The reader, if that noble myth who rules the destiny of us poor writers
be possessed of an average amount of memory, will recollect that on the
evening when Lord Alfred Courtland entertained Jack Beaupeep and friends
at his comfortable bachelor lodgings, a gentleman then first mentioned,
bearing the euphonious patronymic of Le Roux, conveyed to Monsieur
Guillemard the startling intelligence that the Russian Count Ratrapski
had broken the bank in J-------- Street. How, although immediately after
receiving this news, Horace D’Almayne had proceeded to Lady Trottemout’s
_soirée_, and, according to his wont, made himself universally
agreeable, and transacted a more than usual amount of mischief, by
bringing about the most serious disagreement which had yet occurred
between Harry Coverdale and Alice his wife, it must not be supposed that
the intelligence did not interest him. On the contrary, it appealed to
him in his weakest point--the pocket; for in that gambling establishment
(of which D’Almayne was part proprietor) had he invested his little
all, and the losses incurred by the good fortune of Count Ratrapski
swallowed up every farthing he had in the world, leaving him nothing but
his debts and his talents to live upon. This position, however, by no
means possessed the charm of novelty for our excellent young friend; on
the contrary, as it was a favourite theory of his--which he never lost
any opportunity of reducing to practice--that it was the duty of those
who had money to support those who had not, he rather preferred being
insolvent; and, paradoxical as it may appear, considered himself best
off when he was worst off--for then he was obliged to exert all his
energies to ensure that some purse better filled than his own should
relax its strings to provide for his necessities.
Thus, on the very day on which Arthur Hazlehurst had his unsatisfactory
interview with Kate Crane, the husband of that proud beauty met by
appointment, at an office not far from the Royal Exchange, Monsieur
Guillemard,--Mr. Vondenthaler, a Belgian capitalist,--Mr. Bonus Nugget,
a man well known upon ’Change,--the Hon. Captain O’Brien,--and last,
though not least, Horace D’Almayne. Mr. Crane having seated himself,
after undergoing the ceremony of introduction to Mr. Vondenthaler, who
was the only member of the party unknown to him, D’Almayne opened the
proceedings by observing--
“Well, gentlemen, I am glad to tell you that everything is progressing
as we could wish, and that my previous calculations, which I had the
honour of laying before you at our last meeting, appear likely not
only to be verified, but exceeded. Mr. Vondenthaler informs me that
the applications for shares from the principal foreign merchants are
incessant; and Mr. Nugget and Captain O’Brien will tell you the same in
regard to their own connection. Is it not so, Captain?”
“Indeed, and it is, thin,” replied the gentleman thus accosted, who
possibly, from his having mixed so much with the aristocracy of Europe
generally, spoke with a strong Irish accent. “Bedad, sir, the way they
come tumbling in is perfectly astonishing; ’tis, upon me conscience!”
“The only thing that remains then, before we proceed to issue the shares
and receive deposits, is to decide how many we shall allot to each
director _ex officio_, and how many you gentlemen may desire to retain
for--your friends,” observed D’Almayne, glancing expressively towards
Mr. Crane as he spoke.
“In regard to the shares to be held by directors, I would suggest five
hundred,” began Mr. Crane.
“_Das ist gut_; dat shall be him,” muttered Mr. Vondenthaler.
“I’ll not object to that same,” exclaimed the Captain, “if you leave
a thundering wide margin for the shares we may retain for our friends;
for, to be plain with ye, gentlemen, my best friend in the world,
and that’s Terence O’Brien, means to go in for this business in real
earnest; and if I can’t invest capital that will take five figures to
write, bedad I’d rather be out of it altogether.”
“Ten thousand, which I presume is the sum you hint at, Captain O’Brien,
could not I think be objected to,” observed Mr. Bonus Nugget, as if
£10,000 were a mere cab-fare.
“_Mais oui_, we will all demand so much as him, he is so small;
_n’est-ce pas, mon cher?_” interposed Monsieur Guillemard, favouring
Horace D’Almayne with a grimace indicative of the tenderest affection.
“If I might be allowed--if I might venture to suggest,” began Mr. Crane,
timidly, “I would propose that, at so early a stage in the affair, no
limit should be placed to the number of shares the directors may hold.
I am, ahem! a--myself I am a man who has been tolerably fortunate in my
commercial speculations, and might be disposed--in fact, I may say I
am disposed--to embark an amount of capital considerably above the sum
lately mentioned by Captain O’Brien.”
“Sir! your sentiments do you honour! Sir, I’m proud of your
acquaintance; you’re not one to do things by halves, I see. I like plain
speaking--the speculation’s a davlish good speculation, or you would
not find such men as Mr. Vondenthaler and my friend Bonus Nugget in
it. We’re going to give our valuable time and trouble to work the thing
ship-shape; and bedad, sir, if we’re not to profit by it, I’d jist like
to know who should!”
“Yes; that is all very well for you, O’Brien,” observed Mr. Nugget,
speaking with an air of authority; “but I happen to know a thing or two.
Mr. Crane, gentlemen, is--I say it to his face--able to go down to his
bankers, and draw a cheque, which they will honour, for more money than
any two of us could raise between us. Very well; now it’s no news to any
of us to be told that ‘money is power.’ But if Mr. Crane thinks, because he
can embark his £50,000,--or I believe I might raise the figure as
high again without overstating the matter,--that he is going to ride
rough-shod over the practical men who have started this scheme, and to
take the lion’s share of the enormous profits that he is sharp enough to
foresee must accrue, I for one beg to tell him I won’t stand it.”
“Ya! ya! _das ist gut!_ Ve have not started to be shod rough by Cranes!
Herr Bonus he knows a thing! _das ist recht und gut!_ Ve vill not
be roughed by Cranes!” muttered Mr. Vondenthaler through the thick
hay-coloured moustachios invariably worn by Belgian capitalists.
“_Mais oui_, you have reasons, Monsieur Vondenthaler, _mon ami_: but
if you yourself have mistaken, _n’est-ce pas?_” interposed Monsieur
Guillemard, eagerly. “I am assured Monsieur Crane is not _un homme
comme ça_; he shall not _se promener a cheval_--vot you call ride on a
horseback ovaire us _du tout; au contraire_, zies grate skim whom we
are zie undairetakers for, shall advance herself on his capital for zie
goods of us all. _Voyez vous, cher Monsieur Bonous!_”
“’Pon me conscience, now ye’re the first set of men I ever yet clapped
eyes on that made a fuss about taking money when it was offered to
’em!” exclaimed the Hon. Captain O’Brien, surprised into a stronger
brogue than he had yet allowed to appear. “Sure, now, by the time
we’ve tunnelled under the whole of Arabia Pethreea, and flung our
Britannia-metal tubular bridge across the Persian Gulf, we’ll find money
growing pretty tight with us.”
“As there seems some difference of opinion on the point,” returned Mr.
Bonus Nugget, “I would suggest that we summon a general meeting of all
the directors, and appoint a managing committee to decide such matters
for the future.”
This proposition was agreed to _nem. con._, and a day having been fixed
for their next meeting, D’Almayne began:--
“In my capacity as secretary, I have to call your attention to one point
before this meeting breaks up. I have, in accordance with a resolution
passed at the last board, gone into the current outlay, and find that to
pay the engineers now surveying the portion of the line already decided
on, and other expenses which I will not detain you by enumerating, the
account at our bankers is overdrawn. I would propose, therefore, that
two of the directors should sign a cheque for £3000, to be placed to the
company’s credit.”
“Better say five,” interposed Nugget; “it don’t do to be overdrawing our
account; I’ve known a trifle like that ruin a speculation as promising
even as the present one. Don’t let this occur again, D’Almayne; I can
let you have money at any moment, as you are well aware.”
“_Ya! ya!_ or I, vin you please; you must not starve him for no
accounts,” chimed in the Belgian capitalist.
“Certainly, £5000 should be paid in at once,” observed Mr. Crane,
producing a cheque-book. “I shall have much pleasure in advancing the
sum, if you gentlemen will sanction my so doing.”
This both Nugget and the Belgian protested against, each urging
their claims as originators of the scheme; but O’Brien silenced their
opposition, and settled the matter by exclaiming in his off-hand
manner--
“Let Mr. Crane have his way, sir!--he’s a fine fellow entirely--a
liberal and enlightened man he is--one of the merchant princes of this
great counthry; and though I’d the misfortune to be born an aristocrat
myself, I’ve no class bigotry about me. I admire a true Briton when I
meet with one; and whoever wishes to bully and browbeat that Briton in
my presence, must do it some time when Terence O’Brien isn’t there to
stand up for him. Shake hands, Mr. Crane--I’m proud to know you. Take
this pen and write, sir! Browbeat a man like that, indeed!--’pon my
conscience, what next I wonder!”
And so, under cover of the Captain’s blustering, Mr. Crane signed a
cheque for £5000, for which D’Almayne gave him a receipt in the name of
the company; then bowing to his co-directors, and exchanging a word or
two aside with D’Almayne, he departed. As the sound of his retreating
footsteps died away in the distance, D’Almayne, quietly pocketing the
cheque, observed--
“If we can but get the shares to sell for--say twenty thousand, the
speculation will not pay badly. You see, Guillemard, these crafty
islanders--these denizens of ‘_perfide Albion_’--their pockets are not
impregnable when you assault them judiciously. Five thousand pounds from
one man is not such a bad morning’s work!”
“Thrue for you, me boy!” exclaimed the Irishman; “by the powers, a few
more such mornings’ work will make men of us, if it please providence
to keep us out of jail so long; but it’s a dangerous game your playing.
Sure now there’s jist five of us here present--why wouldn’t we take a
thousand a-piece, and make ourselves scarce without any more ado? I’m
content for one, bedad.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, Terence,” was the reply: “for two very
good reasons: one being, that if you remain quiet and follow my lead, I
will enable you to bolt--if it come to bolting--with £10,000 instead of
one; and the other, that Mr. Crane’s cheque is very safely buttoned up
in my pocket, to be applied as I think best; and any man who attempts
to take it from me will become practically acquainted with the merits
of this ingenious little instrument,” and as he spoke he drew from his
breastpocket a small, beautifully-finished revolving pistol, whereupon
the individual termed Nugget interposed by observing--
“Nonsense, D’Almayne, put that thing away: we’re not in New Orleans,
man; and the report of that would blow our schemes to the devil long
before the bullet had penetrated O’Brien’s thick skull. But really
there is nothing to disagree about that I can see: it’s quite clear,
gentlemen, that D’Almayne knows perfectly well what he’s doing, and that
our interests could not be in better hands. We meet again on Friday.
D’Almayne, you’ll see me to-night in J-------- Street; and now that
we’re in funds again, Ratrapski will be as good as a fortune to us:
a man does not break the bank twice.” Then, nodding familiarly to the
others, Mr. Bonus Nugget resumed his usual “City” look (worth five
hundred a-year to him at the most moderate computation), and departed.
“Terence, never look sulky, man; I meant no harm; what I said was as
much for your good as my own,” began D’Almayne, in a conciliatory
tone. “Come, I want you and Guillemard to dine at Blackwall, to meet an
unfledged lordling, to whom I’ll allow you to sell a horse, if you like;
and you may do a little bit of ‘turf’ business too, if he’ll bite; only
it must be done in a quiet, gentlemanly way mind, because I’ve ulterior
views in regard to my young friend: he has a taste for the club in
J-------- Street--you understand?”
“I believe ye, me boy! an it’s a fine child ye are intirely; and the
way ye’ve cut yer wisdom teeth is a credit to yer blessed mother--always
supposing ye ever possessed such a respectible relative,” was the
Hibernian’s reply.
“By the way, if you’re really going in for the horse business,” resumed
D’Almayne, meditatively, “you may as well do the thing properly. Get
a flash trap, you know, and drive us down; and--who’s that
sporting-looking young fellow you had packing you at Epsom--dark curly
hair, and grey hawk’s eyes?”
“Oh, Phil Tirrett, the great Yorkshire breeder’s son; he is his father’s
London agent, and a very promising young--”
“Scoundrel,” interposed D’Almayne, “I read it in his face. However,
you’ll want somebody to back up your lies, and he’ll pass with such
green boys as we shall have to-day; so bring him. Let me see--it’s now
two o’clock--call for me at the Pandemonium at five; and, excuse me, but
drop the Irish blackguard, and assume the foreign _militaire_ as much as
you conveniently can. Remember, you’re captain in the Austrian service,
and I was in your regiment, your sub., for a year.”
“Bedad! it’s as well you reminded me of that same, for it had slipped my
memory some way,” was the affable reply, as, arranging his auburn, not
to say red, hair under his hat, the gallant Captain prepared to take
himself off. Ere he did so, however, he chanced to cast his eyes on the
Belgian capitalist, who was amusing his leisure moments by performing
some intricate manœuvres with a pack of cards, an occupation which he
interrupted by slapping Vondenthaler on the back with such force that a
covey of cards flew out of the pack about the room.
“What devil’s dodge are you planning there, you old sinner!” he
exclaimed; “let’s look at ye!” he continued, seizing him by the chin,
and turning his head so that the light fell upon his countenance;
“bedad! them moustachios alter you surprising! Nobody that had not known
ye as I’ve done, since I could handle a dice-box, and that was before
I was into me teens, would recognise in Mr. Vondenthaler, the Belgian
merchant, Le Roux the old _croupier!_”
“Leave him alone,” observed D’Almayne; “Le Roux’s a steady, sensible
man, and one I have a great respect for; he knows his work, and does it
well and quietly; and I’d back his long head against your noisy talent
(for the ‘gift of the gab,’ as you term it, is a noisy talent and
a dangerous one) any day, Captain.” Then, turning to Le Roux, he
said--“The bank will re-open to-night, and we shall be there in force.
Mind the Champagne’s better than the last batch. Let everything be
in first-rate style, and spare no expense. Guillemard, you heard the
rendezvous? Five o’clock, messieurs, _au revoir_.”
So saying, D’Almayne bowed with as much scrupulous politeness to the
worshipful fraternity of ------ men of science he was quitting, as if he
had been leaving the council-chamber of a prince. Calling a Hansom cab,
this industrious and zealous young man drove to his west-end lodgings,
and exchanging his suit of quiet black, in which he had dressed the
man-of-business character he had been pleased to enact, for more
butterfly garments, went down to a certain fashionable club, where he
felt sure of meeting Lord Alfred Courtland, and found him accordingly,
but by no means in the amiable, docile frame of mind in which he usually
rejoiced. The hour preceding that at which D’Almayne entered the
club had been spent by Lord Alfred in concocting, pursuant to Arthur
Hazlehurst’s advice, a penitent letter to Alice Coverdale--a composition
which had cost him much trouble and anxiety, and wherein he had
endeavoured in some measure to justify himself, by shifting as much
of the blame as he truthfully could on to the shoulders of Horace
D’Almayne; and he had just closed and dispatched this accusatory epistle
when, as though to overwhelm him with shame at such a betrayal of one
who professed himself, and whom in great measure he still believed to
be, his friend, his aspersed mentor seated himself opposite to him, and
addressing him by his usual endearing epithet of “_mon cher_,” invited
him to dine with him that day, and meet a few choice spirits at
Blackwall.
“You’re very kind, but you really must excuse me,” was Lord Alfred’s
reply. “I’ve been knocking about a good deal lately, and begin to want a
little quiet.”
“Yes, I know,” was D’Almayne’s rejoinder; “such is always one’s morning
theory--but one never puts it in practice; when eight o’clock comes, _il
faut diner!_ Seriously, however, I can’t let you off. I have asked
two or three men to meet you, who are most anxious to make your
acquaintance”--(this was _strictly_ true),--“and who will be awfully
savage if you don’t come.”
“Come--of course he’ll come, and so will I too, if anybody will ask me,
and there’s a lark in hand--what does Milton say?--
‘A bird in hand is better far,
Than two that in the bushes are.’
Fine poem, _Paradise Lost_. By the way, did you ever hear my riddle on
that head? ‘Why is the fact of the contents of a backgammon-board having
been thrown out of the window like Milton’s _chef-d’œuvre?_’ Do you give
it up? Because it’s a _pair o’ dice lost_.’ None so dusty that--eh?
for a commoner like me? We poor devils that have to grind all day to
procure our modest chop and our unassuming pint of London porter, can’t
be expected to say such brilliant things as you noble swells, who have
had nothing to do but cultivate your understandings ever since you came
into the world with gold spoons in your mouths. But you have not told me
what’s up yet.”
Here the speaker, who was none other than the facetious Jack Beaupeep,
paused for want of breath, and D’Almayne interposed with a reply to his
question--
“The particular event exalted at the moment you joined us is a bachelor
dinner at Blackwall to-day, for which I am trying to beat up a few
recruits; let me hope you will enlist under my banner, and, with such a
reinforcement, I am sure Lord Alfred will surrender at discretion.”
“All serene!” rejoined the voluble Jack; “I was ‘to let unfurnished’
(with a dinner)--and let me tell you a Blackwall feed is a special mercy
that’s not to be sneezed at. Come, Alfred, my boy, merge the haughty
noble in the jolly-good-fellow till further notice, and say ‘I will.’”
“Have it your own way. Since you’re both determined on my capture, it’s
hopeless to resist,” said Lord Alfred, his feeble attempt at reformation
completely defeated; “but I certainly had made up my mind to spend a
quiet evening.”
“So had I,” returned Jack; “but then I did not expect such luck as to
come in for a noisy one. What time, and where do we meet?”
“At the Pandemonium, at five o’clock,” was D’Almayne’s reply; “and mind
you are both punctual.”