A LITTLE COMB-CUTTING
By his accent of defiance, the Scot evidently considered that he had
made a personal point here, but the Old Castilian gravely passed the
insult over.
"Will the Senor state his case?" he said, bowing to the young man.
"I came to this venta, the proprietor of which, and all his relations,
may God confound for liars and thieves! When I entered I paid for one
week's good straw and barley in coined silver of Mexico. The unshorn
villain stole the feed from under my horse's nose so soon as my back was
turned, and then to-night, upon my complaining, set his rascal scullions
on to vilify my country, or at least a country which, if not mine, is
yet no concern of his or theirs. Whereupon I tendered to all the cleaner
of them my cartel, offering to fight them with any weapon they might
name, and in any place, for the honour of Scotland and the Presbyterian
religion!"
Though he had never heard of either of these last, the grey-bearded
umpire gravely wagged his head at the statement of the Scot, nodded in
acknowledgment, and turned with equal gravity and distinction to the
Gallegan as the representative of the opposite faction. He motioned him
to proceed.
"This man," said the Galician, speaking in the harsh stuttering whisper
affected by these Iberian hewers of wood and drawers of water, "this man
for these ten days past hath given all in the _Venta_ bad money and
worse talk. To-day he would have cheated _Dueno_, and we, like true men,
took up the cudgels for the good patron."
"Hear the bog-trotting cowards lie!" cried the Scot, fiercely. "Save for
the barley, I paid no money, good or bad. All I had remains here in my
belt. If I gave bad money, let him produce it. And, save in the matter
of his beast's provend, who gives money at the entering in of a hotel?"
"Least of all a Scot," put in the Englishman, who had been following
with some difficulty the wordy warfare.
"Then because he would not exchange good money for the bad, and because
of his words, which carried stings, we challenged him to fight, and he
fought. That, worthy Senor, is the beginning of the matter, and the
end."
"Sir," said the Scot to the Old Castilian, "there was no question of
money. None brought my reckoning to me----"
"No," sighed the landlord, from beyond the bottle-encumbered counter
where he had taken refuge, "because he threatened to let daylight into
the vitals of the man who carried it to him."
"But as to the insults to his country?" asked the old Castilian, "you
ought to have borne in mind that for that cause will a man fight quicker
than for his sweetheart."
"So it is, Senor, we deny it not," answered the Gallegan; "yet this
fellow, after abusing the English and their land till there were no more
ill words in the language, turned upon us because we chanced to agree
with him, outs with his pocket-book and deals round what he calls
'cartels of defiance' as if he dealt a hand at ombre. Then, after some
give and take of ill words, as your honour knows the custom is, he pulls
his blade upon us, and makes play as you saw. We are poor fellows, and
know no more than how to defend ourselves. And if we fight, our custom
is to do it with a couple of Albacete knives before half the town, and
be done with it. But this stranger was all for duels, and seconds, and
codes of honour, after the mode of Paris."
"And a very excellent thing too, sir," said the Old Castilian, smiling
at the Scot, "but in their due place, and their place is hardly in the
kitchen of the venta of San Vicencio. Listen to me. My finding is this.
You will all shake hands, after an apology given and received in the
matter of the stranger's country, and since he has paid no reckoning
these ten days according to his own statement, the which I believe, he
shall defray his count so soon as it shall be presented to him by the
host. Are you agreed?"
"Agreed!" said the Gallegan, holding out his hand to the Scot, "and I
regret, on behalf of myself and my companions, that we ever said aught
to the discredit of England, the very distinguished country of which the
Senor stranger is a native."
The Scot shrugged his shoulders in the French manner, but nevertheless
held out his hand with some show of heartiness.
"I am no citizen of England, thank God," he said, "I own no such
pock-pudding land, but it will be a heavy day when Rollo Blair of Castle
Blair, in the good shire of Fife, sits still with his hands in his
pockets and hears a garlic-eating Frenchman abuse the English, with
whom his forbears fought so many good fights."
"I thank you on behalf of my country for your championship, such as it
is," said the stout Englishman, smiling; "things that cut and thrust or
go off with a bang, are not in my way. But if my knuckles are any good
against the bridge of a man's nose, they shall henceforth be at your
country's service. For the rest, bills of lading and exchanges at thirty
days are more in my line."
"Ah," said the young Scot, twirling an almost invisible moustache,
"commerce I know little of. I was bred to the profession of arms. My
good father taught me the sword and the pistol, according to the
practice of the best modern schools. Sergeant McPherson, his orderly,
gave me instruction in the sabre and bayonet. I was intended for a
commission in the 77th, my father's old regiment, when a pecuniary loss,
the result of an unfortunate speculation, broke my poor father's heart
and sent me out to seek my fortune with no more than Robin Fleeming's
sword and my right arm."
"Poor capital to start on," said the Englishman, in his bluff manner, as
he examined the article in question; "now you do not happen to write a
good round hand, do you?"
The Scot started and laid his hand on his sword hilt.
"Sir," he cried, "your avocations do not permit you to understand how
great an insult you offer to a gentleman!"
"Oh," said the other, "I don't know at all that you would have suited.
Our manager down at Barcelona is a very particular man; but then I would
have said a good word for you, and being the owner's son----"
"Say no more of the matter, I beg of you," said the Scot, haughtily. "I
have not yet been reduced to the necessity of choosing a mercantile
career."
"And that is a most fortunate thing for you," quoth the Englishman, with
the utmost gravity.
"Eh?" said the Scot, somewhat surprised, and, being occupied with his
own thoughts and with keeping an eye on the door, not exactly taking the
Englishman's meaning, "Oh, you were speaking of a mercantile career.
Yes, I am indeed fortunate in that my lines have been cast in pleasanter
places than before a ream of foolscap on a desk."
"It pays well, though," said the other placidly.
"For me, I care nothing for money," said Rollo Blair. "Eh! what is
this?"
He wheeled round quickly in response to a tap upon his arm, and the
Englishman, looking at him keenly (though apparently intently regarding
the opposite wall), saw him turn visibly paler.
The landlord was at Master Rollo Blair's elbow with the reckoning
written out upon a long sheet of paper. A couple of serving men, who
were probably privy to the extravagant total, stood sniggering and
whispering in a neighbouring archway. The Gallegan and his companions
sat crossing their legs and gossiping watchfully, darting inquisitive
glances under their brows at their late adversary, to see how he would
bear himself. Only that noble gentleman, the Old Castilian, sipped his
chocolate unmoved, and, with the perfection of good manners, stared at
the fire.
From red to white, and from white back again to a kind of greenish
paleness, went and came the hues of the young man's complexion. The son
of the house of Blair of Blair was manifestly unhappy. He put his hand
in one pocket. He clapped another. His purse was not in either.
"Perchance 'tis in your honour's equipage," suggested the landlord
wickedly; "shall I call your body-servant to bring it?"
It was a face of bitter chagrin that Rollo Blair of Blair lifted to the
Englishman who had meantime never ceased from his study of a fly upon
the wall. He beckoned him a little apart with a look of inimitable
chagrin.
"Sir," he said, "will you buy from me a silver-hilted sword. It was my
grandfather's, and he fought well with it at Killiecrankie. It is the
sole article of value I possess----"
Here a kind of a sob came into his voice. "God knows, I would rather
sell my right hand!" he said brusquely.
"How came you to run up such a bill, having no effects?" said the
Englishman, looking at him coolly, and taking no notice of the young
man's offer of his weapon, which he continued to hold by the scabbard.
"I can hardly tell," said the Scot, hanging his head, "but only two
nights ago there was a young French lord here who out-faced me first at
the cards and then at the drinking of wine. So I was compelled to order
in more and better to be upsides with him!"
"There is no meaner ambition, especially on an empty purse," said the
Englishman, not moving from the angle of wall upon which he leaned.
"Curse me that ever I troubled myself to appeal to a cold-livered
Englishman!" cried the young man, "I will go to the Castilian over
yonder. He looks as if he might have the bowels of a man. At least he
will not palm off a gentleman in distress with moral precepts culled
from last week's sermon!"
The Englishman leaped forward and clapped the hot-headed Scot on the
shoulder. With the other hand he drew a well-filled wallet, with a
mercantile calendar slipped into the band, from his pocket.
"There," he said, heartily, "let me be your banker. 'Tis worth a score
of reckonings to hear a Scotsman speak disrespectfully of sermons. My
name is John Mortimer----"
"Of the Mortimers of Plas Gwynedd in Caernarvonshire? Why, my
grandmother was of that----" Rollo Blair was beginning a genealogical
disquisition with great eagerness when the Englishman stopped him.
"No," he said, "at least not that I know of. My father made mouse-traps
before he took to cotton-spinning, and I never so much as heard whether
I had any grandfather. I am plain John Mortimer of Chorley at your
service. I think you are an honest lad, sorely led astray by whimsies in
the brain, but you are honest, and in a far land. You are welcome to my
purse and, credit to any reasonable amount which will put you in the way
of repaying your obligation, as I am sure you desire to do."
"I shall not sleep sound at night till I do," returned the youth,
firmly. "But first I desire to inform you that I have had an ill opinion
of your nation--an opinion to which, in spite of your great personal
kindness and the obligation under which you place me, I am bound to
adhere."
The Englishman nodded carelessly.
"There speaks an honest man, but also a foolish one!" said Mortimer,
shaking his head; "you should try the foreign wine trade for a year or
two. It is wonderfully curbing to a man's vocabulary!"
The Scot stood a moment at gaze, manifestly debating with himself.
"And you will not accept of my sword?" he said. "I assure you it is
worth enough to discharge my small liabilities twice over."
"Swords are not legal tender in the wine business," said the other,
smiling, "nor yet when I go home with a knowledge of languages to help
sell my father's grey cloth! You are as welcome as my brother to the
loan," he added, "and I promise you I will accept repayment as gladly
from you as from him."
"You make the matter easier indeed," said Rollo Blair, recovering his
spirits with a bound. "Here, landlord, can you change this gold ounce,
or is the matter too great a one for your petty venta?"
The young men had been standing a little back, in the shadow of one of
the arches, in which were empty mangers and the rings of head-stalls, so
that the patron could not observe the passing of the Englishman's purse
from hand to hand.
"Your servant, Senor!" said the innkeeper, no Spaniard, but a French Jew
of Roussillon, "what can I have the honour of ordering for your
excellencies' supper?"
"Order yourself out of my sight!" cried the Scot imperiously. "We are
going up to the monastery to dine with my uncle the Abbot!"
The patron of the venta fell back a couple of steps, and the two serving
men ceased to grin and instead bowed most obsequiously.
"He is a nephew of the Abbot, perhaps (who knows) his son! There will be
fine doings out of this night's work, if he tells Don Baltasar all, as
he doubtless will."
This was the whispered comment of one servitor in the ear of his master.
Said the other--
"Speak him fair, patron, for the love of God! For if the monks are
adverse, we are sped. Our pipe is as good as out. And perchance a yet
worse thing may happen!"
And he leaned over till his lips almost touched mine host's ear.
"My God!" gasped the latter, "what a country! Would that I were safe
back again in mine own house with green blinds in Roussillon!"
The Englishman and the Scot were now walking amicably arm in arm to and
fro in front of the inn. The Scot had quite recovered his military
demeanour, and again twirled his moustache with an air. The
silver-hilted sword shone no brighter on the morn of Killiecrankie. The
unused spurs tinkled melodiously.
The landlord stood with his hands deferentially folded. The young men
took not the faintest notice of him, but continued to pace slowly to and
fro.
Mine host of the venta of Montblanch cleared his throat. The Scot cast a
single scornful glance at him, which he caught as a dog catches a bone.
"My most noble lords," he said, "I trust that the unfortunate occurrence
of this evening will not prevent this house from having your honours'
custom in the future, and that you too will say no word of all this to
the most reverend Abbot Don Baltasar!"
"Make yourself easy on that score," said the Scot; "as soon as we are
round the corner we will forget that such a refuge for fleabitten
knaves anywhere exists out of Pandemonium!"
Lower still bowed the obsequious patron, for this was his idea of the
way a gentleman should speak to an innkeeper. Abuse showed his quality.
"Shall I order a carriage to convey your honours up to the Abbey?" said
the landlord, preparing to take his leave. "I know a patron, who has a
coach-and-six!"
"We will walk on our feet," replied the Scot, no whit abashed, "ah--in
pursuance of a vow made at Salamanca!"
The landlord withdrew, making an obeisance that was almost an oriental
salaam.
"But is the Abbot really your uncle?" inquired the Englishman, as they
set out.
"As much as you are," said the Scot, "but all the same we shall dine
with him, or my name is not Rollo Blair of Blair Castle in the shire of
Fife!"
"The Lord send it," said the Englishman devoutly; "perhaps in that case
he will part with his Priorato wine a farthing the gallon cheaper!"