TELLS HOW SIR JOHN WENT “BEAR-BAITING”
From St. James’s Square Sir John directed his chair to an address in
Mount Street, and was so fortunate as to meet Captain Armitage stepping
forth to take the air; hereupon they flourished their hats at each other,
bowed, and thereafter stood at gaze.
“Armitage,” quoth Sir John, “time worketh change and five years is a long
time!”
“Dering,” answered the Captain, with his pleasant smile, “five years
shall be as many hours—minutes, if ye’ll have it so!”
“Tommy!” exclaimed Sir John, and held out his hand.
“Jack!” exclaimed the Captain, and shook it heartily. “’S life!” cried
he. “’S death! Egad!... ’od rat me but this is infinite well, upon my
soul it is! Are ye home for good?”
“I hope so, Tom.” Then, having paid his chairmen, Sir John slipped a hand
within the Captain’s arm and they walked on together.
“Tom,” said he, gently interrupting his companion’s joyous reminiscences
of their schoolboy escapades and later follies—“Tommy, art minded for a
little gentle sport?”
“Anything ye will, Jack,” answered the Captain eagerly, “for, demme, the
town’s dead at this hour ... a curst dog-hole, rat me! Say the word and
I’m yours. What’s to do?”
“Bear-baiting, Tom.”
“Hey? Bear-baiting? What the——”
“D’ye happen to know which particular coffee-house my Lord Sayle
affects?”
“Eh—Sayle?” repeated the Captain, halting suddenly. “Sayle, is it? Oh,
demme! D’ye mean——”
“My Lord Sayle!” nodded Sir John.
“But ... bear-baiting, Jack? O man, Lord love ye, ’tis pure to ha’ ye
back; the town’s alive again, or will be, burn me if ’twon’t! Sayle, eh?
So soon, Jack! Egad, ’tis like ye!... Bear-baiting. Oh, demme!” And the
Captain halted again to laugh.
“And which coffee-house, Tom——”
“Why, y’ see, Jack, the fellow’s not dared show his face in town o’ late
in consequence o’ that last ‘affair’ of his with poor young Torwood ...
but ... I remember him at Will’s, last year, aye, and Lockett’s.”
To Will’s coffee-house accordingly they directed their steps, and here,
as luck would have it, found the unconscious object of their quest.
My Lord Sayle was in a corner of the long room, his back to the door and
surrounded by gentlemen who sipped their various beverages, snuffed or
sucked at their long, clay pipes, while drawers hovered silently to and
fro, obedient to their commands; thus Sir John and the Captain entered
almost unnoticed, and, securing an adjacent table, Sir John ordered a
bottle of burgundy.
“Burgundy—O Ged!” demurred the Captain.
“You shan’t drink it, Tom!” murmured Sir John.
My Lord Sayle, as one who had more than once killed “his man,” and was,
moreover, reputed to be in high favour at court just at present, was
assured of a respectfully attentive audience wheresoever he went.
Behold him, then, the room being oppressively warm, ensconced beside an
open window and seated between his inseparable companions, Sir Roland
Lingley, slim and pallid, and Major Orme, red and a little corpulent, and
surrounded by divers other fine gentlemen who listened with more or less
languid interest while he held forth on the heinous crime of smuggling.
“But, my lord,” ventured a mild gentleman in a Ramillie wig, “surely
there are worse sins than smuggling?”
“Ha, d’ye think so, sir, d’ye think so?” demanded my lord pettishly.
“Then ’tis so much the less to your credit, sir. Damme, sir, how dare ye
think so! I say smuggling is a damnable crime and shall be put down with
a strong hand, sir! With relentless determination, and, begad, sir, I’m
the man to do it. I’ll purge Sussex yet ere I’m done, aye—I will so!”
“But, my lord, I—I happen to know something of Sussex and——”
“And what’s this to me, sir?”
“Only that I understand the traffic is widespread and the Sussex
smugglers are accounted desperate fellows and very cunning, as——”
“And I tell ye, sir, they are demn’d rogues and may be desperate as they
will, but I’ll break ’em! Aye, by heaven, I will if I have to call in the
soldiery and shoot ’em down!”
“’Twould be a little arbitrary, sir!” ventured the mild gentleman again.
“Arbitrary, sir—good! Such ha’ been my methods all my life and always
will be. Have ye any other observations to offer, sir?”
“No, my lord,” answered the mild gentleman.
“Then I’ll ha’ you know there are others besides smuggling rascals that
I’ll deal with ... others, aye ... just so soon as my arm permits. And my
method with them shall be just as arbitrary and—more to the point, sir,
the point!” And my lord tapped the hilt of his small-sword.
“Tommy,” exclaimed Sir John at this juncture, “’tis devilish sour wine,
this! The properest place for’t is—out o’ the window!” And, with a
wide-armed, backward swing he sent the contents of his glass showering
over the flaxen wig, wide shoulders and broad back of my Lord Sayle.
A gasping oath of angry amazement; a moment of horrified silence....
“What, have I sprinkled some one, Tom?” questioned Sir John and, glancing
over his shoulder, he seemed to notice my lord for the first time and
laughed. “Why, ’tis no matter, Tom,” quoth he lightly, “’twas only that
fellow Sayle. Shall we try another bottle?”
My Lord Sayle’s chair was hurled aside, and he turned to leap at the
speaker, but recoiled before the thrust of a gold-mounted cane.
“Sir,” said Sir John, stabbing him off, “since no ladies are present
you ha’ my permission to swear until you weary, but you will do it at a
distance—remain where you are—sir!”
My lord promptly cursed and swore until he had raved himself breathless.
“Tut, sir, tut-tut!” smiled Sir John. “Don’t bluster from the coward’s
castle of an injured arm; come to me when you can mishandle your sword
and I’ll send you back to bed again.... I think we’ll make it your right
leg next time——”
At this, my lord’s frenzy broke forth anew, a wild torrent of oaths,
vituperations and murderous threats, while Sir John, holding him off with
his cane, watched him with a serene satisfaction until once again my lord
was constrained to pause for breath; whereupon Sir John continued:
“Give me leave to tell you, my Lord Sayle, that I account you a thing
begotten in evil hour merely to cast a shadow i’ the sun ... hold off, my
lord! ... and esteem you of no more account. At the same time, I seize
this occasion to state publicly ... pray, keep your distance, my lord!
... that I, John Dering, being a man o’ sentiment and also of action, do
solemnly pledge myself to harass you on every available occasion until
I either ha’ the happiness of driving you out o’ the country or the
misfortune to kill you.”
Here my lord, becoming articulate again, roared and shouted for his
sword, vowing he would fight left-handed. But now, despite the mad and
terrible fury that shook him and the fell purpose that glared in his eyes
as he raved thus, threatening death and damnation, clutching vainly at
Sir John’s elusive cane and stamping in baffled rage, the contrast was
so ludicrous that some one tittered nervously and then came laughter—an
hysterical roaring, peal on peal, that nothing might check or subdue.
Even the mild gentleman had caught the contagion and laughed until his
Ramillie wig was all askew and himself doubled up, groaning in helpless
mirth.
Even when my Lord Sayle, reeling like a drunken man, was half led, half
carried out by his friends, the company rocked and howled, hooted and
groaned, slapped themselves and each other, wailing in faint, cracked
voices: thus their Gargantuan laughter waxed and grew until came the
drawers to peep and gape; until pedestrians in the street below paused to
stare and wonder.
“O Jack ... O Jack!” wailed Captain Armitage. “Hold me ... hit me, a
mercy’s name.... Sayle ... vowing to ha’ y’r blood and ... clutching at
a cane that ... wasn’t there!... Swearing hell and fury and dancing ...
like a ... dem’d marionette! O Lord! ‘Begotten to be a shadow,’ says
you!... ‘We’ll make it your ... right leg ... next time!’ Oh, rat me,
Jack!...”
“By heaven,” gasped the mild gentleman, “here’s a tale! Every
coffee-house will be ... cackling with’t. My lord’s loved none too well
... first on one leg, then ... on t’other....”
Presently, taking advantage of the general uproar, Sir John hasted to
retire, followed by the Captain, still breathless but eager.
“Ha’ ye any other bears to bait, Jack?” he inquired as they descended to
the street.
“Not at present, Tom.”
“So much the worse,” the Captain sighed. “Howbeit, I’ll not part with
thee; we’ll see the night out together. First, dinner at the Piazza, and
then——”
“Thank’ee no, Tom! I’ve affairs——”
“Aha—is she very fair?”
“I’m a man o’ business, Tom, and am in town for but a short time.”
“Why, then, where are ye living, Jack?”
“At High Dering.”
“Good Ged—the country!” exclaimed Captain Armitage, visibly shocked. “And
y’ are going back again to rusticate—you, of all men!”
“Immediately.”
“Cabbages and mangold-wurzels!” murmured the Captain. “Amazing!
Unless—aha, some rustic nymph, perchance—some village Venus, eh, Jack?”
“Nay, Tom, smugglers and an ancient witch, rather. But what do you do
these days?”
“Naught i’ the world since I inherited save play the fool generally and
make love to ‘the Barrasdaile,’ as the fashion is. And——”
“Sounds lamentably dreary, Tom.”
“It is, Jack, it is!” sighed the Captain. “One wearies of everything, and
‘the Barrasdaile’ hath no heart! And, talking of her, she flammed and
tricked thee finely, it seems!”
“She did, Tom. You’ve heard the tale, then?”
“Aye, Jack, who hasn’t? ’Twill be all over town by this, i’ faith, but
your ears should tingle, for ’twas demnably against you! Disguised, Jack
... dressed in her woman’s clothes and you all unsuspecting, ha-ha!”
“And ’twas she told you, was it?”
“Herself, Jack, this afternoon just before you made your dem’d dramatic
appearance. And, rat me, but ’twas pure! She had us all roaring with
laughter at thy expense, old lad ... demme, even the women forgot to
be scandalised. To ha’ flammed you of all men! She must ha’ played the
country innocent marvellous well!”
“She must indeed, Tom.”
“Ye see, Jack, she never forgives——”
“A bad habit, Tom!”
“Aye!” nodded the Captain. “And ’tis plain to see she hates thee—even
yet!”
“And that is worse!” sighed Sir John.
“And she’s dev’lish clever and quick—for all her size. Aye, a passionate
creeter ... a goddess ... all fire, Jack, or freezing cold ... she’ll
never”—here the Captain sighed heavily—“no, she’ll never marry me, ’tis
sure—although——”
“Never, Tom!”
“Oh, begad!” exclaimed the Captain, startled. “Sink me, but ye seem dem’d
sure about it!”
“Tommy, I am!”
“And why, pray?”
“Because if she ever marries any one, that one will be me.”
“You—you, Jack! You of all men?” stammered the Captain.
“Myself!”
“Good Ged!” gasped the Captain. “But——”
“Good-bye!” quoth Sir John, and, seizing his companion’s hand, he shook
it heartily and went his airy way, leaving the Captain to stare after him
quite dumbfounded.