GOSSIP.
"If friends are poor and you can't use 'em,
'Tis always pleasant to abuse 'em,
Although in their turn it is true,
They're sure to speak the worst of you.
The pot may call the kettle black,
But kettle pays the favour back,
And useless is all indignation,
For 'tis the law of compensation."
Otterburn's chambers in a pleasant street off Piccadilly were
furnished in a very comfortable fashion, having been the property of
an extravagant young man who came to grief on the turf, and thereupon
disposed of his rooms and their contents to Angus Macjean, who was
looking for apartments. As the Master had not much idea of arranging
furniture according to individual taste, beyond banishing some rather
"rapid" pictures from the walls and replacing them by hunting trophies
from his American trip, he left the rooms in their original state,
which was by no means a bad one.
Johnnie Armstrong indeed had been moved to wrath by seeing such a lot
of money spent on costly trifles, for the charming little statuettes
in bronze, the delicate ornaments in Dresden china, and the thousand
and one nick-nacks suggestive of cultured taste were all so many
objects of horror in the eyes of Mr. Armstrong, being evidence of
sinful waste on the part of their purchaser. In spite of his love for
the turf, the former proprietor of these rooms must have had a
cultured mind, rare among the gilded youth of to-day, as Angus during
the earlier days of his occupancy often came across some tiny
water-colour, or some rare edition of a book which showed both good
taste and critical judgment.
"What a pity for such a clever fellow as Bamfield to go to the dogs
through racing, when he could appreciate all this sort of thing," he
said half aloud one day, on turning over a charming edition of
Villon's poems.
"It's an ill wind that blaws naebody ony guid," observed Johnnie, who
overheard this remark, "an' ye got the hail thing cheap enow."
This view of the situation was quite characteristic of Johnnie. He
despised the costly furnishing of the room as sinful waste, but was
quite content that all this splendour should be paid for by someone
else, seeing that his master had got it cheap. Economy in Johnnie's
eyes was the greatest of virtues, and he delighted to make bargains
for things which he did not want for the mere sake of getting the
better of the seller. This was not strictly speaking economy at
all, seeing that the things bought were superfluous, but it pleased
Johnnie and amused Angus, so the dour old man pottered on in his own
narrow-minded way without interruption.
The rooms, therefore, were furnished in a fashion calculated to please
the most fastidious critic, and Angus was very comfortably settled in
Town for the season. He had not yet seen Victoria, as he intended to
woo his lady love in a somewhat cautious fashion, but had asked Dolly
Thambits to breakfast with a view to finding out her movements in
Society.
Mr. Thambits was a good-natured young fool, with the comfortable
income of thirty-thousand a year and not the slightest idea how to
spend it. His father having been an inventor, had made a large fortune
by genuine talent and dexterous advertising, and resolved to make his
son a gentleman, in which laudable ambition he succeeded fairly well,
for Adolphus Thambits was not a bad sort of fellow on the whole,
although a monstrous fool in many ways. Not all the tuition of Harrow
and Cambridge could put any sense into his silly head, and his father
having died suddenly, he was left alone in the world with this large
income and not the slightest idea how to guide his life.
For the sake of his money he was asked everywhere, and as he always
conducted himself well, and was very good-natured, people liked him
after a fashion, although they despised and profited by his weakness
of character. Cleopatra had taken him up, and, assisted by Major
Griff, was teaching him experience of the world in a manner beneficial
to herself and partner, but decidedly detrimental to the pocket of the
unfortunate Dolly.
As Angus heard that Thambits was rather smitten with Victoria, he
foresaw in him a possible rival, so had invited him to breakfast to
find out Victoria's movements, which Dolly would be sure to know, and
also to ascertain if he had any intention of offering himself and his
large fortune to the Australian beauty. So Dolly, who liked Otterburn
in his own weak way, arrived at that young man's rooms, accompanied by
Mr. Jiddy, a fat, little man, with a timid manner and a frightened eye
in his head, who imposed upon Thambits' good nature by borrowing money
from him.
While the three were seated at breakfast, somewhere about eleven
o'clock, Laxton made his appearance, having returned from Yorkshire,
where he had been playing the part of the prodigal son. Being tired of
the domestic veal, he had looked up Angus, to propose another hunting
expedition to the wilds of Africa.
Laxton, having had his breakfast, sat in a comfortable arm-chair and
smoked, while Angus and his two guests proceeded with their meal under
the vigilant eye of Johnnie Armstrong, who hovered around with an air
of strong disapproval of breakfast at such a late hour of the day.
"Well, Angus, old fellow," observed Laxton, when he had made himself
at home with a pet meerschaum of his host's, "aren't you tired of
civilization yet?"
"Hardly?" replied Angus drily, "seeing that I've only had three weeks
of it. What do you want to do now."
"Try Africa--we'll get some elephant shooting."
"Isn't that rather dangerous?" said Thambits mildly.
"Dangerous!" echoed Laxton with contempt. "Pooh! nonsense--not a bit
of it. Jolliest thing out. It's life, my boy--life!"
"Yes, and on some occasions it's death, my boy--death," rejoined Angus
with a laugh.
"I have always heard," remarked Mr. Jiddy, who sat curled up on the
edge of a chair like a white rabbit, "that there is no pleasure
without an element of danger."
"Who said there was," said Laxton, who hated Jiddy as a parasite and a
milksop. "What do you know about danger?"
"Nothing," replied Mr. Jiddy, who never took offence, being
essentially milk and water in his nature, "but I've read a good deal
about it."
"Sunday-school books, I suppose?" said Laxton with a sneer. "'Little
Henry and his Bearer' is about your style, I think."
"I've read that book," observed Dolly with a gratified chuckle, "but
it is rather a slow story isn't it?"
"Not quite so rapid as Zola," said Otterburn, who was beginning to
find both Thambits and his friend a trifle tiresome. "By-the-way,
Laxton, have you read the 'Arabian Knights'?"
"I have," said Dolly again, "in my schooldays!'
"Oh, bosh!" returned Laxton with supreme contempt. "We're not talking
of that."
"Oh, no," chirruped Mr. Jiddy, delighted at knowing something, "it's
the Arabian Knights with a 'K.'"
"What on earth are the Arabian Nights with a K?" demanded Thambits
blankly, whereupon both Angus and Laxton burst out laughing at the
bewildered look on his face.
"It's Gartney's book about Arabia," explained Angus, rising from the
table and lighting a cigarette, his example being followed by his
guests.
"Oh, I've heard of it," said Thambits, complacently. "Billy Dolser
tells me he does not think much of it."
"Is Billy Dolser a judge?" asked Laxton, with great scorn.
Thambits turned on him a look of mild reproach.
"Of course! Why he's got a paper of his own."
"Oh, that settles it!" returned Laxton, drily. "I thought myself it
was a jolly good book, and written by a man who knew what he was
talking about, but as that little blackguard Dolser hasn't been
further East than Italy, he must be a capital judge of the book!"
"Why do you call him a blackguard?" asked Jiddy, removing his
cigarette.
"Because he is one," growled Laxton, wrathfully--"a mean little sneak
who vilifies people's character in that rag of a paper which ought to
be burnt by the public hangman! Snakes and mosquitoes were created for
some purpose, I suppose, but why such a little reptile as Dolser
should be allowed to exist, I don't know."
Mr. Jiddy contributed himself to the "Pepper Box" in an underhand way,
by listening to things he was not meant to hear, so he took up the
cudgels on behalf of Mr. Dolser in a weakly, ferocious manner.
"Oh, I say, you know those words are actionable?"
"Are they," said Laxton, who had risen to his feet and was looking
down from his tall height at the scrap of limp humanity in the chair,
"you can repeat them to Dolser if you like, and if he doesn't think
they are actionable I'll be happy to add a thrashing, so that he can
have me up for assault."
Mr. Jiddy wriggled, not liking the turn the conversation had taken,
and resumed his cigarette, while Otterburn, who agreed with every word
Laxton said, but could hardly endorse it in his character of host,
hastened to make an observation.
"By the way, Gartney's in London."
"Just come in time to hear Mr. Dolser's opinion about his book," said
Laxton, grimly.
"I don't think that would trouble Gartney much," replied Otterburn,
smiling, "but after eighteen months' travel in the wilds, I'll suppose
he'll stay at home for some time."
"I'll lay you a level fiver he doesn't," said Mr. Laxton, removing his
pipe, "he's got prairie fever."
"What's prairie fever?" demanded Dolly.
"Do you know what a prairie is?" said Laxton, answering one question
by asking another.
"A large field, isn't it?" said Mr. Jiddy, complacently. Angus roared.
"Yes, a very large field," he replied, "much larger than any you'll
get in England. I shot that buffalo on the prairie," he added,
pointing to a huge shaggy head adorning the opposite wall.
"It's a very large head," observed Mr. Jiddy, wisely. "A buffalo--a
kind of cow, isn't it?"
"Not exactly," returned Laxton, drily; "it's more like an enraged
bull. But to return to prairie fever. It's the feeling a man gets when
he once sees those undulating grass plains and which haunts him ever
afterwards."
"What haunts him ever afterwards?" asked the intelligent Dolly,
lighting another cigarette.
"Oh, damn!" retorted Laxton, politely, and turned on his heel, quite
disgusted with the ignorance of the young man. Thambits was not in the
least put out by Laxton's rudeness, but began to talk to Angus about
Mrs. Veilsturm, while Jiddy tried to extract a paragraph out of Laxton
by a series of mild little questions about buffaloes.
"Mrs. Veilsturm's an awfully jolly woman, Macjean," said Thambits--"real
good sort, you know! I think you'd like her immensely."
"Would I?" replied Angus absently, wondering how he was to ask Dolly
about Miss Sheldon.
"Yes; she's got awfully jolly Sunday evenings, you know. Are you fond
of baccarat?"
"Not much. Are you?" asked Otterburn, fixing his keen grey eyes on the
weak face of the young man.
"Yes, rather. Only I always lose. I'm so unlucky."
"Oh, you lose at Mrs. Veilsturm's?"
"Yes. We play there on Sunday evenings. It's awfully jolly!"
"It must be--for Mrs. Veilsturm!" retorted Otterburn, doubtfully, at
once forming an unfavourable opinion of that lady; "but if you're so
unlucky, you shouldn't play baccarat."
"Oh, but I'll win when I get to be a better player."
"Will you? I wish you all success. Do many people go to Mrs.
Veilsturm's?"
"Yes, lots. All the jolliest people in town. She's quite in the swim
you know. You meet all sorts of pretty girls there."
"Indeed! Not on Sunday evening, I presume?"
"Oh, no; on week-days. I met that pretty Australian girl there last
Thursday for the first time this season."
"Eh? Miss Sheldon?"
"Yes. Awfully jolly girl. Do you know her?"
"Slightly," replied Angus, carelessly; "I met her once in Italy. She's
quite the belle of London, I hear."
"Yes, rather. And such a nice girl! No humbug about her. Lots of
fellows want to marry her."
"You among the number, I suppose?" said Otterburn, with an uneasy
laugh.
"Eh? Oh, no! There's not much chance for me. I've got no brains, and
she doesn't care for fellows who can't talk, you know."
"You're very modest, at all events," said Otterburn, feeling rather
amused by this candid admission.
"Oh, no, I'm not," replied Mr. Thambits wisely; "people think I'm a
fool because I've got lots of money, you know. But I see further than
they think. But about Mrs. Veilsturm--you'll call and see her with me,
won't you?"
"I don't know," said Angus, shortly; "perhaps."
"She's going to have a fancy dress ball, soon," rambled on Mr.
Thambits in a weakly fashion. "I'm going as a Crusader. How do you
think I'll look as a Crusader?"
"Oh, the usual thing, I suppose," replied Otterburn, good-naturedly
suppressing a laugh at the idea of Dolly Thambits in chain armour. "I
don't think any one at a fancy dress ball looks like what he pretends
to be. I suppose Miss Sheldon will be there?"
"Rather. Everyone in London is going."
"Then I may as well follow the example of everyone in London," said
Otterburn, quickly. "I'll call on Mrs. Veilsturm whenever you like."
"Oh, that's jolly! But, I say, I've got to meet a fellow at the
Carnation Club, you know. Jiddy, I'm going."
"So am I," replied Mr. Jiddy, slipping off a chair where he had been
seated like a whipped schoolboy under the severe eye of Mr. Laxton.
"Thank you for telling me about your travels, Mr. Laxton; they're most
entertaining."
"It's more than you are!" growled Laxton, grimly.
Dolly Thambits and his friend Jiddy took their departure, to the great
relief of both Angus and Laxton, who were quite sick of their
frivolous small talk and milk-and-water mannerisms.
"Good heavens, Macjean!" said Laxton, when the door closed on the
pair, "what the deuce do you have such fools here for?"
"They are fools, aren't they?" replied Otterburn, selecting a pipe
from his rack; "but the fact is, I asked Thambits to find out
something, and Mr. Jiddy came uninvited."
"Like his cheek! Why didn't you drop him out of the window?"
"Because we're in London--not in America," replied Angus, mildly; "my
dear Laxton, do remember that!"
"I never get a chance of forgetting that," groaned Laxton, sitting
down. "I'm sick of this narrow humdrum life. Most of the men I meet
are idiots, and the women worse. Let's go off to Africa, old chap.
I've found out all about the country, and we'll get another man to
join us--Helstone, you know. He's got a jolly yacht, and we can take
our own time."
"It sounds tempting," said Angus, wistfully; "but you see, Laxton, I
came here with a purpose, and until I carry out that purpose I can't
leave England."
"It's that girl, I suppose?"
Angus nodded.
"Yes. I haven't seen her yet, but intend to shortly. If she refuses
me, I'll go out to Africa with you, but if she accepts me----"
"Well?" demanded Laxton, grumpily.
"I'll ask you to be best man at the wedding," replied Angus, laughing.
His friend arose to his feet with a resigned expression of
countenance, and held out his hand.
"It's no good arguing with a man in love," he said, in a dismal tone;
"but fancy giving up a jolly expedition for the sake of a woman! Let
me know soon, as if you don't go I will, for I'm dying to get out of
these clothes."
He looked down with disgust at his well-fitting frock coat, grey
trousers, and neat patent leather boots, all of which he was willing
to change for a rough hunter's dress and a life of danger, such is the
instinctive leaning of young Englishmen towards the barbaric delights
of their woad-stained ancestors.
"Well, you are a queer stick, old fellow!" said Angus, laughing;
"you'll give up all the comforts of life for what?--jungle fever,
Liebig's Extract, and a dangerous existence!"
"Don't prose, my boy," retorted Laxton good-humouredly, taking up his
hat, "you'd do the same if you weren't in love. Well, goodbye at
present. I'll look you up again, and if you want to see me in the
meantime, just drop a line to the Globe Trotters' Club.'"
When he departed Angus stood for a moment in deep thought, filling his
pipe, with a strange smile on his face.
"I'm in love am I?" he said, striking a match. "Well, that's true
enough, but whether it's a wise thing to be in love is quite another
affair! Humph!" lighting his pipe, "it all depends on Victoria."
He picked up the morning paper, and was about to settle himself down
for a good read, when a knock came to the door.
"Confound it!" grumbled Otterburn, folding up the paper, as he heard
Johnnie Armstrong going to the door. "I wonder who that is?"
His question was answered in another moment by himself, for suddenly a
massive figure appeared at the door of the small sitting-room, and
Otterburn sprang to his feet with a cry of pleasure:
"Eustace Gartney."