MR VILLIERS PAYS A VISIT
Slivers and his friend Villiers were by no means pleased with the
existing state of things. In sending Vandeloup to the Pactolus claim,
they had thought to compromise Madame Midas by placing her in the
society of a young and handsome man, and counting on one of two things
happening--either that Madame would fall in love with the attractive
Frenchman, and seek for a divorce in order to marry him--which divorce
Villiers would of course resist, unless she bribed him by giving him an
interest in the Pactolus--or that Villiers could assume an injured tone
and accuse Vandeloup of being his wife’s lover, and threaten to divorce
her unless she made him her partner in the claim. But they had both
reckoned wrongly, for neither of these things happened, as Madame was
not in love with Vandeloup, and acted with too much circumspection to
give any opportunity for scandal. Consequently, Slivers and Co., not
finding matters going to their satisfaction, met one day at the office
of the senior partner for the purpose of discussing the affair, and
seeing what could be done towards bringing Madame Midas to their way of
thinking.
Villiers was lounging in one of the chairs, dressed in a white linen
suit, and looked rather respectable, though his inflamed face and watery
eyes showed what a drunkard he was. He was sipping a glass of whisky
and water and smoking his pipe, while he watched Slivers stumping up and
down the office, swinging his cork arm vehemently to and fro as was his
custom when excited. Billy sat on the table and eyed his master with a
steady stare, or else hopped about among the papers talking to himself.
‘You thought you were going to do big things when you sent that
jackadandy out to the Pactolus,’ said Villiers, after a pause.
‘At any rate, I did something,’ snarled Slivers, in a rage, ‘which is
more than you did, you whisky barrel.’
‘Look here, don’t you call names,’ growled Mr Villiers, in a sulky tone.
‘I’m a gentleman, remember that.’
‘You were a gentleman, you mean,’ corrected the senior partner, with a
malignant glance of his one eye. ‘What are you now?’
‘A stockbroker,’ retorted the other, taking a sip of whisky.
‘And a damned poor one at that,’ replied the other, sitting on the edge
of the table, which position caused his wooden leg to stick straight
out, a result which he immediately utilized by pointing it threateningly
in the direction of Villiers.
‘Look here,’ said that gentleman, suddenly sitting up in his chair in a
defiant manner, ‘drop these personalities and come to business; what’s
to be done? Vandeloup is firmly established there, but there’s not the
slightest chance of my wife falling in love with him.’
‘Wait,’ said Slivers, stolidly wagging his wooden leg up and down;
‘wait, you blind fool, wait.’
‘Wait for the waggon!’ shrieked Billy, behind, and then supplemented
his remarks by adding, ‘Oh, my precious mother!’ as he climbed up on
Slivers’ shoulder.
‘You always say wait,’ growled Villiers, not paying any attention to
Billy’s interruption; ‘I tell you we can’t wait much longer; they’ll
drop on the Devil’s Lead shortly, and then we’ll be up a tree.’
‘Then, suppose you go out to the Pactolus and see your wife,’ suggested
Slivers.
‘No go,’ returned Villiers, gloomily, ‘she’d break my head.’
‘Bah! you ain’t afraid of a woman, are you?’ snarled Slivers, viciously.
‘No, but I am of McIntosh and the rest of them,’ retorted Villiers.
‘What can one man do against twenty of these devils. Why, they’d kill me
if I went out there; and that infernal wife of mine wouldn’t raise her
little finger to save me.’
‘You’re a devil!’ observed Billy, eyeing Villiers from his perch on
Slivers’ shoulder. ‘Oh, Lord! ha! ha! ha!’ going into fits of laughter;
then drawing himself suddenly up, he ejaculated ‘Pickles!’ and shut up.
‘It’s no good beating about the bush,’ said the wooden-legged man,
getting down from the table. ‘You go out near the claim, and see if you
can catch her; then give it to her hot.’
‘What am I to say?’ asked Villiers, helplessly.
Slivers looked at him with fiery scorn in his one eye.
‘Say!’ he shrieked, waving his cork arm, ‘talk about your darned honour!
Say she’s dragging your noble name through the mud, and say you’ll
divorce her if she don’t give you half a share in the Pactolus; that
will frighten her.’
‘Pickles!’ again ejaculated the parrot.
‘Oh, no, it won’t,’ said Villiers; ‘Brag’s a good dog, but he don’t
bite. I’ve tried that game on before, and it was no go.’
‘Then try it your own way,’ grumbled Slivers, sulkily, going to his seat
and pouring himself out some whisky. ‘I don’t care what you do, as long
as I get into the Pactolus, and once I’m in the devil himself won’t get
me out.’
Villiers thought a moment, then turned to go.
‘I’ll try,’ he said, as he went out of the door, ‘but it’s no go, I tell
you, she’s stone,’ and with a dismal nod he slouched away.
‘Stone, is she?’ cried the old man, pounding furiously on the floor with
his wooden leg, ‘then I’d smash her; I’d crush her; I’d grind her into
little bits, damn her,’ and overcome by his rage, Slivers shook Billy
off his shoulder and took a long drink.
Meanwhile Mr Villiers, dreading lest his courage should give way, went
to the nearest hotel and drank pretty freely so that he might bring
himself into an abnormal condition of bravery. Thus primed, he went
to the railway station, took the train to the Pactolus claim, and on
arriving at the end of his journey had one final glass of whisky to
steady his nerves.
The last straw, however, breaks the camel’s back, and this last drink
reduced Mr Villiers to that mixed state which is known in colonial
phrase as half-cocked. He lurched out of the hotel, and went in the
direction of the Pactolus claim. His only difficulty was that, as a
matter of fact, the solitary mound of white earth which marked the
entrance to the mine, suddenly appeared before his eyes in a double
condition, and he beheld two Pactolus claims, which curious optical
delusion rather confused him, inasmuch as he was undecided to which he
should go.
‘Itsh the drinksh,’ he said at length, stopping in the middle of the
white dusty road, and looking preternaturally solemn; ‘it maksh me see
double: if I see my wife, I’ll see two of her, then’--with a drunken
giggle--‘I’ll be a bigamist.’
This idea so tickled him, that he commenced to laugh, and, finding it
inconvenient to do so on his legs, he sat down to indulge his humour
freely. A laughing jackass perched on the fence at the side of the road
heard Mr Villiers’ hilarity, and, being of a convivial turn of mind
itself, went off into fits of laughter also. On hearing this echo Mr
Villiers tried to get up, in order to punish the man who mocked him,
but, though his intentions were good, his legs were unsteady, and after
one or two ineffectual attempts to rise he gave it up as a bad job. Then
rolling himself a little to one side of the dusty white road, he went
sound asleep, with his head resting on a tuft of green grass. In his
white linen suit he was hardly distinguishable in the fine white dust of
the road, and though the sun blazed hotly down on him and the mosquitos
stung him, yet he slept calmly on, and it was not till nearly four
o’clock in the afternoon that he woke up. He was more sober, but still
not quite steady, being in that disagreeable temper to which some men
are subject when suffering a recovery. Rising to his feet, with a hearty
curse, he picked up his hat and put it on; then, thrusting his hands
into his pockets, he slouched slowly along, bent upon meeting his wife
and picking a quarrel with her.
Unluckily for Madame Midas, she had that day been to Ballarat, and was
just returning. She had gone by train, and was now leaving the station
and walking home to the Pactolus along the road. Being absorbed in
thought, she did not notice the dusty figure in front of her, otherwise
she would have been sure to have recognised her husband, and would have
given him a wide berth by crossing the fields instead of going by the
road. Mr Villiers, therefore, tramped steadily on towards the Pactolus,
and his wife tramped steadily after him, until at last, at the turn of
the road where it entered her property, she overtook him.
A shudder of disgust passed through her frame as she raised her eyes and
saw him, and she made a sudden gesture as though to fall behind and
thus avoid him. It was, however, too late, for Mr Villiers, hearing
footsteps, turned suddenly and saw the woman he had come to see standing
in the middle of the road.
Husband and wife stood gazing at one another for a few moments in
silence, she looking at him with an expression of intense loathing on
her fine face, and he vainly trying to assume a dignified carriage--a
task which his late fit of drunkenness rendered difficult.
At last, his wife, drawing her dress together as though his touch would
have contaminated her, tried to pass, but on seeing this he sprang
forward, before she could change her position, and caught her wrist.
‘Not yet!’ he hissed through his clenched teeth; ‘first you must have a
word with me.’
Madame Midas looked around for aid, but no one was in sight. They were
some distance from the Pactolus, and the heat of the afternoon being
intense, every one was inside. At last Madame saw some man moving
towards them, down the long road which led to the station, and knowing
that Vandeloup had been into town, she prayed in her heart that it might
be he, and so prepared to parley with her husband till he should come
up. Having taken this resolution, she suddenly threw off Villiers’
grasp, and turned towards him with a superb gesture of scorn.
‘What do you want?’ she asked in a low, clear voice, but in a tone of
concentrated passion.
‘Money!’ growled Villiers, insolently planting himself directly in front
of her, ‘and I’m going to have it.’
‘Money!’ she echoed, in a tone of bitter irony; ‘have you not had enough
yet? Have you not squandered every penny I had from my father in your
profligacy and evil companions? What more do you want?’
‘A share in the Pactolus,’ he said, sullenly.
His wife laughed scornfully. ‘A share in the Pactolus!’ she echoed, with
bitter sarcasm, ‘A modest request truly. After squandering my fortune,
dragging me through the mire, and treating me like a slave, this man
expects to be rewarded. Listen to me, Randolph Villiers,’ she said,
fiercely, stepping up to him and seizing his hand, ‘this land we now
stand on is mine--the gold underneath is mine; and if you were to go
on your knees to me and beg for a morsel of bread to save you from
starving, I would not lift one finger to succour you.’
Villiers writhed like a snake under her bitter scorn.
‘I understand,’ he said, in a taunting tone; ‘you want it for your
lover.’
‘My lover? What do you mean?’
‘What I say,’ he retorted boldly, ‘all Ballarat knows the position that
young Frenchman holds in the Pactolus claim.’
Mrs Villiers felt herself grow faint--the accusation was so horrible.
This man, who had embittered her life from the time she married him,
was still her evil genius, and was trying to ruin her in the eyes of the
world. The man she had seen on the road was now nearly up to them, and
with a revulsion of feeling she saw that it was Vandeloup. Recovering
herself with an effort, she turned and faced him steadily.
‘You lied when you spoke just now,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘I will
not lower myself to reply to your accusation; but, as there is a God
above us, if you dare to cross my path again, I will kill you.’
She looked so terrible when she said this that Villiers involuntarily
drew back, but recovering himself in a moment, he sprang forward and
caught her arm.
‘You devil! I’ll make you pay for this,’ and he twisted her arm till
she thought it was broken. ‘You’ll kill me, will you?--you!--you!’ he
shrieked, still twisting her arm and causing her intense pain, ‘you
viper!’
Suddenly, when Madame was almost fainting with pain, she heard a shout,
and knew that Vandeloup had come to the rescue. He had recognised Madame
Midas down the road, and saw that her companion was threatening her; so
he made all possible speed, and arrived just in time.
Madame turned round to see Vandeloup throw her husband into a ditch by
the side of the road, and walk towards her. He was not at all excited,
but seemed as cool and calm as if he had just been shaking hands with Mr
Villiers instead of treating him violently.
‘You had better go home, Madame,’ he said, in his usual cool voice, ‘and
leave me to deal with this--gentleman; you are not hurt?’
‘Only my arm,’ replied Mrs Villiers, in a faint voice; ‘he nearly broke
it. But I can walk home alone.’
‘If you can, do so,’ said Vandeloup, with a doubtful look at her. ‘I
will send him away.’
‘Don’t let him hurt you.’
‘I don’t think there’s much danger,’ replied the young man, with a
glance at his arms, ‘I’m stronger than I look.’
‘Thank you, Monsieur,’ said Madame Midas, giving him her hand; ‘you have
rendered me a great service, and one I will not forget.’
He bent down and kissed her hand, which action was seen by Mr Villiers
as he crawled out of the ditch. When Madame Midas was gone and Vandeloup
could see her walking homeward, he turned to look for Mr Villiers, and
found him seated on the edge of the ditch, all covered with mud and
streaming with water--presenting a most pitiable appearance. He regarded
M. Vandeloup in a most malignant manner, which, however, had no effect
on that young gentleman, who produced a cigarette, and having lighted it
proceeded to talk.
‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you one,’ said Gaston, affably, ‘but I hardly
think you would enjoy it in your present damp condition. If I might
be permitted to suggest anything,’ with a polite smile, ‘a bath and a
change of clothes would be most suitable to you, and you will find
both at Ballarat. I also think,’ said Vandeloup, with an air of one who
thinks deeply, ‘that if you hurry you will catch the next train, which
will save you a rather long walk.’
Mr Villiers glared at his tormentor in speechless anger, and tried to
look dignified, but, covered as he was with mud, his effort was not
successful.
‘Do you know who I am?’ he said at length, in a blustering manner.
‘Under some circumstances,’ said M. Vandeloup, in a smooth voice, ‘I
should have taken you for a mud bank, but as you both speak and smile
I presume you are a man of the lowest type; as you English yourselves
say--a blackguard.’
‘I’ll smash you!’ growled Villiers, stepping forward.
‘I wouldn’t try if I were you,’ retorted Vandeloup, with a disparaging
glance. ‘I am young and strong, almost a total abstainer; you, on the
contrary, are old and flabby, with the shaking nerves of an incurable
drunkard. No, it would be hardly fair for me to touch you.’
‘You dare not lay a finger on me,’ said Villiers, defiantly.
‘Quite right,’ replied Vandeloup, lighting another cigarette, ‘you’re
rather too dirty for close companionship. I really think you’d better
go; Monsieur Sleeves no doubt expects you.’
‘And this is the man that I obtained work for,’ said Mr Villiers,
addressing the air.
‘It’s a very ungrateful world,’ said Vandeloup, calmly, with a shrug of
his shoulders; ‘I never expect anything from it; I’m sorry if you do,
for you are sure to be disappointed.’
Villiers, finding he could make nothing out of the imperturbable
coolness of the young Frenchman, turned to go, but as he went, said
spitefully--
‘You can tell my wife I’ll pay her for this.’
‘Accounts are paid on Saturdays,’ called out M. Vandeloup, gaily; ‘if
you call I will give you a receipt of the same kind as you had to-day.’
Villiers made no response, as he was already out of hearing, and went on
his way to the station with mud on his clothes and rage in his heart.
Vandeloup looked after him for a few minutes with a queer smile on his
lips, then turned on his heel and walked home, humming a song.