FLINT AND STEEL
The Major, puffing thoughtfully at his pipe and hearkening to Sir
Benjamin's ponderous witticisms, kept his sharp eyes on the
card-players opposite, Mr. Marchdale flushed and eager, the Marquis
smiling and good-humoured, Lord Alvaston sleepy as usual and Mr.
Dalroyd blandly imperturbable.
"Then, my dear sir, I gather you judge well o' that little flight o'
mine t'other night?" enquired Sir Benjamin, "I mean the acrostic
alliterative, how did it go----"
'Bewitching Bet, by bounteous beauty blessed'--
you think well on't, Major, eh?"
"Indeed sir, 'twas very ingenious."
"Od's body, sir, I think you've a judgment to be commended, I venture
to opine it was ingenious--and therewith not lacking in wit, sir?"
"By no means, Sir Benjamin."
"To be sure the last line might be bettered, though it cost me a world
o' thought. 'Twas if I remember:
'Yea you, yourself to yearn as beauty ought.'
Yet od's my life sir! I fail to see how it should be bettered. Y is
an awkward, stubborn, damned implacable letter at best, sir."
"Truly a most awkward letter, Sir Benjamin."
Here Mr. Marchdale slammed down his cards petulantly.
"So!" he exclaimed, "that makes another fifteen guineas!"
"Twenty-five, my dear Marchdale!" smiled Mr. Dalroyd, taking up a new
pack.
"How much ha' you lost, Alton?"
"Nothing much Tony, only ten or so."
"And you, Alvaston?"
"Nay I'm 'n odd guinea or so t' th' good, s' far," yawned his lordship.
"May I perish," exclaimed Mr. Marchdale, "but you and Dalroyd have all
the luck, as usual!"
"I--I in luck?" exclaimed Alvaston, his sleepy eyes wider than usual,
"stint y'r dreams and babble not, Tony! Whoe'er saw me win? Never had
any measure o' luck since I was breeched, or before. And talking o'
luck, Major, how goeth Merivale, how's poor Tom since his spill
yesterday?"
"Bruised and sore, sir, but no worse, thank God. He'll be about again
in a day or so."
"Tom rides like--like the devil, strike me blue if he don't!" said the
Marquis.
"And just as reckless!" added Dalroyd.
"Aye, but here was none o' that. His horse balked a fence, rapped and
went down with him. Brute'll kill him yet, damme if he don't!"
"Talking o' luck," pursued Alvaston, sorting his cards lazily, "never
had any measure of it yet, either with cards, dice, horses or the sex.
An' talkin' o' the sex, Tony my lad, what of its brightest and most
particular, what of Bet, how speeds th' wooing?" Mr. Marchdale swore
earnestly. "Oho!" murmured Alvaston, "doth she prove so cold and
indifferent----"
"Neither one nor t'other, but I must ha' more time."
"Three days must suffice, Tony, 'twas so agreed. After you comes Ben
and after Ben, Jasper and then after Jasper, West, with poor Ned and me
left nowhere."
"Aye, but damme," quoth the Marquis, "what o' Dalroyd here?"
"Aye, where d'you come, Dalroyd?" queried Alvaston.
Mr. Dalroyd's nostrils worked and his white teeth gleamed. "I come
nowhere, anywhere or everywhere," he answered, surveying his hearers
beneath lowered eyelids. "A free-lance in love, I--to woo precisely
how and where and--when, I choose." Here for an infinitesimal space of
time his keen eye rested on the Major.
"You always were such a dem'd dumb dog!" quoth the Marquis.
"Close as 'n oyster!" murmured Alvaston.
"And he's lucky in cards and love, which ain't fair," grumbled Mr.
Marchdale. "I've heard whispers of a handsome farmer's daughter not a
hundred miles hence--eh, Dalroyd?"
"'Tis your turn to lead, Marchdale!" said Mr. Dalroyd, his lips a
little grim.
"My fellow swears he saw you only t'other night--dev'lish late--with an
armful o' loveliness----"
"You should kick your fellow for impertinence, Marchdale, and 'tis your
turn to lead!"
"I'll be curst if I know what, then!" he exclaimed, slapping down a
card at random. "There's Bet, now--and but one more day to win her!
Who might win such a goddess in a day, 'tis preposterous----"
"I've heard," smiled Mr. Dalroyd, "yes, I've heard of women being won
in less. And as to goddesses, Endymion sighed not vainly nor over
long."
"Why as to that I progress--O I progress!" nodded Mr. Marchdale with
youthful assertiveness, "she's all witching laughter and affection----"
"Unhappy wight!" exclaimed Mr. Dalroyd.
"Eh?" exclaimed Mr. Marchdale, wine-glass at lip, "How so?"
"Kind Venus save me from affection feminine!" smiled Dalroyd, "Where
affection is passion is not. So give me burning love or passionate
hate and she is mine."
"Od Dalroyd," interposed Sir Benjamin indignantly, "I say od's my life,
sir, here's wooing most unorthodox, most unseemly i' faith!"
"But natural, Ben," retorted Dalroyd, "women love or hate as the wind
bloweth. Your loving woman is very well though apt to cloy, but your
hater--O Ben! Besides, all women love a little force--to force 'em
willing is child's play, to force 'em hating--ah Ben, that methinks is
man's play."
"Out on you, sir!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin. "Is it thus you'd win our
incomparable, Our Admirable Betty?" Mr. Dalroyd threw down his cards
and leaning back in his chair surveyed the indignant Sir Benjamin with
his fleeting smile.
"She is a woman, Ben, and therefore to be won one way or t'other." And
here once again his keen gaze rested momentarily on the Major's passive
figure. As for Sir Benjamin, his face grew purple, his great peruke
seemed to bristle again.
"Enough sir!" he cried, "Are we satyrs, hairy and unpolished, to creep,
to crouch, to win by forceful fury what trembling beauty would deny? I
say no sir--I say the day of such is long gone by I--I appeal to Major
d'Arcy!"
The Major, being thus addressed, blew forth a cloud of smoke, fanned it
away with his hand and spoke in his measured, placid tones:
"I fear sir, even in these days satyrs walk among us now and then
though indeed they have covered their hairy and unpolished hides 'neath
velvets and fine linen and go a-satyrizing delicately pulvilled. Yet
woman, I take it, hath been granted eyes to see the brute 'neath all
his dainty trappings."
Here there fell a moment's silence, for the company, quick to sense the
sudden tenseness in the air, sat in rapt expectation of what was to be;
perceiving which Mr. Dalroyd smiled again and the Major went on
smoking. At last, when he judged the silence had endured long enough,
Mr. Dalroyd spoke:
"Major d'Arcy, Ben's simile is perchance a little harsh, for he would
have us all satyrs, in that at some time or other, every man doth seek,
pursue and hunt the lovely sex to his own selfish end. Even you
yourself, I dare swear, have dreamed dreams, have beheld a vision of
some dainty beauty you would fain possess. I have, I do confess. Now,
doth she yield--well and good! Doth she fly us, we pursue. And do we
catch her--well, hate and love are kindred passions, nay indeed, hate
is love's refinement, though both are passing moods. Indeed some women
are preferable in the hating moods--to know the woman in one's arms
hates one, there, sir, so 'tis said, is the very refinement of
pleasure."
"Sir," said the Major gently, "I heard one say as much in Flanders
years agone and I did my best to kill him and thought I had succeeded,
but of late I have begun to entertain grave doubts and never more so
than at this minute." Here fell a silence absolute.
Mr. Dalroyd's white lids flickered and into his eyes came a bodeful
glare as he met the Major's placid but unswerving gaze and as they
fronted each other thus, there fell a silence so absolute that the tick
of a clock in distant corner sounded uncannily loud--a chair creaked, a
foot scraped the floor, but save for this was silence, threatening and
ominous, while Mr. Dalroyd glared at the Major and the Major, leaning
back in his chair, stared at Mr. Dalroyd as if he would read the very
soul of him. All at once came a whirr of springs and the clock began
to chime midnight whereupon was sudden relaxation, chairs were moved,
arms and legs stretched themselves.
"Od's my life--midnight already!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin in very
apparent relief.
"Aye, faith!" yawned Alvaston, "Now is the witching hour when
graveyards yawn----"
"No, no, Bob!" laughed Dalroyd, "Now is the witching hour when beauty
coy doth flush and furtive steal to raptures dreamed by day. Now is
the witching hour when satyrs in compelling arms----" he yawned, smiled
and rose. "Howbeit sirs, I am summoned hence----"
"Ah--ah!" nodded Marchdale, "The farmer's daughter--the beauty o' the
blue cloak--ha, lucky dog!"
"A blue cloak!" repeated Mr. Dalroyd, "Egad, your fellow's too
infernally observant, Marchdale, you should really kick him a little."
So saying, Mr. Dalroyd crossed to the corner and took up his sword,
"Adieu gentlemen," said he, "I go, shall we say, a-satyrizing--no,
'twould shock our Ben, none the less I--go. Gentlemen, I salute you!"
And bowing to the room Mr. Dalroyd sauntered away.
"Burn me!" exclaimed Alvaston, "the wine's near out, let's order up
'nother dozen or so an' make a night on't." This being agreed, the
bottles presently made their appearance, glasses clinked and the
company began to grow merry. But after two or three toasts had been
called and honoured, the Major arose, made his excuses, and calling for
his hat, sword and cane, presently took his departure.