As the door closed upon Forister, Colonel Royale beat his hand
passionately against the wall. "O'Ruddy," he cried, "if you could
severely maim that cold-blooded bully, I would be willing to adopt you
as my legitimate grandfather. I would indeed."
"Never fear me," said I. "I shall pink him well."
"Aye," said my friend, looking at me mournfully, "I ever feared your
Irish light-heartedness. 'Twill not do to be confident. He is an evil
man, but a great swordsman. Now I never liked Ponsonby, and Stewart
was the most lovable of men; but in the great duel Ponsonby killed--"
"No," I interrupted, "damn the duel between Ponsonby and Stewart. I'm
sick of it. This is to be the duel between The O'Ruddy and Forister,
and it won't be like the other."
"Eh, well," said the Colonel good-naturedly; "make your mind easy. But
I hope to God you lay him flat."
"After I have finished with him," said I in measured tones, "he will
be willing to sell himself as a sailor to go to the Indies; only, poor
devil, he won't be able to walk, which is always a drawback after a
hard fight, since it leaves one man incapable on the ground and thus
discloses strong evidence of a struggle."
I could see that Colonel Royale had no admiration for my bragging air,
but how otherwise was I to keep up my spirits? With all my
discouragements it seemed to me that I was privileged to do a little
fine lying. Had my father been in my place, he would have lied
Forister into such a corner that the man would be thinking that he had
the devil for an opponent. My father knew more about such matters.
Still I could not help but be thinking how misfortunate it was that I
had kicked a great swordsman out of this inn at Bristol when he might
have been a harmless shoemaker if I had only decent luck. I must make
the best of it, and for this my only method was to talk loudly,--to
myself, if need be; to others if I could. I was not the kind that is
quite unable to say a good word for itself even if I was not able to
lie as well as my father in his prime. In his day he could lie the
coat off a man's back, or the patches off a lady's cheek, and he could
lie a good dog into howling ominously. Still it was my duty to lie as
well as I was able.
After a time Lord Strepp was announced and entered. Both he and
Colonel Royale immediately stiffened and decided not to perceive each
other. "Sir," said Lord Strepp to me, "I have the honour to present my
compliments to you, and to request that you join a friend of mine, Mr.
Forister, at dawn to-morrow, in the settlement of a certain small
misunderstanding."
"Sir," said I, in the same manner, "I am only too happy to have this
little matter adjusted."
"And of course the arrangements, sir?"
"For them I may refer you to my friend Colonel Royale."
"Ah," said the young Lord, as if he had never before seen the Colonel.
"I am at your service, sir," said Colonel Royale as if he never in his
whole life had heard of Lord Strepp.
Then these two began to salaam one another, and mouth out fool
phrases, and cavort and prance and caracole, until I thought them mad.
When they departed there was a dreadful scene. Each refused to go
through the door before the other. There was a frightful deadlock.
They each bowed and scraped and waved their hands, and surrendered the
doorway back and forth, until I thought they were to be in my chamber
eternally. Lord Strepp gorgeously presented the right of way to
Colonel Royale, and the Colonel gorgeously presented the right of way
to Lord Strepp. All this time they were bending their backs at each
other.
Finally I could stand it no longer. "In God's name," I shouted, "the
door is wide enough for the two of you. Take it together. You will go
through like grease. Never fear the door. 'Tis a good wide door."
To my surprise, they turned to glance at me and burst into great
laughter. Then they passed out amiably enough together. I was alone.
Well, the first thing I did was to think. I thought with all my force.
I fancied the top of my skull was coming off. I thought myself into
ten thousand intricacies. I thought myself into doom and out of it,
and behind it and below it, but I could not think of anything which
was of service to me. It seemed that I had come among a lot of
mummers, and one of these mummers was resolved to kill me, although I
had never even so much as broken his leg. But I remembered my father's
word, who had told me that gentlemen should properly kill each other
over a matter of one liking oranges and the other not liking oranges.
It was the custom among men of position, he had said, and of course a
way was not clear to changing this custom at the time. However, I
determined that if I lived I would insist upon all these customs being
moderated and re-directed. For my part I was willing that any man
should like oranges.
I decided that I must go for a walk. To sit and gloom in my room until
the time of the great affair would do me no good in any case. In fact
it was likely to do me much harm. I went forth to the garden in the
rear of the inn. Here spread a lawn more level than a ballroom floor.
There was a summer-house and many beds of flowers. On this day there
was nobody abroad in the garden but an atrocious parrot, which,
balancing on its stick, called out continually raucous cries in a
foreign tongue.
I paced the lawn for a time, and then took a seat in the summer-house.
I had been there but a moment when I perceived Lady Mary and the
Countess come into the garden. Through the leafy walls of the
summer-house I watched them as they walked slowly to and fro on the
grass. The mother had evidently a great deal to say to the daughter.
She waved her arms and spoke with a keen excitement.
But did I overhear anything? I overheard nothing! From what I knew of
the proper conduct of the really thrilling episodes of life I judged
that I should have been able to overhear almost every word of this
conversation. Instead, I could only see the Countess making irritated
speech to Lady Mary.
Moreover it was legitimate that I should have been undetected in the
summer-house. On the contrary, they were perfectly aware that there
was somebody there, and so in their promenade they presented it with a
distinguished isolation.
No old maid ever held her ears so wide open. But I could hear nothing
but a murmur of angry argument from the Countess and a murmur of
gentle objection from Lady Mary. I was in possession of an ideal place
from which to overhear conversation. Almost every important
conversation ever held had been overheard from a position of this
kind. It seemed unfair that I, of all men in literature, should be
denied this casual and usual privilege.
The Countess harangued in a low voice at great length; Lady Mary
answered from time to time, admitting this and admitting that,
protesting against the other. It seemed certain to me that talk
related to Forister, although I had no real reason for thinking it.
And I was extremely angry that the Countess of Westport and her
daughter, Lady Mary Strepp, should talk of Forister.
Upon my indignant meditations the parrot interpolated:
"Ho, ho!" it cried hoarsely. "A pretty lady! A pretty lady! A pretty
lady! A pretty lady!--"
Lady Mary smiled at this vacuous repetition, but her mother went into
a great rage, opening her old jaws like a maddened horse. "Here,
landlord! Here, waiter! Here, anybody!"
So people came running from the inn, and at their head was, truly
enough, the landlord. "My lady," he cried panting.
She pointed an angry and terrible finger at the parrot. "When I walk
in this garden, am I to be troubled with this wretched bird?"
The landlord almost bit the turf while the servants from the inn
grovelled near him. "My lady," he cried, "the bird shall be removed at
once." He ran forward. The parrot was chained by its leg to a tall
perch. As the innkeeper came away with the entire business, the parrot
began to shout: "Old harridan! Old harridan! Old harridan!" The
innkeeper seemed to me to be about to die of wild terror. It was a
dreadful moment. One could not help but feel sorry for this poor
wretch, whose sole offence was that he kept an inn and also chose to
keep a parrot in his garden.
The Countess sailed grandly toward the door of the hotel. To the
solemn protestations of six or seven servants she paid no heed. At the
door she paused and turned for the intimate remark. "I cannot endure
parrots," she said impressively. To this dictum the menials crouched.
The servants departed: the garden was now empty save for Lady Mary and
me. She continued a pensive strolling. Now, I could see plainly that
here fate had arranged for some kind of interview. The whole thing was
set like a scene in a theatre. I was undoubtedly to emerge suddenly
from the summer-house; the lovely maid would startle, blush, cast down
her eyes, turn away. Then, when it came my turn, I would doff my hat
to the earth and beg pardon for continuing a comparatively futile
existence. Then she would slyly murmur a disclaimer of any ability to
criticise my continuation of a comparatively futile existence, adding
that she was but an inexperienced girl. The ice thus being broken, we
would travel by easy stages into more intimate talk.
I looked down carefully at my apparel and flecked a handkerchief over
it. I tilted my hat; I set my hip against my harbour. A moment of
indecision, of weakness, and I was out of the summer-house. God knows
how I hoped that Lady Mary would not run away.
But the moment she saw me she came swiftly to me. I almost lost my
wits.
"'Tis the very gentleman I wished to see," she cried. She was
blushing, it is true, but it was evident she intended to say nothing
about inexperience or mere weak girls. "I wished to see you because--"
she hesitated and then rapidly said: "It was about the papers. I
wanted to thank you--I--you have no notion how happy the possession of
the papers has made my father. It seemed to have given him new life.
I--I saw you throw your sword on the floor with the hilt away from
you. And--and then you gave me the papers. I knew you were a gallant
gentleman."
All this time, I, in my confusion, was bobbing and murmuring pledges
of service. But if I was confused, Lady Mary was soon cool enough in
the presence of a simple bog-trotter like me. Her beautiful eyes
looked at me reflectively.
"There is only one service I can render you, sir," said she softly.
"'Tis advice which would have been useful in saving some men's lives
if only they had received it. I mean--don't fight with Forister in the
morning. 'Tis certain death."
It was now my turn once more. I drew myself up, and for the first time
I looked squarely into her bright eyes.
"My lady," said I, with mournful dignity, "I was filled with pride
when you said the good word to me. But what am I to think now? Am I,
after all, such a poor stick that, to your mind, I could be advised to
sell my honour for a mere fear of being killed?"
Even then I remembered my one-time decision to run away from the duel
with Forister; but we will not be thinking of that now.
Tears came into Lady Mary's eyes. "Ah, now, I have blundered," she
said. "'Tis what you would say, sir. 'Tis what you would do. I have
only made matters worse. A woman's meddling often results in the
destruction of those she--those she don't care to have killed."
One would think from the look of this last sentence, that with certain
reason I could have felt somewhat elated without being altogether a
fool. Lady Mary meant nothing of importance by her speech, but it was
a little bit for a man who was hungry to have her think of him. But
here I was assailed by a very demon of jealousy and distrust. This
beautiful witch had some plan in her head which did not concern my
welfare at all. Why should she, a great lady, take any trouble for a
poor devil who was living at an inn on money borrowed from a
highwayman. I had been highly honoured by an indifferent
consideration born of a wish to be polite to a man who had eased the
mind of her father. No; I would not deceive myself.
But her tears! Were they marking indifferent consideration? For a
second I lost myself in a roseate impossible dream. I dreamed that she
had spoken to me because she--
Oh, what folly! Even as I dreamed, she turned to me with splendid
carriage, and remarked coldly:
"I did not wish you to suppose that I ever failed to pay a debt. I
have paid this one. Proceed now, sir, in your glowing stupidity. I
have done."
When I recovered myself she was placidly moving away from me toward
the door of the inn.