_Of that design which Don Sanchez opened to us at the Bell._
We pulled our pipes from our mouths, Dawson and I, and stretched our
ears very eager to know what this business was the Don had to propound,
and he, after drawing two or three mouthfuls of smoke, which he expelled
through his nostrils in a most surprising unnatural manner, says in
excellent good English, but speaking mighty slow and giving every letter
its worth:
"What do you go to do to-morrow?"
"The Lord only knows," answers Jack, and Don Sanchez, lifting his
eyebrows as if he considers this no answer at all, he continues: "We
cannot go hence with none of our stage things; and if we could, I see
not how we are to act our play, now that our villain is gone, with a
plague to him! I doubt but we must sell all that we have for the few
shillings they will fetch to get us out of this hobble."
"With our landlord's permission," remarks Don Sanchez, dryly.
"Permission!" cries Dawson, in a passion. "I ask no man's permission to
do what I please with my own."
"Suppose he claims these things in payment of the money you owe him.
What then?" asks the Don.
"We never thought of that, Kit," says Dawson, turning to me in a pucker.
"But 'tis likely enough he has, for I observed he was mighty careless
whether we found our thief or not. That's it, sure enough. We have
nought to hope. All's lost!"
With that he drops his elbows on his knees, and stares into the fire
with a most desponding countenance, being in that stage of liquor when a
man must either laugh or weep.
"Come, Jack," says I. "You are not used to yield like this. Let us make
the best of a bad lot, and face the worst like men. Though we trudge
hence with nothing but the rags on our backs, we shall be no worse off
to-morrow than we were this morning."
"Why, that's true enough!" cries he, plucking up his courage. "Let the
thieving rascal take our poor nag and our things for his payment, and
much good may they do him. We will wipe this out of our memory the
moment we leave his cursed inn behind us."
It seemed to me that this would not greatly advance us, and maybe Don
Sanchez thought the same, for he presently asks:
"And what then?"
"Why, Señor," replies Dawson, "we will face each new buffet as it comes,
and make a good fight of it till we're beat. A man may die but once."
"You think only of yourselves," says the Don, very quietly.
"And pray, saving your Señor's presence, who else should we think of?"
"The child above," answers the Don, a little more sternly than he had
yet spoken. "Is a young creature like that to bear the buffets you are
so bold to meet? Can you offer her no shelter from the wind and rain but
such as chance offers? make no provision for the time when she is left
alone, to protect her against the evils that lie in the path of
friendless maids?"
"God forgive me," says Jack, humbly. And then we could say nothing, for
thinking what might befall Moll if we should be parted, but sat there
under the keen eye of Don Sanchez, looking helplessly into the fire. And
there was no sound until Jack's pipe, slipping from his hand, fell and
broke in pieces upon the hearth. Then rousing himself up and turning to
Don Sanchez, he says:
"The Lord help her, Señor, if we find no good friend to lend us a few
shillings for our present wants."
"Good friends are few," says the Don, "and they who lend need some
better security for repayment than chance. For my own part, I would as
soon fling straws to a drowning man as attempt to save you and that
child from ruin by setting you on your feet to-day only to fall again
to-morrow."
"If that be so, Señor," says I, "you had some larger view in mind than
that of offering temporary relief to our misery when you gave us a
supper and Moll a bed for the night."
Don Sanchez assented with a grave inclination of his head, and going to
the door opened it sharply, listened awhile, and then closing it softly,
returned and stood before us with folded arms. Then, in a low voice, not
to be heard beyond the room, he questioned us very particularly as to
our relations with other men, the length of time we had been wandering
about the country, and especially about the tractability of Moll. And,
being satisfied with our replies,--above all, with Jack's saying that
Moll would jump out of window at his bidding, without a thought to the
consequences,--he says:
"There's a comedy we might play to some advantage if you were minded to
take the parts I give you and act them as I direct."
"With all my heart," cries Dawson. "I'll play any part you choose; and
as to the directing, you're welcome to that, for I've had my fill of it.
If you can make terms with our landlord, those things in the yard shall
be yours, and for our payment I'm willing to trust to your honour's
generosity."
"As regards payment," says the Don, "I can speak precisely. We shall
gain fifty thousand pounds by our performance."
"Fifty thousand pounds," says Jack, as if in doubt whether he had heard
aright. Don Sanchez bent his head, without stirring a line in his face.
Dawson took up his beaker slowly, and looked in it, to make sure that he
was none the worse for drink, then, after emptying it, to steady his
wits, he says again:
"Fifty thousand pounds."
"Fifty thousand pounds, if not more; and that there be no jealousies one
of the other, it shall be divided fairly amongst us,--as much for your
friend as for you, for the child as for me."
"Pray God, this part be no more than I can compass," says Jack,
devoutly.
"You may learn it in a few hours--at least, your first act."
"And mine?" says I, entering for the first time into the dialogue.
The Don hunched his shoulders, lifting his eyebrows, and sending two
streams of smoke from his nose.
"I scarce know what part to give you, yet," says he. "To be honest, you
are not wanted at all in the play."
"Nay, but you must write him a part," says Dawson, stoutly; "if it be
but to bring in a letter--that I am determined on. Kit stood by us in
ill fortune, and he shall share better, or I'll have none of it, nor
Moll neither. I'll answer for her."
"There must be no discontent among us," says the Don, meaning thereby,
as I think, that he had included me in his stratagem for fear I might
mar it from envy. "The girl's part is that which gives me most
concern--and had I not faith in my own judgment--"
"Set your mind at ease on that score," cried Jack. "I warrant our Moll
shall learn her part in a couple of days or so."
"If she learn it in a twelvemonth, 'twill be time enough."
"A twelvemonth," said Jack, going to his beaker again, for
understanding. "Well, all's as one, so that we can get something in
advance of our payment, to keep us through such a prodigious study."
"I will charge myself with your expenses," says Don Sanchez; and then,
turning to me, he asks if I have any objection to urge.
"I take it, Señor, that you speak in metaphor," says I; "and that this
'comedy' is nought but a stratagem for getting hold of a fortune that
doesn't belong to us."
Don Sanchez calmly assented, as if this had been the most innocent
design in the world.
"Hang me," cries Dawson, "if I thought it was anything but a whimsey of
your honour's."
"I should like to know if we may carry out this stratagem honestly,"
says I.
"Aye," cries Jack. "I'll not agree for cutting of throats or breaking of
bones, for any money."
"I can tell you no more than this," says the Don. "The fortune we may
take is now in the hands of a man who has no more right to it than we
have."
"If that's so," says Jack, "I'm with you, Señor. For I'd as lief bustle
a thief out of his gains as say my prayers, any day, and liefer."
"Still," says I, "the money must of right belong to some one."
"We will say that the money belongs to a child of the same age as Moll."
"Then it comes to this, Señor," says I, bluntly. "We are to rob that
child of fifty thousand pounds."
"When you speak of robbing," says the Don, drawing himself up with much
dignity, "you forget that I am to play a part in this stratagem--I, Don
Sanchez del Castillo de Castelaña."
"Fie, Kit, han't you any manners?" cries Dick. "What's all this talk of
a child? Hasn't the Señor told us we are but to bustle a cheat?"
"But I would know what is to become of this child, if we take her
fortune, though it be withheld from her by another," says I, being
exceeding obstinate and persistent in my liquor.
"I shall prove to your conviction," says the Don, "that the child will
be no worse off, if we take this money, than if we leave it in the hands
of that rascally steward. But I see," adds he, contemptuously, "that for
all your brotherly love, 'tis no such matter to you whether poor little
Molly comes to her ruin, as every maid must who goes to the stage, or is
set beyond the reach of temptation and the goading of want."
"Aye, and be hanged to you, Kit!" cries Dawson.
"Tell me, Mr. Poet," continues Don Sanchez, "do you consider this
steward who defrauds that child of a fortune is more unfeeling than you
who, for a sickly qualm of conscience, would let slip this chance of
making Molly an honest woman?"
"Aye, answer that, Kit," adds Jack, striking his mug on the table.
"I'll answer you to-morrow morning, Señor," says I. "And whether I fall
in with the scheme or not is all as one, since my help is not needed;
for if it be to Moll's good, I'll bid you farewell, and you shall see me
never again."
"Spoken like a man!" says Don Sanchez, "and a wise one to boot. An
enterprise of this nature is not to be undertaken without reflection,
like the smoking of a pipe. If you put your foot forward, it must be
with the understanding that you cannot go back. I must have that
assurance, for I shall be hundreds of pounds out of pocket ere I can get
any return for my venture."
"Have no fear of me or of Moll turning tail at a scarecrow," says Jack,
adding with a sneer, "we are no poets."
"Reflect upon it. Argue it out with your friend here, whose scruples do
not displease me, and let me know your determination when the last word
is said. Business carries me to London to-morrow; but you shall meet me
at night, and we will close the business--aye or nay--ere supper."
With that he opens the door and gives us our congee, the most noble in
the world; but not offering to give us a bed, we are forced to go out of
doors and grope our way through the snow to the cart-shed, and seek a
shelter there from the wind, which was all the keener and more bitter
for our leaving a good fire. And I believe the shrewd Spaniard had put
us to this pinch as a foretaste of the misery we must endure if we
rejected his design, and so to shape our inclinations to his.
Happily, the landlord, coming out with a lantern, and finding us by the
chattering of our teeth, was moved by the consideration shown us by Don
Sanchez to relax his severity; and so, unlocking the stable door, he
bade us get up into the loft, which we did, blessing him as if he had
been the best Christian in the world. And then, having buried ourselves
in hay, Jack Dawson and I fell to arguing the matter in question, I
sticking to my scruples (partly from vanity), and he stoutly holding
t'other side; and I, being warmed by my own eloquence, and he not less
heated by liquor (having taken best part of the last bowl to his share),
we ran it pretty high, so that at one point Jack was for lighting a
candle end he had in his pocket and fighting it out like men. But,
little by little, we cooled down, and towards morning, each giving way
something, we came to the conclusion that we would have Don Sanchez show
us the steward, that we might know the truth of his story (which I
misdoubted, seeing that it was but a roguish kind of game at best that
he would have us take part in), and that if we found all things as he
represented them, then we would accept his offer. And also we resolved
to be down betimes and let him know our determination before he set out
for London, to the end that we might not be left fasting all the day.
But herein we miscalculated the potency of liquor and a comfortable bed
of hay, for 'twas nine o'clock before either of us winked an eye, and
when we got down, we learnt that Don Sanchez had been gone a full hour,
and so no prospect of breaking our fast till nightfall.
Presently comes Moll, all fresh and pink from the house, and falls to
exclaiming upon the joy of sleeping betwixt clean sheets in a feather
bed, and could speak of nothing else, saying she would give all the
world to sleep so well every day of her life.
"Eh," whispers her father in my ear, "you see how luxuries do tempt the
poor child, and what kind of a bed she is like to lie in if our hopes
miscarry."
On which, still holding to my scruples, I says to Moll:
"'Tis easy to say you would give the world, Moll, but I know full well
you would give nothing for all the comfort possible that was not your
own."
"Nay," says she, crossing her hands on her breast, and casting up her
eyes with the look of a saint, "what are all the fruits of the earth to
her who cannot take them with an easy conscience? Honesty is dearer to
me than the bread of life."
Then, as Jack and I are looking at each other ruefully in the face at
this dash to our knavish project, she bursts into a merry peal of
laughter, like a set of Christmas bells chiming, whereupon we, turning
about to find the cause of her merriment, she pulls another demure face,
and, slowly lifting her skirt, shows us a white napkin tied about her
waist, stuffed with a dozen delicacies she had filched from Don
Sanchez's table in coming down from her room.