Captain Jackson laughed heartily at so quaint an idea, throwing himself
back in his chair and pointing a contemptuous thumb at Oliver, who had
advanced to the side of the actress, assuming the deprecatory smile of
the bookseller's hack. He played the part very indifferently, the lady
perceived.
“Faith, my dear,” laughed the Captain, “I would fain believe that he is
a terrible person for a poet, for, by the Lord, he nearly had his head
broke by me on the first night that you went to the Pantheon; and I
swear that I never crack a skull unless it be that of a person who is
accustomed to spread terror around.”
“Some poets' skulls, sir, are not so easily cracked,” said Mrs.
Abington.
“Nay, my dear madam,” cried her _vis-à-vis_, “you must pardon me for
saying that I do not think you express your meaning with any great
exactness. I take it that you mean, madam, that on the well known
kitchen principle that cracked objects last longer than others, a
poet's pate, being cracked originally, survives the assaults that would
overcome a sound head.”
“I meant nothing like that, Captain,” said Mrs. Abington. Then she
turned to Goldsmith, who stood by, fingering his roll of manuscript.
“Come, Dr. Goldsmith,” she cried, “seat yourself by me, and partake of
supper. I vow that I will not even glance at that act of your new play
which I perceive you have brought to me, until we have supped.”
“Nay, madam,” stuttered Goldsmith; “I have already had my humble meal;
still----”
He glanced from the dishes on the table to Captain Jackson, who gave a
hoarse laugh, crying--
“Ha, I wondered if the traditions of the trade were about to be violated
by our most admirable Doctor. I thought it likely that he would allow
himself to be persuaded. But I swear that he has no regard for the
romance which he preaches, or else he would not form the third at a
party. Has he never heard that the third in a party is the inevitable
kill-joy?”
“You wrong my friend Dr. Goldsmith, Captain,” said the actress in
smiling remonstrance that seemed to beg of him to take an indulgent view
of the poet's weakness. “You wrong him, sir. Dr. Goldsmith is a man of
parts. He is a wit as well as a poet, and he will not stay very long;
will you, Dr. Goldsmith?”
She acted the part so well that but for the side glance which she cast
at him, Goldsmith might have believed her to be in earnest. For his own
part he was acting to perfection the rôle of the hack author who was
patronised till he found himself in the gutter. He could only smile in
a sickly way as he laid down his hat beside a chair over which Jackson's
cloak was flung, and placed in it the roll of manuscript, preparatory to
seating himself.
“Madam, I am your servant,” he murmured; “Sir, I am your most obedient
to command. I feel the honour of being permitted to sup in such
distinguished company.”
“And so you should, sir,” cried Captain Jackson as the waiter bustled
about, laying a fresh plate and glass, “so you should. Your grand
patrons, my little friend, though they may make a pretence of saving you
from slaughter by taking your quarrel on their shoulders, are not likely
to feed you at their own table. Lord, how that piece of antiquity,
General Oglethorpe, swag gered across the porch at the Pantheon when I
had half a mind to chastise you for your clumsiness in almost knocking
me over! May I die, sir, if I wasn't at the brink of teaching the
General a lesson which he would have remembered to his dying hour--his
dying hour--that is to say, for exactly four minutes after I had drawn
upon him.”
“Ah, Dr. Goldsmith is fortunate in his friends,” said Mrs. Abington.
“But I hope that in future, Captain, he may reckon on your sword being
drawn on his behalf, and not turned against him and his friends.”
“If you are his friend, my dear Mrs. Abington, he may count upon me, I
swear,” cried the Captain bowing over the table.
“Good,” she said. “And so I call upon you to drink to his health--a
bumper, sir, a bumper!”
The Captain showed no reluctance to pay the suggested compliment. With
an air of joviality he filled his large glass up to the brim and drained
it with a good-humoured, half-patronising motion in the direction of
Goldsmith.
“Hang him!” he cried, when he had wiped his lips, “I bear Goldsmith no
malice for his clumsiness in the porch of the Pantheon. 'Sdeath, madam,
shall the man who led a company of his Majesty's regulars in charge
after charge upon the American rebels, refuse to drink to the health
of a little man who tinkles out his rhymes as the man at the raree show
does his bells? Strike me blind, deaf and dumb, if I am not magnanimous
to my heart's core. I'll drink his health again if you challenge me.”
“Nay, Captain,” said the lady, “I'll be magnanimous, too, and refrain
from challenging you. I sadly fear that you have been drinking too many
healths during the day, sir.”
“What mean you by that, madam?” he cried. “Do you suggest that I cannot
carry my liquor with the best men at White's? If you were a man, and you
gave a hint in that direction, by the Lord, it would be the last that
you would have a chance of offering.”
“Nay, nay, sir! I meant not that,” said the actress hastily. “I will
prove to you that I meant it not by challenging you to drink to Dr.
Goldsmith's new comedy.”
“Now you are very much my dear,” said Jackson, half-emptying the brandy
decanter into his glass and adding only a thimbleful of water. “Yes,
your confidence in me wipes out the previous affront. 'Sblood, madam,
shall it be said that Dick Jackson, whose name made the American
rebels--curse 'em!--turn as green as their own coats--shall it be
said that Dick Jackson, of whom the rebel Colonel--Washington his
name is--George Washington”--he had considerable difficulty over the
name--“is accustomed to say to this day, 'Give me a hundred men--not
men, but lions, like that devil Dick Jackson, and I'll sweep his
Majesty's forces into the Potomac'--shall it be said that--that--what
the devil was I about to say--shall it be said?--never mind--here's to
the health of Colonel Washington!”
“Nay, sir, we cannot drink to one of the King's enemies,” said Mrs.
Abington, rising. “'Twere scandalous, indeed, to do so in this place;
and, sir, you still wear the King's uniform.”
“The devil take the King's uniform!” shouted the man. “The devils of
rebels are taking a good many coats of that uniform, and let me tell
you, madam, that--nay, you must not leave the table until the toast is
drank----” Mrs. Abington having risen, had walked across the room and
seated herself on the chair over which Captain Jackson had flung his
cloak.
“Hold, sir,” cried Goldsmith, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter
upon his plate that made the other man give a little jump. “Hold, sir, I
perceive that you are on the side of freedom, and I would feel honoured
by your permission to drink the toast that you propose. Here's success
to the cause that will triumph in America.” Jackson, who was standing at
the table with his glass in his hand, stared at him with the smile of a
half-intoxicated man. He had just enough intelligence remaining to make
him aware that there was something ambiguous in Goldsmith's toast.
“It sounds all right,” he muttered as if he were trying to convince
himself that his suspicions of ambiguity were groundless. “It sounds all
right, and yet, strike me dizzy! if it wouldn't work both ways! Ha, my
little poet,” he continued. “I'm glad to see that you are a man. Drink,
sir--drink to the success of the cause in America.” Goldsmith got upon
his feet and raised his glass--it contained only a light wine.
“Success to it!” he cried, and he watched Captain Jackson drain his
third tumbler of brandy.
“Hark ye, my little poet!” whispered the latter very huskily, lurching
across the table, and failing to notice that his hostess had not
returned to her place. “Hark ye, sir! Cornwallis thought himself a
general of generals. He thought when he courtmartialled me and turned
me out of the regiment, sending me back to England in a foul hulk from
Boston port, that he had got rid of me. He'll find out that he was
mistaken, sir, and that one of these days----Mum's the word, mind you!
If you open your lips to any human being about this, I'll cut you to
pieces. I'll flay you alive! Washington is no better than Cornwallis,
let me tell you. What message did he send me when he heard that I was
ready to blow Cornwallis's brains out and march my company across the
Potomac? I ask you, sir, man to man--though a poet isn't quite a
man--but that's my generosity. Said Washy--Washy--Wishy--Washy----
Washington: 'Cornwallis's brains have been such valuable allies to the
colonists, Colonel Washington would regard as his enemy any man who
would make the attempt to curtail their capacity for blundering.' That's
the message I got from Washington, curse him! But the Colonel isn't
everybody. Mark me, my friend--whatever your name is--I've got
letters--letters----”
“Yes, yes, you have letters--where?” cried Goldsmith, in the
confidential whisper that the other had assumed.
The man who was leaning across the table stared at him hazily, and
then across his face there came the cunning look of the more than
half-intoxicated. He straightened himself as well as he could in his
chair, and then swayed limply backward and forward, laughing.
“Letters--oh, yes--plenty of letters--but where?--where?--that's my own
matter--a secret,” he murmured in vague tones. “The government would
give a guinea or two for my letters--one of them came from Mount Vernon
itself, Mr.--whatever your name maybe--and if you went to Mr. Secretary
and said to him, 'Mr. Secretary'”--he pronounced the word “Secrary”--“'I
know that Dick Jackson is a rebel,' and Mr. Secretary says, 'Where are
the letters to prove it?' where would you be, my clever friend? No, sir,
my brains are not like Cornwallis's, drunk or sober. Hallo, where's the
lady?”
He seemed suddenly to recollect where he was. He straightened himself as
well as he could, and looked sleepily across the room.
“I'm here,” cried Mrs. Abington, leaving the chair, across the back of
which Jackson's coat was thrown. “I am here, sir; but I protest I shall
not take my place at the table again while treason is in the air.”
“Treason, madam? Who talks of treason?” cried the man with a lurch
forward and a wave of the hand. “Madam, I'm shocked--quite shocked! I
wear the King's coat, though that cloak is my own--my own, and all that
it contains--all that----”
His voice died away in a drunken fashion as he stared across the room at
his cloak. Goldsmith saw an expression of suspicion come over his face;
he saw him straighten himself and walk with an affectation of steadiness
that only emphasised his intoxicated lurches, to the chair where the
cloak lay. He saw him lift up the cloak and run his hand down the lining
until he came to a pocket. With eager eyes he saw him extract from the
pocket a leathern wallet, and with a sigh of relief slip it furtively
into the bosom of his long waistcoat, where, apparently, there was
another packet.
Goldsmith glanced toward Mrs. Abington. She was sitting leaning over
her chair with a finger on her lips, and the same look of mischief that
Sir Joshua Reynolds transferred to his picture of her as “Miss Prue.”
She gave a glance of smiling intelligence at Oliver, as Jackson laughed
coarsely, saying huskily--
“A handkerchief--I thought I had left my handkerchief in the pocket of
my cloak, and 'tis as well to make sure--that's my motto. And now, my
charmer, you will see that I'm not a man to dally with treason, for I'll
challenge you in a bumper to the King's most excellent Majesty. Fill up
your glass, madam; fill up yours, too, Mr.--Mr. Killjoy, we'll call
you, for what the devil made you show your ugly face here the fiend only
knows. Mrs. Baddeley and I are the best of good friends. Isn't that the
truth, sweet Mrs. Baddeley? Come, drink to my toast--whatever it may
be--or, by the Lord, I'll run you through the vitals!”
Goldsmith hastened to pass the man the decanter with whatever brandy
remained in it, and in another instant the decanter was empty and the
man's glass was full. Goldsmith was on his feet with uplifted glass
before Jackson had managed to raise himself, by the aid of a heavy hand
on the table, into a standing attitude, murmuring--
“Drink, sir! drink to my lovely friend there, the voluptuous Mrs.
Baddeley. My dear Mrs. Baddeley, I have the honour to welcome you to my
table, and to drink to your health, dear madam.”
He swallowed the contents of the tumbler--his fourth since he had
entered the room--and the next instant he had fallen in a heap into his
chair, drenched by the contents of Mrs. Abington's glass.
[Illustration: 0315]
“That is how I accept your toast of Mrs. Baddeley, sir,” she cried,
standing at the head of the table with the dripping glass still in her
hand. “You drunken sot! not to be able to distinguish between me and
Sophia Baddeley! I can stand the insult no longer. Take yourself out of
my room, sir!”
She gave the broad ribbon of the bell such a pull as nearly brought
it down. Goldsmith having started up, stood with amazement on his face
watching her, while the other man also stared at her through his drunken
stupour, his jaw fallen.
Not a word was spoken until the waiter entered the room.
“Call a hackney coach immediately for that gentleman,” said the actress,
pointing to the man who alone remained--for the best of reasons--seated.
“A coach? Certainly, madam,” said the waiter, withdrawing with a bow.
“Dr. Goldsmith,” resumed Mrs. Abington, “may I beg of you to have the
goodness to see that person to his lodgings and to pay the cost of the
hackney-coach? He is not entitled to that consideration, but I have
a wish to treat him more generously than he deserves. His address is
Whetstone Park, I think we may assume; and so I leave you, sir.”
* She walked from the room with her chin in the air, both of the men
watching her with such surprise as prevented either of them from
uttering a word. It was only when she had gone that it occurred to
Goldsmith that she was acting her part admirably--that she had set
herself to give him an opportunity of obtaining possession of the wallet
which she, as well as he, had seen Jackson transfer from the pocket
of his cloak to that of his waistcoat. Surely he should have no great
difficulty in extracting the bundle from the man's pocket when in the
coach.
“They're full of their whimsies, these wenches,” were the first words
spoken, with a free wave of an arm, by the man who had failed in
his repeated attempts to lift himself out of his chair. “What did I
say?--what did I do to cause that spitfire to behave like that? I feel
hurt, sir, more deeply hurt than I can express, at her behaviour.
What's her name--I'm not sure if she was Mrs. Abington or Mrs. Baddeley?
Anyhow, she insulted me grossly--me, sir--me, an officer who has charged
his Majesty's rebels in the plantations of Virginia, where the Potomac
flows down to the sea. But they're all alike. I could tell you a few
stories about them, sir, that would open your eyes, for I have been
their darling always.” Here he began to sing a tavern song in a loud but
husky tone, for the brandy had done its work very effectively, and
he had now reached what might be called--somewhat paradoxically--the
high-water mark of intoxication. He was still singing when the waiter
re-entered the room to announce that a hackney carriage was waiting at
the door of the tavern.
At the announcement the drunken man made a grab for a decanter and flung
it at the waiter's head. It missed that mark, however, and crashed among
the plates which were still on the table, and in a moment the landlord
and a couple of his barmen were in the room and on each side of Jackson.
He made a poor show of resistance when they pinioned his arms and pushed
him down the stairs and lifted him into the hackney-coach. The landlord
and his assistants were accustomed to deal with promptitude with such
persons, and they had shut the door of the coach before Goldsmith
reached the street.
“Hold on, sir,” he cried, “I am accompanying that gentleman to his
lodging.”
“Nay, Doctor,” whispered the landlord, who was a friend of his, “the
fellow is a brawler--he will involve you in a quarrel before you reach
the Strand.”
“Nevertheless, I will go, my friend,” said Oliver. “The lady has laid it
upon me as a duty, and I must obey her at all hazards.”
He got into the coach, and shouted out the address to the driver.