Before a house in Cambridge Terrace a hansom draws up with that series
of jerks peculiar to its kind, and discharges its freight--a man, a dog
and a portmanteau, and while the first is making enquiries as to the
occupant being within, the second is scampering up and down the footway
as hard as he can pelt, for he has been pent up on shipboard and in
trains for many a weary day, and now such an opportunity of stretching
his legs is in no wise to be neglected.
"Not in?" the traveller is saying in reply to the servant who opens the
door. "But he isn't out of town?"
"Oh no, sir. Mr Venn's generally home before this. He may be in any
minute now."
"All right. I'll wait for him. Here, cabman, lay hold of the other
end," and between them they deposit the portmanteau, a battered and
weatherworn campaigner, safe inside the hall door, and cabby, having
received more than double his fare, retires well satisfied and mumbling
gleefully, "Military gent 'ome from Hingia. Two bob and a 'arf crown
from Euston. Yee-epp?"
"Just my luck," muses the traveller with vexation in his face, as he
gazes round upon his friend's sitting-room, a typical bachelor den in
all its pipe-and-book-and-stick-bestrewn untidiness. "Just my luck to
come back to this cursed town to find the only man I know and could
reckon on not at home--possibly out for the evening, and not a soul to
speak to in the meanwhile."
Here a scuffle and a vigorous whine outside the front door cuts short
his ruminations. Quickly he opens it.
"Roy, you rascal, come in, sir. Humbugging after cats as usual?" This
address, though irate in wording, is affectionate in tone, as the
beautiful animal bounds past the instant the door is open, and draws up
in the absent Venn's room, wagging his bushy tail and looking perfectly
satisfied with himself. His glossy red-brown coat breaks off at the
neck in a white curling ruff which continues down his broad chest, whose
normal snowiness is now grimy with railway travel. The soft brown eyes,
set in dark circles, and the smooth velvety ears, betray his collie
origin, ennobled and broadened as this is by the sturdier proportions
engrafted upon it by the admixture of a larger and sterner race--
peradventure of the real Newfoundland or Saint Bernard blood. After a
few preliminary sniffs round the room the animal settles himself cosily
on the rug, his soft, upturned eyes fixed affectionately upon his
master. So much for the dog, and what of the man?
A tall and well-proportioned frame, which shows to advantage in its
travel-worn suit of light tweed. A finely shaped head, carried high and
erect and covered with dark clustering hair. A well-cut profile and
regular features in which is an expression of quick readiness, render
the face a striking and remarkable one, tanned as it is too by exposure
to sun and weather. The eyes are very uncommon, and not at all in
keeping with the dark complexion, being in fact violet blue; and there
is that in their expression which, together with certain lines on the
forehead, would to a physiognomist betray a stormy and unsettled spirit.
There is impatience in the gesture as he stands stroking his drooping
moustache while gazing out into the rapidly darkening street. Suddenly
Roy, raising his head, emits a threatening growl as a latch-key is
turned in the front door. Then in a couple of strides a
broad-shouldered, cheery looking fellow bursts into the room--
"Hallo!" is the startled greeting of the new-comer, pulling up short and
wondering who the deuce was the intruder whose dog lay growling at him
in right threatening fashion from his own hearth.
"All right, Venn. He won't eat you," is the stranger's reply. "But
don't you know me?"
"Hanged if I do! No--yes--I do though. Why, Roland Dorrien, where on
earth have you dropped from now?"
"`The clouds' you were going to say. No. The Rockies--game thing.
Plenty of cloud, literal and metaphorical, besets the way of those whose
lives are cast yonder."
"By Jingo!" cried the other, passing his hand over his fair, closely
cropped beard. "Why didn't you say you were coming back? And did you
get this splendid chap out West?"
For Roy, having sniffed the new-comer and pronounced him satisfactory,
was now looking up gravely into that worthy's face and wagging his brush
as if desirous of an introduction.
"Yes. Traded him from an Indian who was battering him up a good bit
with a rail because he didn't take kindly to dragging a sledge. And
ever since he has stuck to me very much closer than a brother. But
then, you see he's only a dog, not a human, which explains it."
"Well, you'd better shake down here," said Venn. "That is, if Mrs
Symes has a room. I'll ring and ask."
Mrs Symes had a room, and the traveller shook down accordingly.
"I suppose you've been having a rare good time of it out West," began
Venn as later in the evening they sat over their cigars. "Shooting
grizzlies and Indians, and chevying buffaloes, while a poor stockbroking
devil like myself has been tied by the leg to this well-worn spot. Why
it doesn't seem eight years since I saw you off that jolly fine morning
in search of fortune. And you're twice the man you were then. No
wonder I didn't know you at first."
"It is eight years though, rather over than under. As for having a good
time of it, `Least said, etc.' That is until the good old Squire's
bequest took effect, and then things weren't so bad, because, you see, I
could do what I liked, and I did. I forgot--you haven't heard--how
should you have?" seeing the other look slightly mystified. "Well then,
the old Squire--my father's brother, you know--and I used to be very
thick, which was good and sufficient reason for my not being allowed to
go near him. He died five years ago, as you may or may not know, and I
own to feeling a trifle sold at being as I thought cut off with a
shilling. Well, a year back, I heard that the good old chap had left me
all his personal property to the figure of seven or eight hundred a
year. His will stipulated that I was to be kept in the dark about it
until my thirtieth birthday--a proviso for which I suppose I ought to
feel devoutly grateful, for I was a consummate young ass in those days
I'm afraid. Cranston, of course, was entailed, so he could do nothing
with that. But he did the best he could for me."
"Lucky dog," said Venn. "And now you'll get Cranston into the bargain."
"Oh, hold hard, there. My chances of that are about equal to yours.
Cranston _was_ entailed--now it isn't; my affectionate parent was the
last man of that ilk. He can will it as he likes now or make a fresh
entail, and I'm afraid that won't be in my direction."
"But you and he are surely not at cuts after all these years," said
Venn. "He'll be glad enough to see you again now."
"He isn't that sort. He's never got over that idiotic affair, or
pretends he hasn't. You know what I mean"--as Venn again looked
inquiringly. "You don't? Well, I don't see why I shouldn't tell you.
There was a girl I used to be very thick with when I was up here
before--didn't mean anything by it of course. I was a thoughtless young
fool, you know, and all that sort of thing. She was pretty and taking,
and I used to see a good deal of her and take her about a good bit. Not
to put too fine a point upon it, we carried on considerably. I always
was inclined to be an ass in that line."
"Quite so, old chap," laughed Venn, as the other paused in his narrative
and stared dreamily in front of him. "So you were--and so you will be
again. Drive on."
"Well things went smoothly enough for a while, and at last it struck me
I was going a little too far, and so I began to haul off--found an
excuse for leaving Town and so on. The admission sounds hang-dog I
grant, but then, only remember my means and prospects--the first _nil_--
ditto the second. To cut the matter short, one day--I was at home at
the time--the General sent for me to his sanctum. Without a word he
handed me a letter to read. It was from a lawyer, acting for the girl's
father, and threatening to sue me for 4,000 pounds damages for breach of
promise. They thought I wasn't worth anything--then at any rate--and so
they'd try it on with my father. By the Lord, Venn old man, I spent a
lively half-hour. How he did let drive. I had disgraced him--disgraced
the family--disgraced everybody--wasn't fit to look a dog in the face or
to be in the same backyard with a self-respecting cat, and so on. Well
now, if he had behaved with ordinary judgment, I was quite ready to
admit having made an ass of myself--an infernal ass if he liked--for I
was disgusted at the preposterous threat and the extortionateness of the
demand. It seemed to ruffle my callow sensibilities, don't you see.
But when he simply volleyed abuse at me and wouldn't listen to a word I
had to say, by Jove! my back got up too and there was a most awful row.
He would disown me on the spot--cut me off with a shilling--unless I
left England and stayed out of it till he gave me permission to return.
I might go where I liked, but I must clear out of the country. Well, I
elected to go out West--and went. You know the rest."
"Then that's how it was you went out there?" said Venn. "I always
suspected there had been something under it deeper than you let out.
And has he said you might return?"
"Not he. I didn't ask him. I can do as I like now, and as he'll cut me
off anyhow, it doesn't much matter."
"When do you go down to Cranston?"
"Don't think I shall go at all. None of us hit it off somehow, and more
than ever am I better out of it. I think, though, I'll run down to
Wandsborough and have a look round--_incog_, don't you know."
"Wandsborough, did you say?" exclaimed Venn, astonished.
"Yes. It's the town adjacent to my hypothetical heritage. Know the
place?"
"N-no. I never was there myself, but the rector there is an old friend
of mine. Ingelow his name is; I'll give you an introduction to him."
"Thanks, awfully. But--er--the fact is, I don't get on well with
parsons, and--"
"Oh, you will with this one. He's an out and out good sort. And
Dorrien, you dog, he has some daughters. They were jolly little romps
when I knew them years ago, and promised to grow up very pretty."
"Did they? That alters the case. It'll be slow at Wandsborough. On
second thoughts, Venn, I'll take your introduction, and will duly report
if the promise has been kept. But see here. I'm going to prospect
around for a week or two in that section, and I don't want my people to
know I'm there, so I've thought of a wrong name. Put the introduction
in the name of `Rowlands' instead of Dorrien. That's the one I'm going
to take."
Venn replied that he was hanged if he would. But, ultimately, he did.