THE DEBT OF HONOUR
Daisy's astonishment, on receiving by post those documents that
restored him to the world from his vegetation in Roscommon, was no
less unbounded than his joy. When he opened the registered letter,
and bills for the whole amount of his liabilities fluttered out,
he could scarcely believe his eyes. Then he puzzled himself to no
purpose, in wild speculations as to the friend who had thus dropped
from the skies at his utmost need. He had an uncle prosperous enough
in worldly matters, but this uncle hated parting with his money,
and was, moreover, abroad, whereas the welcome letter bore a London
post-mark. He could think of no other relative nor friend rich enough,
even if willing, to assist him in so serious a difficulty. The more
he considered his good luck, the more inexplicable it appeared; nor,
taking his host into consultation, did that worthy's suggestions tend
to elucidate the mystery.
In the first place, recalling many similar instances under his own
observation, Denis opined that the money must have been hidden up
for his guest, long ago, by his great grandmother, in a stocking,
and forgotten! Next, that the Prussian Government, having heard of
the mare's performances at Punchestown, had bought her for breeding
purposes, at such a sum as they considered her marketable value. And,
lastly (standing the more stoutly by this theory, for the failure of
its predecessors), that the whole amount had been subscribed under
a general vote of the Kildare Street Club, in testimony of their
admiration for Daisy's bold riding and straightforward conduct as a
sportsman!
Leaving him perfectly satisfied with this explanation, Daisy bade
his host an affectionate farewell, and started without delay for
London, previously telegraphing to his comrade at Kensington certain
information and instructions for his guidance. Warped in its
transmission by an imaginative clerk in a hurry, we have seen how this
message confused and distracted the honest perceptions of its recipient.
That young officer was sitting down to breakfast, with Venus under his
chair, while Benjamin, the badger, poked a cautious nose out of his
stronghold in the wardrobe, when the hasty retreat of one animal, and
formidable growlings of the other, announced a strange step on the
stairs. Immediately Daisy rushed into the room, vociferated for Barney
to look after his "traps" and pay the cab, seized a hot plate, wagged
his head at his host, and began breakfast without further ceremony.
"Seem peckish, young man," observed Bill, contemplating his friend
with extreme satisfaction. "Sick as a fool last night, no doubt, and
sharp-set this morning in consequence. Go in for a cutlet, my boy.
Another kidney, then. That's right. Have a suck of the lemon, and at
him again!"
Munching steadily, Daisy repudiated the imputation of sea-sickness,
with the scorn of a practised mariner. "It seems to me that I live
on that Channel," said he, "like a ship's-steward, Bill, or a
horse-marine! Well, I've done with it now, I hope, for some time. How
jolly it is to feel straight again! It's like your horse getting up,
when he's been on his head, without giving the crowner you deserve. It
was touch-and-go this time, old chap. I say, you got my telegram?"
Bill laughed. "I did, indeed!" he answered; "and a nice mull they made.
Read it for yourself."
Thus speaking, he tossed across the breakfast-table that singular
communication which his unassisted ingenuity had so failed to
comprehend.
Daisy perused it with no little astonishment. "The fools!" he
exclaimed. "Why, Bill, you must have thought I'd gone mad."
"We _did_," replied Bill gravely. "Stark staring, my boy. We said we
always _had_ considered you 'a hatter,' but not so bad as this."
"_We!_" repeated his friend. "What d'ye mean by _we_? You didn't go
jawing about it in the regiment, Bill?"
"When I say we," answered the other, with something of a blush, "I mean
me and Mrs. Lushington."
"What had _she_ to do with it?" asked Daisy, pushing his plate away,
and lighting a cigar. "_She_ didn't send the stuff, I'll take my oath!"
"But she knows who did," said Bill, filling a meerschaum pipe of
liberal dimensions, with profound gravity.
Then they smoked in silence for several minutes.
"It's a very rum go," observed Daisy, after a prolonged and thoughtful
puff. "I don't know when I've been so completely at fault. Tell me what
you've heard, Bill, for you _have_ heard something, I'm sure. In the
first place, how came you to take counsel with Mrs. Lushington?"
"Because she is up to every move in the game," was the answer. "Because
she's the cleverest woman in London, and the nicest. Because I was
regularly beat, and could think of nobody else to help me at short
notice. The telegram said, 'Do not lose a moment.'"
"And what did _she_ make of it?" asked Daisy.
"Tumbled to the whole plant in three minutes," answered Bill. "Put the
telegram straight--bulls, honey, and all--as easy as wheeling into
line. I tell you, we know as much as you do now, and _more_. You've got
three 'thou,' Daisy, ready-money down, to do what you like with. Isn't
that right?"
Daisy nodded assent.
"The Chief's delighted, and I've sent the agent to Sharon. Luckily,
the little beggar's not so unreasonable as we thought he'd be. That
reckons up the telegram, doesn't it?"
Again Daisy nodded, smoking serenely.
"Then there's nothing more for you to bother about," continued his
host; "and I'm glad of it. Only, next time, Daisy, you won't pull for
an old woman, I fancy, in a winning race."
"Nor a young one either," said his friend. "But you haven't told me now
who the money came from."
"Can't you guess? Have you no idea?"
"Not the faintest."
"What should you say to Miss Douglas?"
"Miss Douglas!"
By the tone in which Daisy repeated her name, that young lady was
obviously the last person in the world from whom he expected to receive
pecuniary assistance.
Though no longer peaceful, his meditations seemed deeper than ever. At
length he threw away the end of his cigar with a gesture of impatience
and vexation.
"This is a very disagreeable business," said he. "Hang it, Bill, I
almost wish the money had never come. I can't send it back, for a
thousand's gone already to our kind old major, who promised to settle
my book at Tattersall's. I wonder where she got such a sum. By Jove,
it's the handsomest thing I ever heard of! What would you do, Bill, if
you were in my place?"
"Do," repeated his friend; "I've no doubt what I should _do_. I should
order Catamount round at once; then I think I'd have a brandy-and-soda;
in ten minutes I'd be at Miss Douglas's door, and in fifteen I'd
have--what d'ye call it?--proposed to her. Proposed to her, my boy, all
according to regulation. I'm not sure how you set about these things. I
fancy you go down on your knees; I know you ought to put your arm round
their waists; but lots of fellows could coach you for all that part,
and even if you did anything that's not in the book, this is a case of
emergency, and, in my opinion, you might chance it!"
Having thus delivered himself, the speaker assumed a judicial air,
smoking severely.
"In plain English, a woman buys one for three thousand pounds!" said
Daisy, laughing rather bitterly. "_And only three thousand bid for him.
Going! Going!!_"
"_Gone!!!_" added Bill, bringing his fist down on the table with a bang
that startled the badger, and elicited an angry bark from Venus. "A
deuced good price, too; I only hope I shall fetch half as much when I'm
brought to the hammer. Why you ought to be delighted, my good fellow.
She's as handsome as paint, and the best horse-woman that ever wore a
habit!"
"I don't deny her riding, nor her beauty, nor her merit in every way,"
said Daisy, somewhat ruefully. "In fact, she's much too good for a
fellow like me. But do you mean, seriously, Bill, that I must marry her
because she has paid my debts?"
"I do, indeed," answered his friend; "and Mrs. Lushington thinks so
too."
Before Daisy's eyes rose the vision of an Irish river glancing in the
sunshine, with banks of tender green and ripples of molten gold, and
a fishing-rod lying neglected on its margin, while a fair, fond face
looked loving and trustful in his own.
There are certain hopes akin to the child's soap-bubble which we
cherish insensibly, admiring their airy grace and radiant colouring,
almost persuading ourselves of their reality, till we apply to them
some practical test--then behold! at a touch, the bubble bursts,
the dream vanishes, to leave us only a vague sense of injustice, an
uncomfortable consciousness of disappointment and disgust.
"I conclude Mrs. Lushington understands these things, and knows exactly
what a fellow ought to do," said Daisy, after another pause that
denoted he was in no indiscreet hurry to act on that lady's decision.
"Of course she does!" answered Bill. "She's a regular authority, you
know, or I wouldn't have gone to her. You couldn't be in safer hands."
Both young men seemed to look on the whole transaction in the light
of a duel, or some such affair of honour, requiring caution no less
than courage, and in the conduct of which the opinion of a celebrated
practitioner like Mrs. Lushington was invaluable and unimpeachable.
"But if I--if I don't like her well enough," said poor Daisy, looking
very uncomfortable. "Hang it, Bill, when one marries a woman, you
know, one's obliged to be always with her. Early breakfast, home to
luncheon, family dinner, smoke out of doors, and in by ten o'clock. I
shouldn't like it at all; and then perhaps she'd take me to morning
visits and croquet parties. Think of that, Bill! Like poor Martingale,
whose only holiday is when he gets the belt on, and can't stir out of
barracks for four-and-twenty hours. To be sure, Miss Douglas is a good
many cuts above Mrs. Martingale!"
"To be sure she is!" echoed his adviser. "And I dare say, after all,
Daisy, it is not quite so bad as we think. Wet days and that you'd
have to yourself, you know, and she wouldn't want you when she had a
headache. Mrs. Martingale often has headaches, and so should I if I
liquored up as freely!"
"But supposing," argued Daisy, "I say only _supposing_, Bill, one liked
another girl better; oughtn't that to make a difference?"
"I'm afraid _not_," replied Bill, shaking his head. "I didn't think of
putting the case in that way to Mrs. Lushington, but I don't imagine
she'd admit the objection. No, no, my boy, it's no use being shifty
about it. You've got to jump, and the longer you look, the less you'll
like it! If it was a mere matter of business, I wouldn't say a word,
but see how the case stands. There are no receipts, no vouchers; she
has kept everything dark, that you might feel under no obligation. Hang
it, old fellow, it's a regular debt of honour; and there's no way of
paying up, that I can see, but this."
Such an argument was felt to be unanswerable.
"A debt of honour," repeated Daisy. "I suppose it is. Very well; I'll
set about it at once. I can't begin to-day though."
"Why not?" asked his friend.
"No time," answered the other, who in many respects was a true
Englishman. "I've got lots of things to do. In the first place, I must
have my hair cut, of course!"