When Jack Massingbred found himself once more “in town,” and saw that
the tide of the mighty world there rolled on the same full, boiling
flood he had remembered it of yore, he began to wonder where and how
he had latterly been spending his life. There were questions of
politics--mighty interests of which every one was talking--of which he
knew nothing; party changes and new social combinations had arisen of
which he was utterly ignorant. But what he still more acutely deplored
was that he himself had, so to say, dropped out of the memory of his
friends, who accosted him with that half-embarrassed air that says,
“Have you been ill?--or in India?--or how is it that we have n't met you
about?” It was last session he had made a flash speech,--an effort that
his own party extolled to the skies, and even the Opposition could only
criticise the hardihood and presumption of so very young a member of the
House,--and now already people had ceased to bear him in mind.
The least egotistical of men--and Massingbred did not enter into this
category--find it occasionally very hard to bear the cool “go-by” the
world gives them whenever a chance interval has withdrawn them from
public view. The stern truth of how little each atom of the social
scheme affects the working of the whole machinery is far from palatable
in its personal application. Massingbred was probably sensitive enough
on this score, but too consummate a tactician to let any one guess his
feelings; and so he lounged down to the “House,” and lolled at his Club,
and took his airings in the Park with all the seeming routine of one who
had never abdicated these enjoyments for a day.
He had promised, and really meant, to have looked after Martin's affairs
on his reaching London; but it was almost a week after his return that
he bethought him of his pledge, his attention being then called to
the subject by finding on his table the visiting-card of Mr. Maurice
Scanlan. Perhaps he was not sorry to have something to do; perhaps
he had some compunctions of conscience for his forgetfulness; at all
events, he sent his servant at once to Scanlan's hotel, with a request
that he would call upon him as early as might be. An answer was speedily
returned that Mr. Scanlan was about to start for Ireland that same
afternoon, but would wait upon him immediately. The message was scarcely
delivered when Scanlan himself appeared.
Dressed in deep mourning, but with an easy complacency of manner that
indicated very little of real grief, he threw himself into a chair,
saying, “I pledge you my word of honor, it is only to yourself I 'd
have come this morning, Mr. Massingbred, for I 'm actually killed with
business. No man would believe the letters I've had to read and
answer, the documents to examine, the deeds to compare, the papers to
investigate--”
“Is the business settled, then--or in train of settlement?” broke in
Jack.
“I suppose it _is_ settled,” replied Scanlan, with a slight laugh. “Of
course you know Mr. Martin is dead?”
“Dead! Good heavens! When did this occur?”
“We got the news--that is, Merl did--the day before yesterday. A friend
of his who had remained at Baden to watch events started the moment he
breathed his last, and reached town thirty hours before the mail; not,
indeed, that the Captain has yet written a line on the subject to any
one.”
“And what of the arrangement? Had you come to terms previously with
Merl?”
“No; he kept negotiating and fencing with us from day to day, now
asking for this, now insisting on that, till the evening of his friend's
arrival, when, by special appointment, I had called to confer with him.
Then, indeed, he showed no disposition for further delay, but frankly
told me the news, and said, 'The Conferences are over, Scanlan. I 'm the
Lord of Cro' Martin.'”
“And is this actually the case,--has he really established his claim in
such a manner as will stand the test of law and the courts?”
“He owns every acre of it; there's not a flaw in his title; he has
managed to make all Martin's debts assume the shape of advances in hard
cash. There is no trace of play transactions throughout the whole. I
must be off, Mr. Massing-bred; there 's the chaise now at the door.”
“Wait one moment, I entreat of you. Can nothing be done? Is it too late
to attempt any compromise?”
“To be sure it is. He has sent off instructions already to serve the
notice for ejectment. I 've got orders myself to warn the tenants not to
pay the last half-year, except into court.”
“Why, are _you_ in Mr. Merl's service, then?” asked Jack, with one of
his quiet laughs.
“I am, and I am not,” said Scanlan, reddening. “You know the compact I
made with Lady Dorothea at Baden. Well, of course there is no longer
any question about that. Still, if Miss Mary agrees to accept me, I 'll
stand by the old family! There 's no end of trouble and annoyance we
could n't give Merl before he got possession. I know the estate well,
and where the worst fellows on it are to be found! It's one thing to
have the parchments of a property, and it is another to be able to
go live on it, and draw the rents. But I can't stay another minute.
Good-bye, air. Any chance of seeing you in the West soon?”
“I 'm not sure I 'll not go over to-morrow,” said Jack, musing.
“I suppose you are going to blarney the constituency?” said Maurice,
laughing heartily at his coarse conceit. Then suddenly seeing that
Massingbred did not seem to relish the freedom, he hurriedly repeated
his leave-takings, and departed.