GOING DOWN.
On the evening of the day appointed for the dinner, Mr. Philip Deane
stood on the steps of Barton's restaurant in the Strand, in anything
but a contented frame of mind. His face, never too frank or genial in
its expression, was puckered and set in rigid lines; his right hand
was perpetually diving into his waistcoat-pocket for his watch, to
which he constantly referred; while with, a light stick which he
carried in his left, he kept striking his leg in an irritable and
irritating manner.
Mr. Deane had cause for annoyance; it was a quarter past seven, and
neither of the guests whom he had invited had as yet appeared, though
the dinner had been appointed for seven sharp. Crowds of men were
pouring into and out of the restaurant, the first hungry and
expectant, the last placid and replete; and Mr. Deane envied the first
for what they were about to receive, and the last for what they had
received. Moreover, the intended diners had in several cases pushed
against him with scant ceremony, and Mr. Deane was not accustomed to
be pushed against; while the people who had dined eyed him, as they
stood on the steps lighting their cigars, with something like
compassion, and Mr. Deane was unused to be pitied. So he stood there
fretting and fuming, and biting his lips and flicking his legs, until
his shoulder was grasped by George Dallas, who, with as much breath as
he could command--not much, for he had been running--said:
"My dear Deane! a thousand apologies for being so late! Not my own
fault, I protest!"
"Never is, of course," said Mr. Deane.
"Really it was not in this instance. I went round to the _Mercury_
office to look at some proofs, and they kept me to do an article on a
subject which I had had the handling of before, and which--"
"No one else could handle arter you, eh? Pretty tall opinion you
newspaper-writin' fellows have of yourselves! And why didn't you bring
Routh with you when you did come!"
"Routh! I haven't seen him for three days. Isn't he here!"
"Not he! I've been coolin' myself on this a'mighty old doorstep since
seven o'clock, only once goin' inside just to look round the saloon,
and I've not set eyes on him yet."
"How very odd!"
"So very odd, that I'll see him somethingest before I wait for him any
longer! Come you in with me. I took a table right slick opposite the
door, and we'll go and strike up at once."
He turned on his heel as he spoke, and walked up the passage into the
large coffee-room of the restaurant. Dallas, who followed him closely,
noticed him pause for an instant before one of the looking-glasses in
the passage, put his hat a little more on one side, and throw open the
folds of his fur-lined coat. Beneath this noticeable garment Mr. Deane
wore a large baggy suit of black, an open-worked shirt-front with
three large diamond studs in it, a heavy gold watch-chain. There was a
large diamond ring on the little finger of each hand. Thus tastefully
attired, Mr. Deane, swaggering easily up the centre of the coffee-room
and slapping his leg with his stick as he went, at length stopped at a
vacant table, and clinked a knife against a tumbler.
"Now, waiter! Just look smart and slippy, and bring up our dinner
right away. One of my friends is here, and I'm not a-goin' to wait for
the other. He must take his chance, he must; but bring up ours at
once, d'ye hear? Why, what on airth is _this?_"
"This" was a boy of about twelve years of age, with a dirty face and
grimy hands, with an old peakless cap on its head, and a very shiny,
greasy, ragged suit on its back. "This" seemed to have been running
hard, and was out of breath, and was very hot and damp in the face.
Following Mr. Deane's glance, the waiter's eyes lighted on "this," and
that functionary immediately fell into wrathful vernacular.
"Hullo! what are you doing here?" said he. "Come, you get out of this,
d'ye hear?"
"I hear," said the boy, without moving a muscle. "Don't you flurry
yourself in that way often, or you'll bust! And what a go that'd be!
You should think of your precious family, you should!"
"Will you--"
"No, I won't, and that's all about it. Here, guv'nor "--to
Deane--"you're my pitch; I've brought this for you." As he said this,
the boy produced from his pocket a bit of string, a pair of musical
bones, and a crumpled note, and handed the latter to Deane, who
stepped aside to the nearest gas-jet to read it. To the great
indignation of the waiter, the boy sat himself down on the edge of a
chair, and, kicking his legs to and fro, surveyed the assembled
company with calm deliberation. He appeared to be taking stock
generally of everything round him. Between his dirty finger and thumb
he took up a corner of the table-cloth, then he passed his hand
lightly over Dallas's overcoat, which was lying on an adjacent chair.
This gave the waiter his chance of bursting out again.
"Leave that coat alone, can't you? Can't you keep your fingers off
things that don't belong to you? Thought it was your own, perhaps,
didn't you?" This last remark, in a highly sarcastic tone, as he
lifted the coat from the chair and was about to carry it to a row of
pegs by the door. "This ain't your mark, I believe? Your tailor don't
live at Hamherst, does he?"
"Never mind my tailor, old cock! P'raps you'd like my card, but I've
'appened to come out without one. But you can have my name and
address--they're very haristocratic, not such as you're used to. Jim
Swain's my name--Strike-a-light Jim--60 Fullwood's-rents. Now,
tell me who's your barber!" The waiter, who had a head as bald as a
billiard-ball, was highly incensed at this remark (which sent some
young men at an adjoining table into roars of laughter), and he would
probably have found some means of venting his wrath, had not a sharp
exclamation from Deane called off his attention.
"Get up dinner, waiter, at once, and clear off this third place, d'ye
hear? The other gentleman ain't comin'. Now, boy, what are you waiting
for?"
"No answer to go back, is there, guv'nor?"
"Answer? No; none."
"All right. Shall I take that sixpence of you now, or will you give it
me to-morrow? Short reck'nings is my motter. So if you're goin' to
give it, hand it over."
Unable to resist a smile, Deane took a small coin from his purse and
handed it to the boy, who looked at it, put it in his pocket, nodded
carelessly to Deane and Dallas, and departed, whistling loudly.
"Routh is not coming, I suppose?" said Dallas as they seated
themselves at the table.
"No, he has defected, like a cussed skunk as he is, after giving me
the trouble to order his dinner, which I shall have to pay for all the
same. Regular riles me, that does, to be put in the hole for such a
one-horse concern as Mr. Routh. He ought to know better than to play
such tricks with me."
"Perhaps he is compelled to absent himself. I know--"
"Compelled! That might do with some people, but it won't nohow do with
me. I allow no man to put a rudeness on me. Mr. Routh wants more of me
than I do of him, as I'll show him before long. He wants me to come to
his rooms to-morrow night--that's for his pleasure and profit, I
guess, not mine--just depends on the humour I'm in. Now here's the
dinner. Let's get at it at once. There's been no screwin' nor scrapin'
in the ordering of it, and you can just give Routh a back-hander next
time you see him by telling him how much you liked it."
Deane unfolded his table napkin with a flourish, and cleared a space
in front of him for his plate. There was an evil expression on his
face; a mordant, bitter, savage expression, which Dallas did not fail
to remark. However, he took no notice of it, and the conversation
during dinner was confined to ordinary commonplaces.
Mr. Deane had not boasted without reason; the dinner was excellent,
the wines were choice and abundant, and with another kind of companion
George Dallas would have enjoyed himself. But even in the discussion
of the most ordinary topics there was a low coarseness in Deane's
conversation, a vulgar self-sufficiency and delight at his own
shrewdness, a miserable mistrust of every one, and a general arrogance
and conceit which were highly nettling and repulsive. During dinner
these amiable qualities displayed themselves in Mr. Deane's
communication with the waiter; it was not until the cloth had been
removed, and they were taking their first glass of port, that Deane
reverted to what had annoyed him before they sat down.
"That Routh's what they call a mean cuss, t'other side the water," he
commenced; "a mean cuss he is, and nothing else. Throwing me over in
this way at the last minute, and never sending word before, so that I
might have said we shall only be two instead of three, and saved
paying for him! He thinks he's cruel wide awake, he does; but though
he's been at it all his life, and it's not six months since I first
caught sight of this little village nominated London, I don't think
there's much he could put me up to now!"
He looked so expectant of a compliment, that Dallas felt bound to say:
"You certainly seem to have made the most of your time!"
"Made the most of my time! I reckon I have! Why, there's no s'loon,
oyster-cellar, dancing-shop, night-house of any name at all, where I'm
not regular well known. 'Here's the Yankee,' they say, when I come
in; not that I'm that, but I've told 'em I hail from the U-nited
States, and that's why they call me the Yankee. They know me, and they
know I pay my way as I go, and that I've got plenty of money. Help
yourself--good port this, ain't it?--ought to be, for they charge
eight shillings a bottle for it. Why people out t'other side the
water, sir, they think I'm staying in titled country-houses, and
dining in Portland-place, and going to hear oratorios. I've got
letters of introduction in my desk which would do all that, and more.
Never mind! I like to shake a loose leg, and, as I flatter myself I
can pretty well take care of myself, I shake it!"
"Yes," said Dallas, in a slightly bitter tone, with a vivid
recollection of his losses at cards to Deane; "yes, you can take care
of yourself."
"Rather think so," repeated Deane, with a jarring laugh. "There are
two things which are guiding principles with me--number one, never to
lend a dollar to any man; number two, always to have the full value
of every dollar I spend. If you do that, you'll generally find
yourself not a loser in the end. We'll have another bottle of this
eight-shilling port. I've had the value of this dinner out of you,
recollect, so that I'm not straying from my principle. Here, waiter,
another bottle of this eight-shilling wine!"
"You're a lucky fellow, Deane," said George Dallas, slowly finishing
his second glass of the fresh bottle; "you're a lucky fellow, to have
plenty of money and to be your own master, able to choose your own
company, and do as you like. I wish I had the chance!" As Dallas
spoke, he filled his glass again.
"Well, there are worse berths than mine in the ship, and that's a
fact!" said Deane calmly. "I've often thought about you, Dallas, I
have now, and I've often wondered when you'll be like the prodigal
son, and go home to your father, and succeed the old man in the
business."
"I have no father!"
"Hain't you though? But you've got some friends, I reckon, who are not
over-delighted at your campin' out with the wild Injuns you're living
among at present?"
"I have a mother."
"That's a step towards respectability. I suppose you'll go back to the
old lady some day, and be welcomed with open arms?"
"There's some one else to have a say in that matter. My mother is--is
married again. I have a stepfather."
"Not generally a pleasant relation, but no reason why you shouldn't
help yourself to this eight-shilling wine. That's right; pass the
bottle. A stepfather, eh? And he and you have collided more than once,
I expect?"
"Have what?"
"Collided."
"Do you mean come into collision?"
"Expect I do," said Deane calmly. "I'm forbidden the house. I'm looked
upon as a black sheep--a pest--a contamination."
"But the old gentleman wouldn't catch anything from you. They don't
take contamination easy, after fifty!"
"Oh, it's not for himself that Mr. Carruthers is anxious; he is
infection proof--he--What is the matter?"
"Matter? Nothing! What name did you say?"
"Carruthers--Capel Carruthers. County family down in Kent."
"Go ahead!" said Deane, tossing off his wine, refilling his glass, and
pushing the bottle to his companion; "and this old, gentleman is not
anxious about himself, you say; where is your bad influence likely to
fall, then?"
"On his niece, who lives with them."
"What's her name?"
"Clare. Clare Carruthers! Isn't it a pretty name?"
"It is so, sir! And this niece. What's she like, now?"
George Dallas tried to throw a knowing gleam into his eyes, which
the perpetual motion of the decanter had rendered somewhat bleared
and vacant, as he looked across at his companion, and said with a
half-laugh: "You seem to take a great interest in my family, Deane?"
Not one whit discomposed, Philip Deane replied: "Study of character as
a citizen of the world, and a general desire to hear what all gals are
like. Is Miss Clare pretty?"
"I've only seen her once, and that not too clearly. But she struck me
as being lovely."
"Lovely, eh? And the old man won't have you at any price? That's
awkward, that is!"
"Awkward!" said Dallas, in a thick voice, "it's more than awkward, as
he shall find! I'll be even with him--I'll--Hallo! What do you want,
intruding on gentlemen's conversation?"
"Beg pardon, sir," said the waiter, to whom this last remark was
addressed; "no offence, gentlemen, but going to shut up now! We ain't
a supper-'ouse, gentlemen, and it's going on for twelve o'clock."
Indeed, all the other tables were vacated, so Deane rose at once and
paid the bill which the waiter had laid before him. Dallas rose too
with a staggering step.
"Coat, sir," said the waiter, handing it to him; "other arm, sir,
please; gently does it, sir; that's it!" And with some little
difficulty he pulled the coat on: George Dallas cursing it, and the
country tailor who had made it, as he stood rocking uneasily on his
heels and glaring vacantly before him.
"Come along, old horse," said Deane; "you'll be fixed as firm as
Washington Capitol when we get into the air. Come along, and we'll go
and finish the night somewhere!"
So saying, he tucked his companion's arm firmly within his own, and
they sallied forth.