Stapylton did not make his appearance at breakfast; he sent down a
message that he had passed a feverish night, and begged that Dr. Dill
might be sent for. Though Barrington made two attempts to see his
guest, the quietness of the room on each occasion implied that he was
asleep, and, fearing to disturb him, he went downstairs again on tiptoe.
“This is what the persecution has done, Dinah,” said he. “They have
brought that stout-hearted fellow so low that he may be the victim of a
fever to-morrow.”
“Nonsense, Peter. Men of courage don't fall sick because the newspapers
calumniate them. They have other things on their minds than such puny
attacks.”
“So he may, likely enough, too. He is bent heart and soul on what I
told you last night, and I 'm not surprised if he never closed his eyes
thinking of it.”
“Neither did I!” said she, curtly, and left the room.
The doctor was not long in arriving, and, after a word or two with
Barrington, hastened to the patient's room.
“Are we alone?” asked Stapylton, cutting short the bland speech with
which Dill was making his approaches. “Draw that curtain a bit, and take
a good look at me. Are my eyes bloodshot? Are the pupils dilated? I had
a bad sunstroke once; see if there be any signs of congestion about me.”
“No, I see none. A little flushed; your pulse, too, is accelerated, and
the heart's action is labored--”
“Never mind the heart; if the head be well, it will take care of it.
Reach me that pocket-book; I want to acquit one debt to you before I
incur another. No humbug between us;” and he pressed some notes into the
other's palm as he spoke. “Let us understand each other fully, and at
once. I 'm not very ill; but I want _you_.”
“And I am at your orders.”
“Faithfully,--loyally?”
“Faithfully,--loyally!” repeated the other after him.
[Illustration: 454]
“You've read the papers lately,--you've seen these attacks on me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what do they say and think here--I mean in this house--about
them? How do they discuss them? Remember, I want candor and frankness;
no humbug. I'll not stand humbug.”
“The women are against you.”
“Both of them?”
“Both.”
“How comes that?--on what grounds?”
“The papers accused you of cruelty; they affirmed that there was no
cause for the measures of severity you adopted; and they argued--”
“Don't bore me with all that balderdash. I asked you how was it that
these women assumed I was in the wrong?”
“And I was about to tell you, if you had not interrupted me.”
“That is, they believed what they read in the newspapers?”
“Yes.”
“And, of course, swallowed that fine story about the Hindoo fellow that
I first cut down, and afterwards bribed to make his escape from the
hospital?”
“I suspect they half believed it.”
“Or rather, believed half of it, the cutting down part! Can you tell me
physiologically,--for I think it comes into that category,--why it is
that women not otherwise ill-natured, in nine cases out of ten take the
worst alternative as the credible one? But never mind that. They condemn
me. Is n't it so?”
“Yes; and while old Barrington insists--”
“Who cares what he insists? Such advocacy as his only provokes attack,
and invites persecution. I 'd rather have no such allies!”
“I believe you are right.”
“I want fellows like yourself, doctor,--sly, cautious, subtle
fellows,--accustomed to stealing strong medicines into the system in
small doses; putting the patient, as you call it in your slang, 'under
the influence' of this, that, and t'other,--eh?”
Dill smiled blandly at the compliment to his art, and Stapylton went
on:--
“Not that I have time just now for this sort of chronic treatment. I
need a heroic remedy, doctor. I 'm in love.”
“Indeed!” said Dill, with an accent nicely balanced between interest and
incredulity.
“Yes, and I want to marry!
“Miss Barrington?”
“The granddaughter. There is no need, I hope, to make the distinction,
for I don't wish to be thought insane. Now you have the case. What 's
your prescription?”
“Propose for her!”
“So I have, but they hesitate. The old man is not unfavorable; he is,
perhaps, more: he is, in a measure, friendly; but what avails such
advocacy? I want another guess sort of aid,--a clever man; or, what is
better still, a clever woman, to befriend me.”
He waited some seconds for a reply, but Dill did not speak; so he went
on: “A clever woman, to take a woman's view of the case, balancing this
against that, never ignoring an obstacle, but inquiring what there may
be to compensate for it Do you know such a one, doctor?”
“Perhaps I may; but I have my doubts about securing her services.”
“Even with a retainer?”
“Even with a retainer. You see, Major,”--here Dill dropped his voice to
a most confidential whisper,--“my daughter Polly,--for I know we both
have her in mind,--Polly is a strange sort of girl, and very hard to
understand; for while, if the case were her own, she 'd no more think
of romance than she would of giving ten guineas for a dress, if she was
advising another whose position and prospects were higher than hers,
it's the romantic part of it she'd lay all the stress on.”
“From which I gather that my suit will not stand this test!” said
Stapylton, with a peculiar smile. “Eh, is n't that your meaning?”
“You are certainly some years older than the lady,” said Dill, blandly.
“Not old enough to be, as the world would surely say, 'her father,' but
fully old enough to give license for sarcasm.”
“Then, as she will be a great fortune--”
“Not a sixpence,--she'll not have sixpence, doctor. That bubble has
burst at last, and can never be blown again. The whole claim has been
rejected, refused, thrown out, and there 's an end of it. It amuses
the old man to sit on the wreck and fancy he can repair the shattered
timbers and make them seaworthy; and, for the time he is likely to
last, it is only kindness to leave him to his delusion; but he is
ruined,--ruined beyond recall, and as I have told you, the girl will
have nothing.”
“Do they know this,--has Barrington heard it?”
“Yes, I broke it to him last night, but I don't think he fully realized
the tidings; he has certain reserves--certain little conceits of his
own--which are to supply him with a sort of hope; but let us talk of
something more practical. How can we secure Miss Dill's services?”
“A few days ago, the easiest way would have been to offer to befriend
her brother, but this morning brings us news that this is not
needed,--he is coming home.”
“How so?”
“It is a great event in its way; at least, it may be for Tom. It seems
there was a collision at sea, somewhere near the Cape, between the ship
'St. Helen's,' that carried out General Hunter and his staff, and
the 'Regulus,' with the Forty-ninth on board. It was at night, and a
terrible sea on at the time. In the shock the 'St. Helen's' took fire;
and as the two ships were inextricably locked together, the danger was
common to each. While the boats were being lowered and manned,--for it
was soon seen the vessel could not be saved,--a cry was raised that the
fire was gaining on the fore-hold, and would soon reach the magazine.
The woful news spread at once, and many jumped overboard in their
terror. Just then Tom heard that there was a means of drowning the
powder by opening a certain sluice, and, without waiting for more, he
clambered across into the sinking vessel, made his way through smoke and
fire, gained the spot, and succeeded, just as the very ladder itself
had caught the flames. How he got back he cannot tell, for the vessel
foundered in a few minutes, and he was so burned--face, cheek, and
one shoulder--that he was unconscious of everything; and even when the
account came, was still in bed, and not able to see.”
“He was a wild sort of lad, was he not,--a scamp, in short?”
“No, not exactly that; idle--careless--kept bad company at times.”
“These are the fellows who do this kind of thing once in their
lives,--mark you, never twice. They never have more than one shot in
their locker, but it will suffice in this case.”
Though the worthy doctor was very far from enthusiastic about his son's
gallantry, there was a degree of coolness in the Major's estimate of
it that almost shocked him; and he sat staring steadily at the stern
bronzed face, and the hard lineaments of the man, and wondering of what
strange stuff such natures were fashioned.
“It's quite clear, then, that for Master Tom we can do nothing half
so good as chance has done for him,” said Stapylton, after a short
interval.
“Chance and himself too,” added the doctor.
Stapylton made no answer, but, covering his eyes with his hand, lay deep
in thought.
“If you only had the Attorney-General, Mr. Withering, on your side,”
said Dill. “There is no man has the same influence over this family.”
“It is not what _you_ call influence I want, my good sir. It is a far
more subtle and more delicate agent. I require the sort of aid, in fact,
which your daughter could supply, if she would. An appointment awaits
me in India, but I must occupy it at once. I have no time for a long
courtship. I 'm just as hurried as that boy of yours was when he swamped
the powder-magazine. It's a skirmish where I can't wait for the heavy
artillery, but must do my best with the light field-guns,--do you
understand me?”
Dill nodded, and Stapylton resumed: “The thing can be done just by the
very road that you have pronounced impossible,--that is, by the romantic
side of it,--making it a case of violent love at first sight, the
passion of a man past the heyday of youth, but yet young enough to
feel a most ardent affection. I am, besides,” said he, laughing with a
strange blending of levity and sarcasm, “a sort of Brummagem hero; have
been wounded, led assaults, and that kind of thing, to a degree that
puffery can take the benefit of. And, last of all, doctor, I am rich
enough to satisfy greater ambitions than ought to live under such a roof
as this. Do you see the part your daughter can take in this drama?”
“Perhaps I do.”
“And could you induce her to accept it?”
“I'm not very certain,--I'd be slow to pledge myself to it.”
“Certainly,” said Stapylton, mockingly; “the passing glimpses we
bachelors obtain of the working of that vaunted institution, The Family,
fail to impress us with all its imputed excellence; you are, it seems to
me, just as powerless within your own doors as I am regarding what goes
on in a neighbor's house. I take it, however, that it can't be helped.
Children, like colonies, are only governable when helpless.”
“I suspect you are wrong, sir; at least, I fancy I have as much of the
sort of influence you speak of as others; but still, I think, here, in
this particular case, you would yourself be your best ambassador, if you
were strong enough to come down with me in the boat to-day.”
“Of course I am!” cried Stapylton, starting up to a sitting posture;
“and what then?”
“You would be better in my house than this,” said Dill, mysteriously.
“Speak out, and speak clearly, doctor; I have very little the matter
with me, and am in no want of change of air. What I need is the
assistance of one dexterous enough to advocate my plans with persons
and in places to which I have no access. Your daughter is just such a
one,--will she do it?”
“We can ask her.”
“Well, how will you explain my absence to these people here? What will
you say for my not appearing at breakfast, and yet being able to take an
airing with you?”
“I will put it on hygienic grounds,” said Dill, smiling acutely. “My
profession has a number of sanctuaries the profane vulgar can never
enter. I 'll just step down now and ask Barrington to lend me his boat,
and I 'll throw out a dark hint that I 'd like to manage a consultation
on your case without alarming you, for which purpose I 'd ask Dr. Tobin
to be at my house, when we arrive there, by mere accident, so that a
conference would follow as a matter of course.”
“Very wily,--very subtle all this, doctor. Do you know, I 'm half
frightened at the thought of trusting myself to such a master of
intrigue and mystification.”
“Have no fears; I reserve all my craft for my clients.” And with this he
left the room, but only for a few minutes; for he met Barrington on the
stairs, and speedily obtained permission to take his boat to Inistioge,
having first pledged himself to come back with Stapylton to dinner.
“We shall see, we shall see,” muttered Stapylton to himself. “Your
daughter must decide where I am to dine today.”
By the way--that is, as they glided along the bright river--Dill tried
to prepare Stapylton for the task before him, by sundry hints as to
Polly's temper and disposition, with warnings against this, and cautions
about that. “Above all,” said he, “don't try to overreach her.”
“Perfect frankness--candor itself--is my device. Won't that do?”
“You must first see will she believe it,” said the doctor, slyly; and
for the remainder of the way there was a silence between them.