THE LAST WORD GOES BEGGING
Sir Richard Wynyard, aged fifty-six, was a little, grey,
square-shouldered man, with a good heart and bad temper. His father,
the notorious Sir Fulke, had put his two sons into the army, given
them small and irregularly paid allowances, and then abandoned them
to their own devices, whilst he squandered the family patrimony on
horses and cards. When Richard, his heir, was quartered in Dublin, he
fell desperately in love with a beautiful Irish girl; but, painfully
aware of his own empty purse, he was too prudent to marry--unlike his
reckless younger brother, who adventured a runaway match on a captain’s
pay and debts. Major Wynyard made no sign, much as this silence cost
him, and when, after his father’s death, he had at last a roof to
offer--Wynyard, a stately old place, although somewhat dismantled--he
sought his lady-love in haste, but, alas! he was months too late; she
had already been summoned to another home,--the beautiful Rose O’Hara,
his heart’s desire, was dead.
This was said to have been Sir Richard’s sole love-affair, and the
one grief of his life. The late baronet’s reckless extravagance had
shattered the fortunes of his descendants; his heir found himself
compelled to let the land, close the Hall, sell off the horses, and
take up his abode with his mother in the town house in Queen’s Gate;
where he lived and how, was indifferent to him, he seemed to have no
heart for anything. This was attributed to his supreme disgust at
inheriting such a legacy of debt; but the real truth was that the loss
of the beautiful Rose had temporarily stunned her lover.
Lady Wynyard, once a celebrated beauty, was now a weak and withered old
dowager, tyrannically ruled by her servants. When she, too, was carried
to the ancestral vault, her son still remained in the gloomy family
abode, and, more from apathy than anything else, fell under the thrall
of her retainers.
Between his father’s and his mother’s debts, Sir Richard found himself
sorely pressed, and he took Martin Kesters, his schoolfellow and
friend, into his confidence.
“I shall be a crippled man all my life,” he declared; “it will take
years to nurse the property into anything like what it was in my
grandfather’s day; and, by that time, that young chap, Owen, will step
into my shoes.”
“Well, Dick, if you don’t mind a bit of risk,” said his companion, “I
know a thing that will set you on your legs and make your fortune;
but it’s not absolutely certain. Still, if it comes off, you get five
hundred per cent. for your money, and become a semi-millionaire. It’s
an Australian gold-mine, and I believe it’s going to boom!”
“Anything is better than this half-and-half existence,” said Sir
Richard impatiently. “You have a long head, Martin, and I’ll take your
tip and put on all I can scrape. I’ll mortgage some outlying land, sell
some of the good pictures and the library, and be either a man or a
mouse. For once in my life I’ll do a big gamble. If I win, you say it’s
a big thing; if I lose, it means a few hundreds a year and a bedroom
near my club for the rest of my days. I take no middle course--I’ll be
a rich man or a pauper.”
And Sir Richard was as good as his word; he scraped up fifteen thousand
pounds, staked the whole sum on his venture--and won.
Subsequently, he cleared the property, invested in some securities,
began to feel at ease in the world, and travelled widely. Having
known the pinch and humiliation of genteel poverty and practised
stern self-denial in his youth, Sir Richard was naturally the
last man to have any sympathy with a nephew--a restless, reckless
scatter-brain--who was following in the footsteps of his squandering
forefathers. The good-looking young scapegrace must have a sharp
lesson, and learn the value of money and independence.
Lady Kesters’ promised interview with her uncle took place. He was fond
of Leila in his own brusque fashion, and secretly plumed himself on
having manœuvred her marriage.
“Well, Leila, I suppose you have come about this precious brother of
yours?” he began, as she was ushered into the smoking-room.
“Of course I have, Uncle Dick,” she replied, as she imprinted a kiss
upon his cheek and swept into a chair. “Something must be done!” and
she looked at him with speculative eagerness.
“There I agree with you,” he answered. “And Owen is the man to do it.
God helps those who help themselves!”
“Owen is most anxious to make another start; but it is not easy for a
soldier man, brought up as he has been.”
“Brought up as a rich man’s heir,” broke in her uncle, with a quick,
impatient movement; “more fool the rich man! I gave the fellow a good
education, good allowance, good send-off. I got him into his father’s
old regiment, and made him a decent allowance; he did fairly well in
India, I admit; but as soon as he came home to the depôt, he seemed
to have lost his head. Why, I believe the young scamp actually kept
racers, and as for his hunters, I never saw finer cattle in my life!
One day, when I happened to run down to Canterbury to visit him, I
noticed a servant exercising a couple of horses--such a pair! I was
bound to stop and admire them, and the groom informed me that they
belonged to Lieutenant Wynyard of the Red Hussars; and Mr. Wynyard’s
uncle hadn’t as much as a donkey to his name!”
“But could have thousands if he chose,” interposed Leila. “As for
racing, it was only his hunters Owen put into regimental steeplechases
and that sort of thing.”
“And that sort of thing came devilish expensive!” snapped Sir Richard,
who was now pacing the room. “I had to pay his debts. I paid them
_twice_, and he promised on his word of honour to turn over a new
leaf. The next thing he did was to back a bill for an infernal young
swindler, and let me in for two thousand pounds--that was the last
straw!”
“Yes, I know it was,” assented his niece; “but really, Uncle Dick,
Owen was not so much to blame as you believe. He was very steady out
in India for four years; coming home, as you say, went to his head; he
did not realise that money does not go nearly as far here--especially
in an expensive cavalry regiment. He kept polo ponies and racing ponies
in Lucknow, and could not understand that he could not do the same
at home. As to the bill, he is not suspicious, or sharp at reading
character, and is staunch to old friends--or those he mistakes for
friends--as in the case of young de Montfort. He had never heard what a
‘wrong un’ he turned out; they were at Eton----”
“Yes, I know--same house--same puppy-hole!” growled her uncle.
“And when Mr. de Montfort looked up Owen and told him a pathetic and
plausible tale about his affairs, and swore on his word of honour that
his signature was a mere formality--and----”
“Cleared off to Spain and left _me_ to pay!” interposed Sir Richard,
coming to a halt.
“Owen had to pay too,” retorted his sister, with a touch of bitterness.
“You mean that I made him leave the Service? Yes, I could not afford to
go on supporting an extravagant young ass.”
“Owen is not brilliant, Uncle Dick, but he is no fool.”
“A fool and another man’s money are soon parted. Life was made too easy
for the chap--very different to what _I_ found it at his age. I had no
hunters, no dozens of silk shirts, and rows of polo boots; _I_ never
was to be met lounging down Piccadilly as if the whole earth belonged
to me.”
“Well, at least, Uncle Dick, you were never compelled to give up a
profession you adored, when you were barely five-and-twenty.”
“I’ve given up a lot,” he answered forcibly, “and when I was older
than him; but never mind _me_; we are talking of Owen. After leaving
the Hussars, Kesters took him on, and got him a capital billet in the
City--a nice soft berth, ten to four, but my gentleman could not stand
an office stool and tall hat, and in five months he had chucked----”
Leila nodded. It was impossible to deny this indictment.
“So then it was my turn again; and I thought a little touch of real
work would be good for the future Sir Owen Wynyard, and, after some
trouble, I heard of a likely opening in the Argentine on the Valencia
Estancia, well out of the way of towns and temptation--a horse-breeding
ranch, too. You see I studied the fellow’s tastes, eh?” And Sir Richard
twirled his eyeglasses by the string--a trick of his when he considered
that he had scored a point.
“I gave him his passage and outfit, and put a few hundreds into the
concern as a spec. and to insure him an interest, and within twelve
months here he is back again on my hands--the proverbial rolling
stone!” He cleared his throat, and continued: “Now, Leila, my girl, you
have a head on your shoulders, and you know that these rolling stones
find their way to the bottom, and I am going to block my specimen in
good time. I suppose he told you what I said to him yesterday?”
“Yes; he came straight to Mount Street from seeing you.”
“He has got to shift for himself for two years, to earn his bread,
with or without butter, to guarantee that he does not take a penny
he has not worked for, that he does not get into debt or any
matrimonial engagement; should he marry a chorus-girl, by Jove I’ll
burn down Wynyard! If, by the end of that time, he turns up a steady,
industrious, independent member of society, I will make him my
agent--he shall have an adequate allowance, the house to live in, and
most of my money when I am dead!”
Lady Kesters was about to speak, but with a hasty gesture her uncle
interposed.
“I may as well add that I think myself safe in offering this prize, for
it’s my belief that Owen will never win it. He has the family fever in
his veins--the rage for gambling--and he is like the patriarch Reuben,
‘unstable as water and cannot excel.’ At the end of six months he will
be penniless, and you and Kesters will have to come to his rescue; for
my part _I_ wash my hands of him.”
“Uncle Dick,” she said, rising, “I think you are too hard on Owen;
he would not have come back from South America if he had not had a
row with the manager of the Estancia: surely you could not expect an
English gentleman--an Englishman--to stand by and see a poor woman
nearly beaten to death?”
“Oh,” with an impatient whirl of his glasses, “the fellow has always as
many excuses as an Irishman!”
“I think you are unjust,” she said, with a flash in her dark eyes.
“I admit that Owen has been extravagant and foolish, but he was not
worse, or half as bad, as many young men in his position. Are you quite
determined? Won’t you give Owen another chance--or even half a chance?”
“No; his future is now in his own hands, and I stick to what I’ve
said,” he declared, with irritable vehemence. “You came here, my
clever Leila, to talk me over. Oh, you are good at that, but it’s no
go this time! I am honestly giving the boy his only remedy. Let me
see,” sitting down at his bureau, “what is the date? Yes--look here--I
make an entry. I give Owen two years from to-day to work out his
time--to-day is the thirty-first of March.”
“But why not wait until to-morrow, and make it the first of April?”
suggested his niece, with a significant and seductive smile.
“Leila,” he spluttered, “I’m astonished at you! You jeer at me because
I’m not disposed to keep your beloved brother as an ‘_objêt de luxe_,’
eh?”
“I don’t jeer, Uncle Dick, and I am sorry my tongue was too many for
me; but I can see both sides of the question, and it _is_ hard that,
after indulging Owen as a boy, sending him to Eton, putting him into
the Hussars, and letting him become accustomed to the Service, sport,
and society, you suddenly pull up and throw him out in the world to
sink or swim. What can he do?”
“That is for him to find out, and, since he wouldn’t pull up, I must.”
“Listen to me,” she said, rising and coming closer to him; “supposing
Owen were to give you a promise in writing that he would stick steadily
to one situation for two years, what would you say then?”
“I’d say that the promise would not be worth the paper it was written
on!” he answered, with gruff emphasis. “Give _me_ deeds, not documents.”
“Oh, so that is your opinion and your last word?”
“It’s my opinion--yes--but as to the last word, of course it’s _your_
perquisite!” and he chuckled complacently.
Lady Kesters stood for a moment looking steadily at her uncle, and he
as steadily at her. Then she slowly crossed the room and touched a bell
to summon a footman, who presently ushered her out of the house.