Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
MY BRAVE and GALLANT GENTLEMAN
A Romance of British Columbia
BY
ROBERT WATSON
McCLELLAND, GOODCHILD & STEWART
PUBLISHERS :: :: :: :: TORONTO
_Copyright, 1918,_
_By George H. Doran Company_
_Printed in the United States of America_
TO A LADY CALLED NAN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE SECOND SON
II ANOTHER SECOND SON
III JIM THE BLACKSMITH
IV VISCOUNT HARRY, CAPTAIN OF THE GUARDS
V TOMMY FLYNN, THE HARLFORD BRUISER
VI ABOARD THE COASTER
VII K. B. HORSFAL, MILLIONAIRE
VIII GOLDEN CRESCENT
IX THE BOOZE ARTIST
X RITA OF THE SPANISH SONG
XI AN INFORMATIVE VISITOR
XII JOE CLARK, BULLY
XIII A VISIT, A DISCOVERY AND A KISS
XIV THE COMING OF MARY GRANT
XV "MUSIC HATH CHARMS--"
XVI THE DEVIL OF THE SEA
XVII GOOD MEDICINE
XVIII A MAID, A MOOD AND A SONG
XIX THE "GREEN-EYED MONSTER" AWAKES
XX FISHING!
XXI THE BEACHCOMBERS
XXII JAKE STOPS THE DRINK FOR GOOD
XXIII THE FIGHT IN THE WOODS
XXIV TWO MAIDS AND A MAN
XXV THE GHOUL
XXVI "HER KNIGHT PROVED TRUE"
MY BRAVE AND GALLANT GENTLEMAN
CHAPTER I
The Second Son
Lady Rosemary Granton! Strange how pleasant memories arise, how
disagreeable nightmares loom up before the mental vision at the sound
of a name!
Lady Rosemary Granton! As far back as I could remember, that name had
sounded familiar in my ears. As I grew from babyhood to boyhood, from
boyhood to youth, it was drummed into me by my father that Lady
Rosemary Granton, some day, would wed the future Earl of Brammerton and
Hazelmere. This apparently awful calamity did not cause me any mental
agony or loss of sleep, for the reason that I was merely The Honourable
George, second son of my noble parent.
I was rather happy that morning, as I sat in an easy chair by the
library window, perusing a work by my favourite author,--after a
glorious twenty-mile gallop along the hedgerows and across country. I
was rather happy, I say, as I pondered over the thought that something
in the way of a just retribution was at last about to be meted out to
my elder, haughty, arrogant and extremely aristocratic rake of a
brother, Harry.
My mind flashed back again to the source of my vagrant thoughts. Lady
Rosemary Granton! To lose the guiding hand of her mother in her
infancy; to spend her childhood in the luxurious lap of New York's
pampered three hundred; to live six years more among the ranchers, the
cowboys and, no doubt, the cattle thieves of Wyoming, in the care of an
old friend of her father, to wit, Colonel Sol Dorry; then to be
transferred for refining and general educational purposes for another
spell of six years to the strict discipline of a French Convent; to
flit from city to city, from country to country, for three years with
her father, in the stress of diplomatic service--what a life! what an
upbringing for the future Countess of Brammerton! Finally, by way of
culmination, to lose her father and to be introduced into London
society, with a fortune that made the roues of every capital in Europe
gasp and order a complete new wardrobe!
As I thought what the finish might be, I threw up my hands, for it was
a most interesting and puzzling speculation.
Lady Rosemary Granton! Who had not heard the stories of her conquests
and her daring? They were the talk of the clubs and the gossip of the
drawing-rooms. Masculine London was in ecstasies over them and voted
Lady Rosemary a trump. The ladies were scandalised, as only jealous
minded ladies can be at lavishly endowed and favoured members of their
own sex.
Personally, I preferred to sit on the fence. Being a lover of the open
air, of the agile body, the strong arm and the quick eye, I could not
but admire some of this extraordinary young lady's exploits. But,--the
woman who was conceded the face of an angel, the form of a Venus de
Milo; who was reported to have dressed as a jockey and ridden a horse
to victory in the Grand National Steeplechase; who, for a wager, had
flicked a coin from the fingers of a cavalry officer with a revolver at
twenty paces; lassooed a cigar from between the teeth of the Duke of
Kaslo and argued on the Budget with a Cabinet Minister, all in one
week; who could pray with the piety of a fasting monk; weep at will and
look bewitching in the process; faint to order with the grace, the
elegance and all the stage effect of an early Victorian Duchess: the
woman who was styled a golden-haired goddess by those on whom she
smiled and dubbed a saucy, red-haired minx by those whom she
spurned;--was too, too much of a conglomeration for such a humdrum
individual, such an ordinary, country-loving fellow as I,--George
Brammerton.
And now, poor old Hazelmere was undergoing a process of renovation such
as it had not experienced since the occasion of a Royal visit some
twenty years before: not a room in the house where one could feel
perfectly safe, save the library: washing, scrubbing, polishing and
oiling in anticipation of a rousing week-end House Party in honour of
this wonderful, chameleon-like, Lady Rosemary's first visit; when her
engagement with Harry would be formally announced to the inquisitive,
fashionable world of which she was a spoiled child.
Why all this fuss over a matter which concerned only two individuals, I
could not understand. Had I been going to marry the Lady
Rosemary,--which, Heaven forbid,--I should have whipped her quietly
away to some little, country parsonage, to the registrar of a small
country town; or to some village blacksmith, and so got the business
over, out of hand. But, of course, I had neither the inclination, nor
the intention, let alone the opportunity, of putting to the test what I
should do in regard to marrying her, nor were my tastes in any way akin
to those of my most elegant, elder brother, Viscount Harry, Captain of
the Guards,--egad,--for which two blessings I was indeed truly thankful.
As I was thus ruminating, the library door opened and my noble sire
came in, spick and span as he always was, and happier looking than
usual.
"'Morning, George," he greeted.
"Good morning, dad."
He rubbed his hands together.
"Gad, youngster! (I was twenty-four) everything is going like
clockwork. The house is all in order; supplies on hand to stock an
hotel; all London falling over itself in its eagerness to get here.
Harry will arrive this afternoon and Lady Rosemary to-morrow."
I raised my eyebrows, nodded disinterestedly and started in again to my
reading. Father walked the carpet excitedly, then he stopped and
looked down at me.
"You don't seem particularly enthusiastic over it, George. Nothing
ever does interest you but boxing bouts, wrestling matches, golf and
books. Why don't you brace up and get into the swim? Why don't you
take the place that belongs to you among the young fellows of your own
station?"
"God forbid!" I answered fervently.
"Not jealous of Harry, are you? Not smitten at the very sound of the
lady's name,--like the young bloods, and the old ones, too, in the
city?"
"God forbid!" I replied again.
"Hang it all, can't you say anything more than that?" he asked testily.
"Oh, yes! dad,--lots," I answered, closing my book and keeping my
finger at the place. "For one thing--I have never met this Lady
Rosemary Granton; never even seen her picture--and, to tell you the
truth, from what I have heard of her, I have no immediate desire to
make the lady's acquaintance."
There was silence for a moment, and from my father's heavy breathing I
could gather that his temper was ruffling.
"Look here, you young barbarian, you revolutionary,--what do you mean?
What makes you talk in that way of one of the best and sweetest young
ladies in the country? I won't have it from you, sir, _this_ Lady
Rosemary Granton, _this_ Lady indeed."
"Oh! you know quite well, dad, what I mean," I continued, a little
bored. "Harry is no angel, and I doubt not but Lady Rosemary is by far
too good for him. But,--you know,--you cannot fail to have heard the
stories that are flying over the country of her cantrips;--some of
them, well, not exactly pleasant. And, allowing fifty percent for
exaggeration, there is still a lot that would be none the worse of
considerable discounting to her advantage."
"Tuts, tush and nonsense! Foolish talk most of it! The kind of stuff
that is garbled and gossiped about every popular woman. The girl is
up-to-date, modern, none of your drawing-room dolls. I admit that she
has go in her, vim, animal spirits, youthful exuberance and all that.
She may love sport and athletics, but, but,--you, yourself, spend most
of your time in pursuit of these same amusements. Why not she?"
"Why! father, these are the points I admire in her,--the only ones, I
may say. But, oh! what's the good of going over it all? I know, you
know,--everybody knows;--her flirtations, her affairs; every rake in
London tries to boast of his acquaintance with her and bandies her name
over his brandy and soda, and winks."
"Look here, George," put in my father angrily, "you forget yourself.
These stories are lies, every one of them! Lady Rosemary is the
daughter of my dearest, my dead friend. Very soon, she will be your
sister."
"Yes! I know,--so let us not say any more about it. It is Harry and
she for it, and, if they are pleased and an old whim of yours
satisfied,--what matters it to an ordinary, easy-going, pipe-loving,
cold-blooded fellow like me?"
"Whim, did you say? Whim?" cried my father, flaring up and clenching
his hands excitedly. "Do you call the vow of a Brammerton a whim? The
pledged word of a Granton a whim? Whim, be damned."
For want of words to express himself, my father dropped into a chair
and drummed his agitated fingers on the arms of it.
I rose and went over to him, laying my hand lightly on his shoulder.
Poor old dad! I had not meant to hurt his feelings. After all, he was
the dearest of old-fashioned fellows and I loved his haughty,
mid-Victorian ways.
"There, there, father,--I did not mean to say anything that would give
offence. I take it all back. I am sorry,--indeed I am."
He looked up at me and his face brightened once more.
"'Gad, boy,--I'm glad to hear you say it. I know you did not mean
anything by your bruskness. You are an impetuous, headstrong young
devil though,--with a touch of your mother in you,--and, 'gad, if I
don't like you the more for it.
"But, but," he went on, looking in front of him, "you must remember
that although Granton and I were mere boys at the time our vow was
made,--he was a Granton and I a Brammerton, whose vows are made to
keep. It seems like yesterday, George; it was a few hours after he
saved my life in the fighting before Sevastopol. We were sitting by
the camp-fire. The chain-shot was still flying around. The cries of
the wounded were in our ears. The sentries were challenging
continually and drums were rolling in the distance.
"I clasped Fred's hand and I thanked him for what he had done for me
that day, right in the teeth of the Russian guns.
"'Freddy, old chap, you're a trump,' I said, 'and, if ever I be blessed
with an heir to Brammerton and Hazelmere, I would wish nothing better
than that he should marry a Granton.'
"'And nothing would please me so much, Harry, old boy,--as that a maid
of Granton should wed a Brammerton,' he answered earnestly.
"'Then it's a go,' said I, full of enthusiasm.
"'It's a go, Harry.'
"And we raised our winecups, such as they were.
"'Your daughter, Fred!'
"'Your heir, Harry!'
"'The future Earl and Countess of Brammerton and Hazelmere,' we chimed
together.
"Our winecups clinked and the bond was made;--made for all time,
George."
My father's eyes lit up and he seemed to be back in the Crimea. He
shook his head sadly.
"And now, poor old Fred is gone. Ah, well! our dream is coming true.
In a month, the maid of Granton weds the future Earl of Brammerton.
"'Gad, George, my boy,--Rosemary may be skittish and lively, but were
she the most mercurial woman in Christendom, she has never forgotten
that she is first of all a Granton, and, as a Granton, she has kept a
Granton's pledge."
For a moment I caught the contagion of my father's earnestness. My
eyes felt damp as I thought how important, after all, this union was to
him. But, even then, I could not resist a little more questioning.
"Does Harry love her, dad?"
"Love her!" He smiled. "Why! my boy, he's madly in love with her."
"Then, why doesn't he mend a bit? give over his mad chasing after,--to
put it mildly,--continual excitement; and demonstrate that he is
thoroughly in earnest. You know, falling madly in love is a habit of
Harry's."
"Don't you worry your serious head about that, George. You talk of
Harry as if he were a baby. You talk as if you were his grandfather,
instead of his younger brother and a mere boy."
"Does Lady Rosemary love Harry?" I asked, ignoring his admonition.
"Of course, she loves him. Why shouldn't she? He's a good fellow;
well bred and well made; he is a soldier; he is in the swim; he has
plenty to spend; he is the heir to Brammerton;--why shouldn't she love
him? She is going to marry him, isn't she? She may not be of the
gushing type, George, but she'll come to it all in good time. She will
grow to love him, as every good wife does her husband. So, don't let
that foolish head of yours give you any more trouble."
I turned to leave.
"George!"
"Yes, dad!"
"You will be on hand this week-end. I want you at home. I need you to
keep things going. No skipping off to sporting gatherings or athletic
conventions. I wish you to meet your future sister."
"Well,--I had not thought of that, dad. Big Jim Darrol, Tom Tanner and
I have entered for a number of events at the Gartnockan Games on
Saturday. I am also on the lists as a competitor for the Northern
Counties Golf Championship on Monday."
My father looked up at me in a strange way.
"However," I went on quickly, "much as I dislike the rush, the gush and
the clatter of house parties, I shall be on hand."
"Good! I knew you would, my boy," replied my father quietly. "Where
away now, lad?"
"Oh! down to the village to tell Jim and Tom not to count on me for
their week-end jaunt."