THE STRENGTHENING OF THE CHAIN
For the next few days following the night of the dinner at John
Castlemaine's house, a change seemed to have come over Radford
Leicester. He became less hopeless, and he did not drink so freely. It
might seem as though an evening spent in the society of a good woman had
a beneficial effect upon him. He did not take any further steps to carry
out his avowed intention, but when he spoke of women it was with less
bitterness.
Both Sprague and Purvis noticed this, and both wondered what it
portended. Could it be that Leicester meant to reform, or did it mean
that he was simply playing a part, in order to win the woman he had
boasted he could win?
Nevertheless he was moody, and seemed unhappy. He met these men
sometimes at the club, but spoke little. Moreover, in public he was very
abstemious, so much so that even the waiter noticed it.
"Is he turning over a new leaf?" asked Purvis of Sprague.
"If he is, he is not playing the game," replied the other.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because it was understood that he should win her on the understanding
that he was an atheist and a drunkard."
"But surely you don't object to his reforming?"
"No, of course I should be only too glad if he did, only in that case
all the point of our discussion would be gone."
They were, during this conversation, sitting in the club where we first
met them, and just as Purvis was about to reply to the other Leicester
entered the room. He looked even paler than usual, and the dark rings
around his eyes suggested pain either physical or mental. No sooner did
he see them than he walked towards them, as if glad of an opportunity of
companionship.
"How are you, Leicester?"
"I have a beastly headache," he replied.
Sprague and Purvis looked at each other significantly, a look which
Leicester noticed.
"No," he said, "don't draw your conclusions. I have not been drinking.
It's that confounded constituency."
"Why, anything happened there?"
"No--nothing of importance. It's only the old game. This man has to be
written to, and the other man has to have a certain statement explained.
I'd give up the whole thing for twopence."
"Where would your career be then, Leicester?"
"Hang the career," he said moodily.
"It's all very well to say that, old man, but a great deal depends on
it."
"What?"
"Well, your future--your future in Parliament, and your future
matrimonial arrangements."
He gave the two men an angry look.
"Surely that's my affair," he said.
"Sorry to contradict you, old man; but it is our affair too. That
hundred pounds, you know."
Leicester gave expression to a sentiment which was more forcible than
elegant.
Sprague looked at him eagerly. Ever since the night when we first met
these men, he had cherished anger in his heart towards Leicester. He
felt that this man despised him, and he was glad of the opportunity of
giving him one, as he termed it, "on his own account."
"Our gallant warrior is afraid to fight," he said with a sneer.
Leicester started as though he were stung. The look on Sprague's face
maddened him. For Leicester was in a nervous condition that night. His
abstention from spirits was telling on him terribly. Every fibre of his
being was crying out for whisky, and every nerve seemed on edge.
"What do you mean, Sprague?" he demanded.
"I mean that our gallant warrior is pulling down his flag," said
Sprague. "He has found out that the citadel cannot be easily taken, and
he's ready to give up without striking a blow."
Leicester looked on the ground moodily. In his heart of hearts he was
ashamed of the whole business, but he felt he would rather do anything
than confess it before these fellows.
"I hear he's turned teetotaller, too," went on Sprague, who seemed
anxious to pay off old scores. "Who knows? we may see Leicester posing
as a temperance advocate yet."
Leicester rose to his feet as if unable to contain himself. To be
sneered at by a man like Sprague was too much. He seemed about to give
vent to an insulting remark, then as if thinking better of it checked
himself. He rung a bell which stood on the table.
A waiter came in answer to his summons.
"Whisky," he said.
"A large or a small one, sir?"
"Bring--bring a bottle," he said savagely.
"I say, Leicester, don't do that!" said Purvis.
"Don't do what?"
"Don't start drinking again."
Again Leicester was almost overwhelmed with anger. How dare these
fellows seek to interfere with him!
"May I ask my dear Moody and Sankey when the control of my actions came
within your province?" he said, with a strong effort at self-control.
"Don't take it in that way, old man. I'm sure you are ashamed of the
other business, and----"
"What business?"
"You know what business. You can't go on with it. You would never have
thought of it if you hadn't been drinking too much; and really, I was
awfully glad when I saw that you were giving it up."
Leicester did not reply, but instead looked eagerly towards the waiter,
who was coming towards him.
He poured out a large portion of whisky into a glass, and then, having
added a small quantity of soda-water, he took a long draught.
"There," he said, when he set down the glass empty, "that for your pious
platitudes, my friends."
The action seemed to restore something of his equanimity, and it also
brought back the old bravado which had characterised him.
"The brave warrior appears to require Dutch courage," remarked Sprague,
who seemed bent on arousing all that was evil in him.
"Better that than none at all," remarked Leicester quietly. "And let me
tell you this, my friend, you can tell your mother that I shall not
assist you in your drawing-room meetings. By the way, what line are you
on now? Is it Hottentot children, anti-smoking, or the conversion of the
Jews?"
The colour had risen to his cheeks, the old light had come back to his
eyes.
"As if I cared for your Dorcas meeting standards of morality," he went
on. "What, you thought the poor sinner was repenting, eh? And you had
all your texts, and your rag-tags of advice to pour into my willing
ears. Tell me, Sprague, have you selected one of your women speakers to
speak a word in season? You know how partial I am to public women."
"You tried to give up the drink for a whole week for one," retorted
Sprague angrily.
"Did I, now? Well, then, I'll make up for my past misdeeds. I repent of
my backsliding, my dear pastor, and I return to my spiritual comforter."
He poured out more whisky, still with a steady hand, and looked at them
with a mocking smile.
"Have faith, Sprague," he said; "have faith, as your favourite women
speakers say so eloquently at those dear drawing-room meetings which you
love so much, 'there's nothing done without faith.'"
Purvis, who was the better fellow of the two, looked really distressed.
He was ashamed of what had taken place, and had sincerely hoped that
Leicester had given up the wild scheme upon which they had embarked.
"I am sorry for all this, Leicester," he said, "and I confess frankly I
hoped----"
"That I had been brought to the stool of repentance, that I was ashamed
of my misdeeds, and that I was going to give up the game. No, my
friends, I stand by what I said, and what is more, I am going to carry
it through. I am not converted to your professed belief in the nobility
of women, and as for being ashamed--tah, as though I cared for your
copybook morality!"
Neither of the men spoke in reply. They were almost afraid of the man.
He spoke quietly, and yet the strange light in his eyes showed how much
moved he was.
"And what is more, dear Moody and Sankey," he went on, "I'll play the
game honestly. I'll hide none of my sentiments. I'll win this woman
under no false colours. Why should I? There is no need. What did I say?
Let women have their selfish ambition gratified, and nothing else
matters."
"Come now, Leicester, you know it is not so. I should think your visit
to Mr. Castlemaine's would at least have caused you to drop that
rubbish."
He had by this time finished his second glass of whisky, and while as on
the former occasion it showed no effects on his perfect articulation,
and while he spoke very quietly, it doubtless made him say and do what
without its influence he would never think of doing.
"I say, Purvis," he said, lying back comfortably in his chair, and
lighting a cigar, "did I hide my sentiments at Mr. Castlemaine's? Did I
pose as a moral reformer? And what is more, did you spare me? Did you
not, with great and loyal friendship, give both Mr. and Miss
Castlemaine your views concerning me? Did you not tell Miss Castlemaine
of my reputation at Oxford, and of my terrible opinions? Did you not
tell Mr. Castlemaine that I was an atheist, that I had laughed at
Christian morality, and that I was a hard drinker? Come now, deny it if
you can."
"You know what you said to me," said Purvis, looking on the floor like a
man ashamed.
"Of course I did, my dear fellow. Don't look so miserable about it.
Well, I did my worst, and you did your worst. Now look at that!"
He threw a letter to Purvis as he spoke.
"Am I to read it?"
"Else why did I give it you?"
Purvis opened the letter and read it. It was an invitation to Mr.
Castlemaine's to dinner.
"Are you going?" asked Purvis.
"Of course I am. Do you think I am going to let such an opportunity
slip? Oh, you need not be afraid to show it to Sprague. It is not an
invitation to a drawing-room meeting, it is only to a dinner."
"Well, that means nothing," said Sprague.
"No? I think it proves my statements to the hilt. That invitation would
not have come from John Castlemaine without his daughter's
consent--perhaps it was at her instigation. And yet she knows that I
am--well--all you've described me to be. I am an atheist, I've thrown
copybook morals overboard, I am a hard drinker. But what then? I conform
to the conventions; no man has ever seen me drunk; but more than all
that, I am mentioned as one who is going to have a brilliant career.
Hence the invitation."
"An invitation to dinner means nothing," urged Sprague.
"Hence the invitation, and hence the future justification of my
statements," he persisted. "Good-night, my friends, I am sorry I cannot
stay longer."
He walked out of the room quite gaily. A casual passer-by, if he had met
him, would at that moment have thought of him as a happy man.
And yet, although Sprague and Purvis did not know it, Leicester had
entered the smoking-room of the club that night with a strong
inclination to refuse the invitation to John Castlemaine's house. He
_had_ been ashamed of making a woman the subject of a wager, and more,
he had for several days been fighting against the craving for alcohol.
He realised more than any man the mastery which it had gained over him,
and he knew that unless he conquered the habit, he would soon be a slave
to it, body and soul. An evening spent in the society of a good woman,
moreover, had aroused his latent manhood, and he felt that he could not
degrade himself by standing by the challenge he had made. He knew as
well as they that it was made under the influence of whisky, and that no
man of honour should stand by it.
During the days he had been fighting his craving for drink, the thought
of what he had done became more and more repugnant, and when he entered
the room where Sprague and Purvis were, he intended telling them that
nothing more must be said about it.
It seemed, however, that the fates were against him. He was in a
nervous, irritable mood, caused by his abstention from the poison which
had become almost a necessity to him, and the significant glances of the
two men maddened him. Had they met him in the right spirit, it is
possible that the affair, which did not reflect credit upon any of them,
might have been dismissed as an idle joke. As we have seen, however,
they had taunted him, they had aroused him to anger; these men whom he
regarded as his inferiors had assumed an air of superiority, and this in
the present state of his nerves was more than he could bear. He had
ordered whisky, and after that his good resolutions went by the board.
Radford Leicester would have died rather than have confessed himself
beaten. Thus do great issues often rest upon unimportant events.
After he had gone a silence fell between the two young men for some
time.
"I wish we hadn't been such fools, Sprague," said Purvis presently.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that we are as bad as he is, perhaps worse. We at least were
sober."
"Yes, I know; but who would have thought that he would stand by his
guns?"
"We know what he is. I believe if we had been wise to-night he might
have been led to give it up. But now nothing will move him."
"Well, it may teach Miss Castlemaine a lesson," said Sprague, whose
pride had not yet recovered from the wound which her refusal had made;
"but there--it's all right. It'll never come to anything. For that
matter, if anything serious came of it, I would tell her the whole
history of the joke."
"No, you wouldn't."
"Why?"
"Because you dare not. Because she would despise us all to our last day,
because she would never speak to us again. You know the kind of girl
she is."
Sprague was silent.
"Is it a dinner-party which Mr. Castlemaine is giving, or is Leicester
invited in a friendly way, I wonder?" he said presently.
"Evidently a friendly invitation, seeing Mr. Castlemaine has written the
letter with his own hand."
"Was it true that you told Mr. Castlemaine the truth about him?"
Purvis looked uncomfortable.
"Evidently he did not believe it," he replied, after hesitating a few
seconds. "You know Leicester's way. When you look into those wonderful
eyes of his you cannot tell whether he's joking or whether he's in
earnest. Besides, he's such a handsome, fascinating chap, and I saw that
Mr. Castlemaine took to him. Then, although it is perfectly true that he
talked in his usual mocking way during a part of the evening, he altered
his tone before he left. Evidently he found Miss Castlemaine to be a
congenial companion, for he grew quite earnest in his conversation, and
you know that when he is earnest, he is nothing short of brilliant. In
fact, he showed us two Radford Leicesters that night: we had Leicester
the cynic, but we had also Leicester the scholar, the brilliant
conversationalist, the man who has read everything worth reading, and
seen everything worth the seeing. No one could help noticing how Miss
Castlemaine admired him."
"And you believe he'll carry this thing through now?"
"I'm sure he'll propose to her. Didn't you see his eyes? And you know
what a fellow he is. When once he sets his mind upon a thing he'll go
straight on. Ordinary considerations do not daunt him. Refusals will
only make him more determined. Besides, you wounded his pride to-night,
and--well, I wish we had not been such fools. For my own part, I am
ashamed of the whole business."
"I tell you we need not fear. We know what Miss Castlemaine is. She is
not the kind of woman to be carried away by a handsome presence and
clever speeches. It isn't as though this would be her first offer."
"No, but she admires strength. Do you know her favourite characters in
history?"
"No."
"Well, just think. The men she admires most are Luther, Richelieu,
Cromwell, and Napoleon."
"A curious combination."
"Yes, but each one of them had the same characteristics. All of them
were strong men, men who dared great things, played for great stakes."
"Well, Leicester has not dared great things."
"But he's capable of great things. Why, you know as well as I, that when
he's in a room, every one else is put in the shade, that is if he cares
to exert himself. I tell you Leicester could be a great man, if he only
had the motive power."
"But we need have no fear. When did you say he was invited to Mr.
Castlemaine's?"
"Next Thursday week."
"I wish we were invited too," said Sprague.
"Who knows?--perhaps we may be."
As a matter of fact they were, and when the night of the dinner came
round they both found themselves sitting not only in close proximity to
Leicester, but also to Miss Olive Castlemaine. For this was one of
those rare occasions when John Castlemaine gave a dinner-party.
Radford Leicester sat beside Olive Castlemaine, and all admitted that
they were the most striking-looking couple in the room. Had they met in
some brilliant society throng, they would have been just as noteworthy.
Moreover, this was one of those nights when Radford Leicester found
himself in a mood to exert himself, while Olive Castlemaine, as hostess,
naturally desired to be agreeable.
For the first part of the dinner but little of note was said. The
conversation passed from one topic to another. Motor-cars, a continental
exhibition, the latest new novel of note, and the political situation
were each discussed in their turn. Society scandal was not indulged in,
and the sayings and doings of actresses and music-hall singers were not
to be mentioned. Thus, when one comes to think about it, the
conversation was of a considerably higher standard than that often
indulged in at society functions. But then it must be remembered that
John Castlemaine was a middle-class man, who professed the Christian
religion, and the atmosphere of his house was not favourable to "smart"
talk.
Indeed, if the truth must be told, Radford Leicester grew rather restive
under it. He noticed, too, that both Sprague and Purvis were watching
him closely, and listening to all he had to say. He instinctively knew
of what they were thinking, and more, he felt certain that if his host
and hostess were aware of the circumstances which led to his being their
guest that night, a servant would have shown him to the door. Moreover,
although he was not afraid of the outward effect of taking much wine at
dinner, he was obliged to be abstemious. Olive Castlemaine had heard of
his weakness, and would doubtless take note of the number of times the
waiter filled his glass.
Presently, when discussing politics, someone remarked on the amount of
self-sacrifice which had been practised by Members of Parliament,
especially by those who held a prominent position in the country.
"Mr. Leicester does not believe in that," remarked Purvis. "He is of
opinion that it is all great fun."
At this all eyes were turned towards Leicester.
"You are mistaken," he replied, "I believe the self-sacrifice of these
men is very great."
"Mr. Leicester has surely altered his opinion of late," remarked
Sprague. "Behold, a Saul among the prophets!"
"Not in the slightest, I assure you," replied Leicester. "I believe that
hosts of these men sacrifice themselves a great deal. If you ask me who
they sacrifice themselves for, I should say--themselves."
"Then the candidate for Taviton sacrifices his leisure for----"
"The candidate for Taviton, exactly. My dear Sprague, you have hit off
the situation with your usual felicity."
"I don't think Mr. Leicester is fair to himself," remarked Olive
Castlemaine, looking questioningly into Leicester's face.
"I assure you I am," replied Leicester. "Indeed, I am inclined to think
that the people who are called self-sacrificing are very undesirable
people to associate with."
"Come, come now, Leicester, you don't believe that," said Purvis.
"I assure you I do most sincerely," replied Leicester quietly. "The
other day I was at a house where there were six people present, and they
were waiting to play some game where only four could take part. Well,
four of them were self-sacrificing people, and wanted to give way to the
others. Two were selfish, and desired to engage in the game. Well,
neither of these four would give way in their unselfishness--with the
result that the game was never played at all. The evening was spoiled by
unselfish people."
He looked so serious as he spoke that Olive Castlemaine laughed
outright.
"Many an evening which might have been pleasant," went on Leicester,
"has been spoiled for me by these unselfish people making themselves and
everybody else uncomfortable, under the pretence that they were trying
to make us comfortable. Of this I am sure, if people were really and
truly honest, and were openly selfish, then each man would seek his own
enjoyment and find it."
"And be miserable when he had found it," remarked Olive quietly.
"I assure you that is a fallacy," said Leicester, "else why is it that
the so-called moral and unselfish people are the most disagreeable to
deal with? This I can say truly, the most morose and unhappy people I
have ever met are these moral reformers."
"Then what would you suggest?"
"A good healthy paganism. I know this is an awful heresy, but can any
reasonable man say that the English, with all their religious
institutions, are as happy as the old Greeks were?"
"We can't accuse Leicester of hiding his light under a bushel," said
Sprague to Purvis, after dinner, during which Leicester continued to
talk in the same strain.
"No, but I have yet to see that Miss Castlemaine is repelled by him."
"That's because she believes he is playing a part."
"You believe that she thinks he's been joking?"
"Exactly."
But they were wrong. Olive Castlemaine believed that there was an
undertone of sincerity in all Leicester said, and she was sorry for him.
During the evening she saw a great deal of him, and although she did not
feel quite comfortable in his presence, his personality fascinated her.
Indeed, he became quite an enigma to her. Sometimes, when the cynical
side of his nature was uppermost, she felt almost sorry that he had been
invited to the house, but when he changed and spoke earnestly on matters
which interested her, she forgot her feelings of aversion.
Indeed, when all the guests had left the house that night, Olive
Castlemaine reflected what a fine man Radford Leicester would be if the
sad, hopeless spirit were cast out of him, and he could be inspired by
high and noble motives.
"I wonder what would do it?" she asked herself again and again.