ROGUES FALL OUT.
AS we walked very slowly through the wilderness of thistles, which had
once been a fair park trimly kept, I disturbed the mind of Sam—which
was busy with abstruse calculations of all sorts of odds—by asking
rather suddenly what I was to say, and how I should conduct myself in
the presence of this man. For I felt a deep dislike to him, not only
because he had been such a plague to Kitty, but on account of his
bad character and loose ways. And my ill-will towards him had been
increased by his cowardly treatment—as it seemed to me—of the patient
people round him, and encroachment on their loyalty.
“You mustn’t ask me, my dear fellow,” answered Sam; “the thing is
out of my line altogether. You wanted to see him, and here he is. I
must leave you to the light of nature, although he is rather a dark
specimen. Perhaps he knows nothing about your trouble. But he is up to
most of Downy Bulwrag’s tricks, or at any rate knows when to suspect
him. And if he has had a row with Bulwrag, and can see his way to harm
him, he will do it. For Pots is a very spiteful fellow. You had better
appear first as my companion. I can manage not to let him catch your
name; for he is rather hard of hearing, though he won’t allow it. I
shall work matters round till Downy’s name comes up; and your business
will be to hold your tongue and listen, until you can strike in with
advantage. He will see me, I think, because I wrote to tell him that I
had a little money for him. There is nothing like that to fetch Pots.”
After a little reconnoitring from a window at the flank, we were
admitted by an ancient footman, who looked as if he never got his
wages, and shown into a shabby room, fusty, damp, and comfortless. Here
we waited nearly half an hour, while Henderson drummed on the floor
with his stick, and at last began to blow a horn which he found behind
a looking-glass. Then the master of the house appeared, and shook hands
with Sam, and bowed to me.
It is easy enough to introduce a stranger, so that his name shall
be still unknown; and Sir Cumberleigh, not being quick of hearing,
received my name as “Johnson.” “On the turf?” he inquired; and Sam
said, “Yes; he has been on it every day this week;” which was true
enough in one sense; and I longed to be back in a garden again, where
we grow rogues, but nothing like so many.
“Very glad to see you, very glad indeed, young sir.” This gentleman
offered his hand as he spoke; but I bowed, as if I had not seen it.
It may be a stupid old bit of priggery; but no man’s hand comes into
mine, while I am longing to smite him in the face. And I could not help
smiling at our host’s new manners, so different entirely from what
he showed in London—unless he had been vastly misdescribed to me. He
pretended now to dignity and distance, and a fine amount of grandeur;
for no other reason that I could guess, except that he was upon his
native soil, breathing the air of his ancestral vaults, and cheating
folk who let him cheat because his fathers did it.
But all this air of loftiness had no effect on Sam; who had rubbed
whiskers many times even with a Duke, when their minds were moving on a
good thing together.
“Got a bit of rhino for you, Pots,” he said, and I thought it
showed little good taste on his part, for Sam’s ancestors had been
stable-boys, and I have always been a good Conservative; “not so much
as I could wish; but every little is a help. And everybody says that
you are awfully hard up. Hope it isn’t true; but we must have seen you
at the July, if you had been at all flush.”
“I have not been very fortunate of late,” replied the Baronet, still
keeping up his dignity on my account; “and my property here has been
much impaired by—by a lot of things that did not come off. I was not
at Newmarket, because I intend to have nothing more to do with racing
matters; which I must leave to people who are sharper than myself, and
have different views of integrity. But anything really due to me—”
“Perhaps I had better not say any more about it;” Henderson’s black
eyes were twinkling with contempt. “I had no right properly to receive
the money; and if I had thought twice about it, I should have refused,
for I had no commission from you to collect it; but Georgie Roberts
knew that I was coming to see you, and knowing me so well, he took
my receipt on your behalf, because he was anxious to square up. I’ll
just return it to him, and he can send you a cheque. I heard a thing
afterwards that put me in the wrong. Bulwrag is the proper chap to act
for you. And he seems to have been there after all, but he cannot have
turned up, till Friday. I’ll send back these notes, and his receipt to
Georgie.” Sam put away his pocket-book, and looked contented; but Sir
Cumberleigh did not see it so.
“No, Sam, no! Business is business. I will write you a receipt. How
much did you say it was? Let me see. I forget these trifles. Somewhere
about eighty-five, if I remember.”
“Forty-five,” said Sam; and I was struck with the amount, because it
was the very sum that had so grieved me. “He had forty against you upon
the Levant. Downy managed that for you.”
“Downy Bulwrag never did me any good, and he never will;” said the
Baronet sternly, yet looking round, as if afraid of echoes. “He is
always getting me into some vile scrape.”
“For instance, about the young lady at Hounslow. Did he carry on any
more with that affair?”
Sam put this question in the most off-handed manner, just as if he had
said—“Any news to-day?” But being unused to any mystery on shuffling,
I looked for the answer with extreme anxiety, and Sir Cumberleigh
observed it, and was put upon his guard.
“How can I tell? I know nothing of his doings;” he answered, with his
eyes on me, while speaking to my friend. “Downy is too deep for me; he
is always up to something. Mr. Johnson, do you know him? You almost
look as if you did.”
“No, I have never had that honour,” I answered as calmly as I could;
“I live in the country, and have little to do with London, except when
I am there on business.”
“Very well then, I may tell you, Henderson,” our host continued, as he
put aside the notes, after counting them, and giving his receipt; “that
Master Downy has not behaved of late in a very friendly manner towards
myself. He has not the high principle, I am afraid, which has always
governed my conduct, at least in all matters of friendship and money.
My rule is rather to wrong myself, than any other living being. We have
held these estates for some centuries, Mr. Johnson; and no Hotchpot has
ever yet sullied the name. Fortune has continually been against us; but
we have borne ourselves bravely, and won universal esteem, and even
affection. I never praise myself; but when my time is over, the same
thing will always be said of me.”
He spoke with such firm conviction that I was impressed with his words,
and began to feel sure that report must have wronged him; until I
thought of Kitty, who was no harsh judge of character.
“Hear, hear!” cried Sam; “you have done it well, Pots. After that, you
can scarcely do less than invite us to drink your good health in a
bottle of champagne.”
“That I will, with pleasure. Only you must excuse me, while I see to
it myself. The Hotchpots are down in the world, Mr. Johnson, because
we could never curry favour. We cannot keep our butlers and our
coach-and-four, and our deer-park, as we used to do. Instead of that, I
keep the key of my own cellar. But I feel no shame in that. The shame
lies rather—”
“Look sharp, old chap; I am as dry as a herring.” Sam was always
rough and rude in his discourse; and Sir Cumberleigh set off, with a
significant glance at me.
“He has taken a liking to you, the old rogue,” Henderson informed me,
when the door was shut; “because he believes that you suck all his
brag in, like a child. You stick to that; it suits you well, for your
face is no end of innocent. An old stupe like that can be buttered up
to anything, if it is laid on by the right card. You don’t suck up to
him, you see; but you let him suck up to himself. We shall draw him of
everything he knows, and what matters more, everything he suspects.
Only you leave the whip-hand to me; green you are, and green you will
be to the last.”
“You are altogether out in that,” I said, though I knew it was hopeless
to reason with him; “you fellows, who see such a lot of fast life, are
none the more sagacious for it. You doubt what everybody says, unless
you can find a bad motive for it. And you generally go wrong in the
end, because you can only see black all round. But if this is a black
sheep, you take the shearing of him. Only I hate to go under a wrong
name.”
These words of mine proved that I was not a fool, at least to my own
satisfaction. Sam stared at me, as much as to say—“There is more in
you, than I thought there was;” but I did not care to press the point;
for he might take a huff, and say, “Do it yourself, then.” Only I
resolved to listen carefully, and see if there was anything to be
learned. And before he could answer, our host returned, with a bottle
of champagne under each arm, and the old retainer following with
glasses and a corkscrew having a blade attached to it. And I thought
that he could not be bad altogether, but must at least have intervals.
“Henderson, will you oblige me by being our—what’s his name? Diomede,
or something. I have a touch of rheumatism in one wrist. No corkscrew
wanted, if the cork is cork, and not wood, as a great many of them are.
But he understands it. Well done, Sam! Fill for Mr. Johnson first. Ah,
this is the right sort. Now we know what we are up to. Mr. Johnson,
your good health, and the same to you, Sam!”
“Sir Cumberleigh, here’s confusion to your enemies,” cried Sam,
standing up to give force to it; “and especially to one whom I could
name. Ah, he has led you a pretty dance, and feathered his own nest out
of it. However, we won’t say any more about him. A downy fellow can’t
help being downy. Every man for his own hand, in this little world.”
“Sam, you know more than you have said. You go about more than I do
now. Do you mean to say, that he has let me in purposely?”
“No, I never could believe that he would do it. It looks rather queer,
but it must be straight enough. No doubt everything can be explained.
You remember about _Flying Goose_ at least?”
They began to talk a quantity of racing stuff, which was nothing but
jargon to me; till Sir Cumberleigh rose from his chair, and struck the
table, glaring with his eyes, and turning purple in the face.
“Then his name is not Bulwrag, but blackguard;” he exclaimed, turning
round to me, to attest it. “And as soon as we meet, I shall tell him
so.” Then he swore a round of oaths, which were of no effect, but to
hurt himself, and turn up the corners of the pity we were spreading for
him. What had he lost? Money only. I had lost more. I held my tongue.
“You must not be too hard upon him;” Sam began to soften, to make him
harder. “Every man for his own hand. Fair play, Pots; you would do it
yourself.”
“Not for any one who trusted me. That makes all the difference. He
thinks he can do what he likes with me. He shall find the difference. I
know a trick or two of his that would send him to the Devil, if I let
out.”
“Well, we won’t talk about any secrets now;” said Sam as cool as a
cucumber, while I was like a red-hot iron; “his private affairs are no
concern of ours; and we don’t want to hear of them. Johnson is a very
steady-going chap, with a wife and six kids. We won’t corrupt him,
Pots.”
“Not much fear of that, if he is on the turf,” Sir Cumberleigh replied,
with a wink at me; “see a good bit of the world there, don’t you, Mr.
Johnson?”
I nodded my head, and turned away; for I never was much of an actor,
and now I could not trust my voice for words. But Sir Cumberleigh was
as full of his own wrongs, as I was of mine in a different way.
“I know a thing or two,” he went on, becoming more determined, as we
feigned to check him, “that would stop his little tricks for a long
time to come. He would have to be off to the Continent again, if I were
to treat him as he deserves.”
“Then don’t do it, Pots. Forgive and forget; that’s the proper tip
nowadays. Who doesn’t try to let you in? It is no concern of mine—but
let us talk of something else. I dare say he is a good fellow, after
all.”
“Is he?” cried Sir Cumberleigh, working himself up; “I may have done
a thing or two, in my time. But I never harmed man or woman, out of
pure spite. Every man must consider his own interest, and try to hurt
no one, when it does not help himself. That is my idea of the rule of
life. But it is not Master Downy’s, I can tell you that.”
“Never mind, old fellow. Let us drink his good health;” Sam lifted his
glass, but our host set down his. “Whenever I hear a poor fellow run
down, I begin to think of all that is good in him. And I don’t believe
Downy would hurt any one, unless he was obliged to do it on his own
account. He made a pot of money, and he dropped a bit of yours. But
you must not score against him for a little thing like that.”
“It is useless to talk to you, Henderson. You have not been hit, and
you may whistle over it. But I’ll just ask Mr. Johnson what he thinks,
for I can see that he is a man of proper feeling. Now what should you
say, Mr. Johnson, of a fellow, who wanted to marry a girl who did not
like him, because he thought she had a lot of money; and then when she
married a very quiet man, who took her without a halfpenny, could not
let them be happy with one another, but got up some infernal scheme to
separate them?”
“I should say he was a scoundrel too bad to be hanged;” I answered with
warmth unaffected; and I was going to say more, but Sam checked me with
a glance.
“Oh come, no fellow would ever do such a thing as that;” he spoke with
contemptuous disbelief. “Any man must be a fool, who would get into
such a scrape for nothing.”
“Then Downy Bulwrag is a fool, as well as what you called him, Mr.
Johnson. I could tell you the story, if I chose; or at least I could
tell you a part of it. But it would not interest you; and it is a long
in and out of rascality. Well, I won’t say any more about it; and I
don’t know how he managed it. But he will have a score to settle about
that, some day.”
“That he will, and a bitter one;” I began, with hands clenched, and
heart throbbing; but Sam kicked me under the table, and whispered,
while Sir Cumberleigh was reaching for the other bottle—
“Don’t be such a gone idiot. Leave it to me—can’t you?”
“I should have thought Downy was too sharp for that;” Sam stroked his
chin, and looked sceptical. “Of course, I don’t know him as you do,
Pots. But I should have thought he was about the last man you could
find to risk his hide for mere larkiness.”
“Well, I don’t know that he risked very much. The young man is in the
agricultural line, and they are fair game for any one, and have been
so for the last twenty years. You may stamp on those fellows, and they
rather like it. By George, if we treated the mill-owners so, they would
have marched upon London long ago. But a fellow with no kick in him
must expect to get plenty of it from his neighbours.”
These were my sentiments to a hair, coming straight to me from Uncle
Corny; and at any other time I should have struck in boldly, with
larger capacity of speech than thought. But to him who has no home to
defend, politics are as a tinkling cymbal, instead of a loaded cannon.
“What part of the world was it in?” Sam Henderson asked, that the
subject might not slip away; “that sort of thing would never do in our
part of the world; though we call ourselves pretty rural still.”
“Well, I don’t know exactly where it was. And we had better not say
any more about it.” Sir Cumberleigh became suspicious at the first
sign of direct inquiry. “After all, I dare say there was no harm done.
And perhaps the young fellow was glad to be quit of all, before she
had time to run up any bills. Although she was a devilish nice girl, I
believe. But who could want more than three weeks of any woman? Except
for the sake of her tin, of course. Mr. Johnson, you agree with me
about that, I can see.”
“Nothing of the sort,” I answered sternly, forgetting how I wrecked
my purpose by my indignation; “a good wife is the greatest blessing
any man can have. And the man who robs him of her is no man, but is a
Divil.”
“You had better set Johnson after your friend Downy;” Sam Henderson
struck in, as Sir Cumberleigh stared at me. “You see how a Benedict
regards the subject. And I shall have to be of his opinion soon. Next
week I shall lead to the Hymeneal halter, who do you think?—give you
three guesses, and lay a fiver you don’t hit it.”
“Done with you!” cried our host, for I believe he knew. “Three chances,
Mr. Johnson, you heard what he said. No. 1, Violet Hunter, such a
stunning girl.”
“Wrong. Try again. No Vi Hunter for me. Wouldn’t have her, if she was
dipped in diamonds.”
“Well then, it must be Gerty Triggs, a fine young woman, and five
thousand pounds.”
“Wrong again. Only one go more. Have your flimsy ready.”
“Oh, I say, it can’t be Sally Chalker. That would be too much luck for
a chap like you.”
“It is Sally Chalker, and no mistake. Though I’ll trouble you to call
her Miss Chalker, Pots, until she is Mrs. Henderson. And I’d like to
see any fellow come between us.”
“Hand over,” said Sir Cumberleigh; “well, Sam, you are in luck. What
a lot of things you will put us up to then! Here’s to your happiness!
Well, this is good news indeed. Stop to dinner; we can have it early.”
But Sam declined the honour; and we soon set forth for home, as nothing
more could be extracted from our host, concerning the matter which had
brought us there. And Sam, who understood him pretty thoroughly, felt
sure that he had already told us all he knew, and perhaps even more in
the way of mere suspicion.