THE GOSSIP OF CLUBS.
It was called "The Skylarks' Club," because, like those tuneful birds,
the members were up very early in the morning. Not that the aforesaid
members were early risers by any means--but because they never went to
bed till three or four o'clock. To put it plainly, they stayed up
nearly all night, and it seemed to be a point of honour with them
that, as long as a quorum were on the premises, the club should be
kept open.
Most of the members were dissipated and led fast lives, drank a good
deal, gambled away large sums, betted freely, and, to all appearances,
were going to the dogs as fast as they possibly could. The code of
morality was not very strict, and the "Skylarks" generally viewed each
other's good or bad luck in a cynical manner. Occasionally a member
disappeared from his accustomed place, and it was generally understood
he had "gone under," or, in other words, was vegetating on some
up-country station, doubtless cursing the "Skylarks" freely as the
cause of his ruin.
Other clubs in Melbourne were fast--not a doubt about that--but every
one declared that the "Skylarks" overstepped all bounds of decency.
Whatever devilment was to be done, they would do it, and, as they had
no characters to lose, they generally amused themselves by trying to
destroy other people's good name, and generally succeeded.
It was a Bohemian club, and among its members were stock-brokers,
musicians, journalists, and actors, so that, whatever the moral tone
of the place, the conversation was generally brilliant, albeit rather
malicious. One way and another, there was a good deal of money
floating about, for if the members worked hard at business during the
day, they also worked hard at pleasure during the night, so,
systematically, burned the candle at both ends. "_Fay ce que
vouldras_" was their motto, and they certainly carried it out to the
very last letter.
Keith Stewart was a member of this delectable fraternity, having been
introduced by Ezra Lazarus, and, thanks to his mysterious five hundred
pounds, was able to cut a very decent figure among the members. He was
still in the pawnbroker's office, although he very much wanted to
leave it, but, having passed his word to old Lazarus to stay six
months, he was determined to do so.
It was now about three months since the diamond robbery, and, after
being a nine days' wonder, it had passed out of the minds of every
one. Nothing more was heard of the theft, and, after a great number of
surmises, more or less wrong, the matter was allowed to drop, as a new
divorce case of a novel character now engrossed the public mind.
"Prince Carnival" had been withdrawn after a very successful run, and
Kitty Marchurst was now appearing in "Eblis," which, as she expected,
had turned out a failure. Under these circumstances, "Prince Carnival"
was revived, pending the production of "Faust Upset," a new burlesque
by Messrs. Stewart and Lazarus.
Both these young men had worked hard at the piece, and Mortimer,
having approved of the first act, had determined to put the play on
the stage: first, because he saw it was by no means a bad piece, and
secondly, he had nothing else handy to bring forward. If he could have
obtained a new and successful opera-bouffe from London, "Faust Upset"
would have been ignominiously shelved, but, luckily for Keith and his
friends, all the late opera-bouffes had been failures, so Mortimer
made a virtue of necessity, and gave them a chance.
It was about eleven o'clock at night, and the smoking-room of the
"Skylarks" was full. Some of the members had been there for some
hours, others had dropped in after the theatres were closed, and here
and there could be seen a reporter scribbling his notes for
publication next day.
A luxurious apartment it was, with lounging chairs covered with
crimson plush, plenty of mirrors, and a number of marble-topped
tables, which were now covered with various beverages. Every one was
talking loudly, and the waiters were flitting about actively employed
in ministering to the creature comforts of the patrons of the club.
What with the dusky atmosphere caused by the smoking, the babel of
voices, the jingle of glasses, and the constant moving about of the
restless crowd, it looked like some fantastic nightmare.
Keith was seated in a corner smoking a cigarette and waiting for Ezra,
who had promised to meet him there, and in the meantime was idly
watching the crowd of his friends, and listening to their gossip.
Malton was also lounging about the room, chatting to his friends on
current topics.
"Anything going on in the House?" asked Pelk, a theatrical critic, of
Slingsby, who had just entered.
That gentleman shrugged his shoulders.
"A slanging match, as usual," he replied, taking a seat and ringing
the bell. "Some members have got an idea that abuse is wit. I don't
think much of the Victorian Parliament."
"It's better than the New South Wales one, at all events," said Keith,
smiling.
"That's not saying much," retorted Slingsby, lighting a cigar. "The
Sydney men are more like fractious children than anything else, though
to be sure that's only proper, seeing our Parliaments are nurseries
for sucking politicians."
"That's severe."
"But true--the truth is always disagreeable."
"Perhaps that's the reason so few people speak it."
"Exactly--truth is a sour old maid whom nobody wants."
"Not you, at all events, Slingsby"
"No--it's a matter of choice--_Video meliora proboque deteriora
sequor_."
"Don't be classical--it's out of place here."
"Not a bit," retorted Slingsby smoothly, looking round at the circle
of grinning faces, "it's out of the dictionary, you know, foreign
words and affixes."
Every one roared at this candid confession.
"No wonder _The Penny Whistle_ flourishes when there's such men as you
on the staff," said Toltby, with a sneer.
"You've no cause to complain," replied Slingsby; "they've been kind
enough to you."
"Yes; they recognise good acting."
Slingsby looked at him queerly.
"Dear boy, I prefer the stage of the House to that of the theatre--the
actors are much more amusing."
At this moment Felix Rolleston, now looking much older since the
Hansom Cab murder case, but as lively as ever, entered the room and
danced up to the coterie.
"Well, gentlemen," he said gaily, "what is the news?"
"Good news, bad news, and such news as you've never heard of," quoted
Keith lazily.
"Thank you, my local Gratiano," replied Felix, quickly recognising the
quotation as from the "Merchant of Venice." "By the way, there's a
letter for you outside."
"Oh, thanks," said Stewart rising, "I'll go and get it," and he
sauntered out lazily.
"Humph!" ejaculated Felix, looking after him, "our friend is the
author of 'Faust Upset,' I understand?"
"Yes," replied Toltby; "deuced good piece."
"That means you've got an excellent part," struck in Slingsby
mercilessly.
"Quite right," retorted Toltby complacently; "all the parts are
good--especially Caprice's."
"Oh, that goes without saying," said Pelk, with a grin; "our friend is
rather sweet there."
"So is she," said Felix significantly; "case of reciprocity, dear
boy!"
"She's given Fenton the go-by."
"Yes, and Meddlechip is elevated to the vacancy. Wonder how long it
will be before she breaks him?"
"Oh, even with her talents for squandering, Caprice can't burst up the
richest man in Victoria," said Slingsby vulgarly; "when she does give
him up, I suppose Stewart will succeed him."
"Not enough cash."
"Pooh! what is cash compared to love?"
"Eh! a good deal in this case, as Fenton found out."
"Speak of the devil," said Felix quickly; "here comes the gentleman in
question."
Fenton, looking harassed and worn, entered the room, and glanced
round. Seeing Rolleston, he came over to him and began to talk.
"Guess you look happy, boys," he said, in his nasal voice.
"It's more than you do," replied Rolleston, scanning him keenly.
"No; I've overworked myself," said Fenton coolly, "I need pulling up a
bit."
"Go and see a doctor--try tonics."
"Ah, bah! glass of champagne will fix me straight. Here, waiter, bring
in a bottle of Heidsieck. Any of you boys join?"
All the boys assenting to the hospitable proposition, Fenton ordered
two bottles, and lighted a huge cigar. When the waiter came back with
the wine, Keith also entered, with a soft look on his face which
puzzled Rolleston. He had put on his overcoat.
"Ah!" said that astute gentleman, "you look pleased--your letter was
pleasant?"
"Yes, very," replied Keith laconically.
"Then it was from a woman," said Fenton.
"Humph! that's generally anything but pleasant," grunted Slingsby.
"No doubt, to such a Don Juan as you," said Pelk, amid a general
laugh.
The waiter was opening the wine so slowly that Fenton lost patience,
and snatched one bottle up from the table.
"Guess we had better fix those two up at once," he said. "Any one got
a knife?"
Keith put his hand in his pocket, and produced therefrom Meg's
present.
"Great Cæsar, what a pig-sticker," said Fenton, holding it up.
"What made you buy such a thing, Stewart?" asked Felix, laughing.
"I didn't buy it," replied Keith; "it's a present from a lady."
"A very young lady, I should say," said Slingsby drily; "not much idea
of taste."
"Matter of opinion," said Keith serenely; "I like the knife for the
sake of the donor--her name's on the handle."
Fenton by this time had opened the bottle, and laid the knife down on
the table, from whence Felix picked it up and examined it.
"'From Meg,'" he read, in an amused tone; "gad, Stewart, I thought it
was the mother, not the daughter."
Fenton shot a fiery glance at Keith, who laughed in rather an
embarrassed manner.
"It was just the child's whim," he said, laughing. "I saved her from
the tram-car, so she gave me this as a souvenir;" and, taking up the
knife, he shut it with a sharp click, and slipped it into his overcoat
pocket.
When they had all finished the wine, Fenton said he had to see
Mortimer about some business.
"Half-past ten," he said, looking at his watch; "they'll just be about
through."
"I've got to see Mortimer to-night," observed Keith, "and I'm waiting
here for Lazarus."
"About the new play, I reckon," said Fenton; "well, you'd better walk
up with me."
Keith shook his head.
"No, thanks; I must wait for Lazarus."
"Then come and have a game of billiards in the meantime," said Felix,
rising; "take off your coat, you'll find it hot."
"All right," assented Keith readily "Here, Alfred," and, slipping off
his coat, handed it to a waiter, who was just passing, "hang this up
for me."
The waiter took the coat, threw it over his arm, and vanished; while
Keith and Felix strolled leisurely away in the direction of the
billiard-room.
"How the deuce does Stewart run it?" asked Fenton, looking after them;
"he can't get much salary at old Lazarus' place."
"Case of God tempering the wind to the shorn lamb," said Slingsby
ironically.
"Hang it, I don't think he ought to be a member of the Club, a
confounded pawnbroker's clerk."
"It is rather a topsy-turvy business, ain't it; but you see, in the
colonies Jack's as good as his master."
"And in some cases a deal better," said Pelk, referring to the
relative positions of Malton and Fenton.
"Particularly when Jack's got a pretty wife," finished Toltby
significantly.
Fenton knew this was a hint at his _penchant_ for Mrs. Malton, but he
did not very well see how he could take it to himself, particularly
when he saw every one smiling, so he smiled back saturninely at the
circle.
"You're devilish witty, boys," he said coldly; "guess the wine has
sharpened your brains."
As he strolled away in his usual cool manner, Slingsby looked after
him.
"Our friend's hard hit over Mrs. Malton," he said at length.
"Every one knows that," grinned Toltby, "except the husband."
"Yes, the husband is generally the last to find out these things,"
remarked Pelk drily; and the conversation ended.
Meanwhile Rolleston and Keith were playing their game of billiards, a
pastime in which the former was an adept, and soon defeated Keith, who
threw down his cue in half anger.
"You always win," he said pettishly; "it's no use playing with you."
"Oh, yes, it is," said Felix cheerfully. "I know I'm a good player, so
if you play with me it will improve you very much--that remark sounds
conceited, but it's true--come and have another game."
"Not to-night," replied Keith; "I've got to keep my appointment with
Mortimer--it's no use waiting for Lazarus."
"Oh, yes, it is," cried a new voice, and Lazarus made his appearance
at the door of the billiard-room. "I'm sorry for having kept you
waiting, but it was unavoidable. I'll tell you all about it as we walk
up."
"All right," replied Keith, and turned to go, followed by Ezra, who
nodded to Rolleston.
"Good-night," cried that gentleman, making a cannon. "Good luck be
with you."
"Amen," responded Keith laughing, and disappeared with Ezra.