and be _nothing._ The only difference I can see
between a gentleman and anybody else, is that one is idle and the other
works hard. One is a useless, and the other a useful, member of society.
Such is the absurdity of the opinions of the world."
"Yes, I agree with you, and would prefer being a gentleman in that
respect, and do nothing, if they would admit me in every other; but that
they will not do. I am in an unfortunate position."
"And will be until your feelings become blunted as mine have been,"
replied Atkinson. "Had you acquiesced in my proposal, you would have done
better. As it is, I can be of no use to you; nay, without intending an
affront, I do not know if we ought to be seen together, for your decision
not to _fight_ your way is rather awkward, as I cannot back one with
my _support_ who will not do credit to it. Do not be angry at what I say;
you are your own master, and have a right to decide for yourself,--if
you think yourself not so wholly lost as to be able eventually to recover
yourself by other means, I do not blame you, as I know it is only from
an error in judgment, and not from want of courage."
"At present I am, I acknowledge, lost, Captain Atkinson; but if I succeed
in _finding my father_--"
"Good morning, Newland, good morning," replied he, hastily. "I see how it
is; of course we shall be civil to each other when we meet, for I wish
you well, but we must not be seen together, or you may injure my
character."
"Injure _your_ character, Captain Atkinson?"
"Yes, Mr Newland, injure my character. I do not mean to say but that
there are characters more respectable, but I have _a_ character which
suits me, and it has the merit of consistency. As you are not prepared,
as the Americans say, _to go the whole hog_, we will part good friends,
and if I have said anything to annoy you, I beg your pardon."
"Good-bye, then, Captain Atkinson; for the kindness you have shown me I
am grateful." He shook my hand, and walked out of the room. "And for
having thus broken up our acquaintance, more grateful still," thought I,
as he went down stairs.