CONCERNING THE DUTY OF FATHERS; MORE ESPECIALLY THE VISCOUNT'S
"ROMAN"
It was about two o'clock in the afternoon that Barnabas knocked at
the door of the Viscount's chambers in Half-moon Street and was duly
admitted by a dignified, albeit somewhat mournful gentleman in blue
and silver, who, after a moment of sighing hesitancy, ushered him
into a small reception room where sat a bullet-headed man with one
eye and a remarkably bristly chin, a sinister looking person who
stared very hard with his one eye, and sucked very hard, with much
apparent relish and gusto, at the knob of the stick he carried. At
sight of this man the mournful gentleman averted his head, and
vented a sound which, despite his impressive dignity, greatly
resembled a sniff, and, bowing to Barnabas, betook himself upstairs
to announce the visitor. Hereupon the one-eyed man having surveyed
Barnabas from head to foot with his solitary orb, drew the knob of
his stick from his mouth, dried it upon his sleeve, looked at it,
gave it a final rub, and spoke.
"Sir," said he in a jovial voice that belied his sinister aspect,
"did you 'ear that rainbow sniff?"
"Rainbow?" said Barnabas.
"Well,--wallet, then,--footman--the ornamental cove as jest popped
you in 'ere. Makes one 'undred and eleven of 'em!"
"One hundred and eleven what?"
"Sniffs, sir,--s-n-i-double-f-s! I've took the trouble to count 'em,
--nothing else to do. I ain't got a word out of 'im yet, an' I've
been sittin' 'ere ever since eight o'clock s'mornin'. I'm a
conwivial cock, I am,--a sociable cove, yes, sir, a s-o-s-h-able
cove as ever wore a pair o' boots. Wot I sez is,--though a bum, why
not a sociable bum, and try to make things nice and pleasant, and I
does my best, give you my word! But Lord! all my efforts is wasted
on that 'ere rainbow--nothing but sniffs!"
"Why then--who--what are you?"
"I'm Perks and Condy, wines and sperrits,--eighty-five pound,
eighteen, three--that's me, sir."
"Do you mean that you are--in possession--here?"
"Just that, sir,--ever since eight o'clock s'morning--and nothing
but sniffs--so fur." Here the bullet-headed man nodded and eyed the
knob of his stick hungrily. But at this moment the door opened, and
the dignified (though mournful) gentleman appeared, and informed
Barnabas (with a sigh) that "his Lordship begged Mr. Beverley would
walk upstairs."
Upstairs accordingly Barnabas stepped, and guided by a merry
whistling, pushed open a certain door, and so found the Viscount
busily engaged in the manufacture of a paper dart, composed of a
sheet of the Gazette, in the midst of which occupation he paused to
grip Barnabas by the hand.
"Delighted to see you, Bev," said he heartily, "pray sit down, my
dear fellow--sit anywhere--no, not there--that's the toast, deuce
take it! Oh, never mind a chair, bed'll do, eh? Yes, I'm rather
late this morning, Bev,--but then I was so late last night that I
was devilish early, and I'm making up for it,--must have steady
nerves for the fifteenth, you know. Ah, and that reminds me!" Here
the Viscount took up his unfinished dart and sighed over it.
"I'm suffering from a rather sharp attack of Romanism, my dear fellow,
my Honored Parent has been at it again, Bev, and then, I dropped two
hundred pounds in Jermyn Street last night."
"Dropped it! Do you mean you lost it, or were you robbed?" inquired
Barnabas the Simple. Now when he said this, the Viscount stared at
him incredulously, but, meeting the clear gaze of the candid gray
eyes, he smiled all at once and shook his head.
"Gad!" he exclaimed, "what a strange fellow you are, Bev. And yet I
wouldn't have you altered, no, damme! you're too refreshing. You ask
me 'did I lose it, or was I robbed?' I answer you,--both, my dear
fellow. It was a case of sharps and flats, and--I was the flat."
"Ah,--you mean gambling, Dick?"
"Gambling, Bev,--at a hell in Jermyn Street."
"Two hundred pounds is a great deal of money to lose at cards," said
Barnabas, shaking his head gravely.
"Humph!" murmured the Viscount, busied upon his paper dart again,
"you should congratulate me, I think, that it was no more,--might
just as easily have been two thousand, you see, indeed I wonder it
wasn't. Egad! the more I think of it, the more fortunate I consider
myself. Yes, I certainly think you should congratulate me. Now--watch
me hit Sling!" and the Viscount poised his completed dart.
"Captain Slingsby--here?" exclaimed Barnabas, glancing about.
"Under the settee, yonder," nodded the Viscount, "wrapped up in the
table-cloth."
"Table-cloth!" repeated Barnabas.
"By way of military cloak," explained the Viscount. "You see--Sling
was rather--mellow, last night, and--at such times he always imagines
he's campaigning again--insists upon sleeping on the floor."
Now, looking where the Viscount pointed, Barnabas espied the touzled
head of Captain Slingsby of the Guards protruding from beneath the
settee, and reposing upon a cushion. The Captain's features were
serene, and his breathing soft and regular, albeit deepening, ever
and anon, into a gentle snore.
"Poor old Sling!" said the Viscount, leaning forward the better to
aim his missile, "in two hours' time he must go and face the Ogre,
--poor old Sling! Now watch me hit him!" So saying Viscount Devenham
launched his paper dart which, gliding gracefully through the air,
buried its point in the Captain's whisker, whereupon that warrior,
murmuring plaintively, turned over and fell once more gently
a-snoring.
"Talking about the Ogre--" began the Viscount.
"You mean--Jasper Gaunt?" Barnabas inquired.
"Precisely, dear fellow, and, talking of him, did you happen to
notice a--fellow, hanging about downstairs,--a bristly being with
one eye, Bev?"
"Yes, Dick."
"Ha!" said the Viscount nodding, "and talking of him, brings me back
to my Honored Roman--thus, Bev. Chancing to find myself
in--ha--hum--a little difficulty, a--let us say--financial tightness,
Bev. I immediately thought of my father, which,--under the
circumstances was, I think, very natural--and filial, my dear fellow.
I said to myself, here is a man, the author of my being, who, though
confoundedly Roman, is still my father, and, as such, owes certain
duties to his son, sacred duties, Bev, not to be lightly esteemed,
blinked, or set aside,--eh, Bev?"
"Undoubtedly!" said Barnabas.
"I, therefore, ventured to send him a letter, post-haste, gently
reminding him of those same duties, and acquainting him with
my--ah--needy situation,--which was also very natural, I think."
"Certainly!" said Barnabas, smiling.
"But--would you believe it, my dear fellow, he wrote, or rather,
indited me an epistle, or, I should say, indictment, in his most
Roman manner which--but egad! I'll read it to you, I have it here
somewhere." And the Viscount began to rummage among the bedclothes,
to feel and fumble under pillow and bolster, and eventually dragged
forth a woefully crumpled document which he smoothed out upon his
knees, and from which he began to read as follows:
MY DEAR HORATIO.
"As soon as I saw that' t--i--o,' Bev, I knew it was no go. Had it
been merely a--c--e I should have nourished hopes, but the 't--i--o'
slew 'em--killed 'em stone dead and prepared me for a screed in my
Honored Roman's best style, bristling with the Divine Right of
Fathers, and, Bev--I got it. Listen:"
Upon reading your long and very eloquent letter, I was surprised
to learn, firstly, that you required money, and secondly to observe
that you committed only four solecisms in spelling,
("Gives me one at the very beginning, you'll notice,
Bev.")
As regards the money, you will, I am sure, be amazed, nay astounded,
to learn that you have already exceeded your allowance by some five
hundred pounds--
("So I was, Bev, begad--I thought it was eight.")
As regards your spelling--
("Ah! here he leads again with his left, and gets one in,--low,
Bev, low!")
As regards your spelling, as you know, I admire originality in
all things; but it has, hitherto, been universally conceded that the
word "eliminate" shall not and cannot begin with the letters i-l-l!
"Vanquish" does not need a k. "Apathy" is spelled with but one p--
while never before have I beheld "anguish" with a w.
("Now, Bev, that's what I call coming it a bit too strong!" sighed
the Viscount, shaking his head; "'anguish' is anguish however you
spell it! And, as for the others, let me tell you when a fellow has
a one-eyed being with bristles hanging about his place, he isn't
likely to be over particular as to his p's and q's, no, damme! Let's
see, where were we? ah! here it is,--'anguish' with a 'w'!")
I quite agree with your remarks, viz. that a father's duties to
his son are sacred and holy--
("This is where I counter, Bev, very neatly,--listen! He quite
agrees that,--")
--a father's duties to his son are sacred and holy, and not to be
lightly esteemed, blinked, or set aside--
("Aha! had him there, Bev,--inside his guard, eh?")
I also appreciate, and heartily endorse your statement that it is
to his father that a son should naturally turn for help--
("Had him again--a leveller that time, egad!")
naturally turn for help, but, when the son is constantly turning,
then, surely, the father may occasionally turn too, like the worm.
The simile, though unpleasant, is yet strikingly apt.
("Hum! there he counters me and gets one back, I suppose, Bev? Oh,
I'll admit the old boy is as neat and quick with his pen as he used
to be with his hands. He ends like this:")
I rejoice to hear that you are well in health, and pray that,
despite the forthcoming steeplechase, dangerous as I hear it is, you
may so continue. Upon this head I am naturally somewhat anxious,
since I possess only one son. And I further pray that, wilfully
reckless though he is, he may yet be spared to be worthy of the name
that will be his when I shall have risen beyond it.
BAMBOROUGH AND REVELSDEN.
The Viscount sighed, and folded up his father's letter rather
carefully.
"He's a deuced old Roman, of course," said he, "and yet--!" Here the
Viscount turned, and slipped the letter back under his pillow with a
hand grown suddenly gentle. "But there you are, Bev! Not a word about
money,--so downstairs Bristles must continue to sit until--"
"If," said Barnabas diffidently, "if you would allow me to lend--"
"No, no, Bev--though I swear it's uncommon good of you. But really I
couldn't allow it. Besides, Jerningham owes me something, I believe,
at least, if he doesn't he did, and it's all one anyway. I sent the
Imp over to him an hour ago; he'll let me have it, I know. Though I
thank you none the less, my dear fellow, on my soul I do! But--oh
deuce take me--you've nothing to drink! what will you take--?"
"Nothing, thanks, Dick. As a matter of fact, I came to ask you a
favor--"
"Granted, my dear fellow!"
"I want you to ask Captain Slingsby to introduce me to Jasper Gaunt."
"Ah?" said the Viscount, coming to his elbow, "you mean on behalf of
that--"
"Of Barrymaine, yes."
"It's--it's utterly preposterous!" fumed the Viscount.
"So you said before, Dick."
"You mean to--go on with it?"
"Of course!"
"You are still determined to befriend a--"
"More than ever, Dick."
"For--Her sake?"
"For Her sake. Yes, Dick," said Barnabas, beginning to frown a little.
"I mean to free him from Gaunt, and rescue him from Chichester--if I
can."
"But Chichester is about the only friend he has left, Bev."
"On the contrary, I think Chichester is his worst enemy."
"But--my dear fellow! Chichester is the only one who has stood by
him in his disgrace, though why, I can't imagine."
"I think I can tell you the reason, and in one word," said Barnabas,
his face growing blacker.
"Well, Bev,--what is it?"
"Cleone!" The Viscount started.
"What,--you think--? Oh, impossible! The fellow would never have a
chance, she despises him, I know."
"And fears him too, Dick."
"Fears him? Gad! what do you mean, Bev?"
"I mean that, unworthy though he may be, she idolizes her brother."
"Half-brother, Bev."
"And for his sake, would sacrifice her fortune,--ah! and herself!"
"Well?"
"Well, Dick, Chichester knows this, and is laying his plans
accordingly."
"How?"
"He's teaching Barrymaine to drink, for one thing--"
"He didn't need much teaching, Bev."
"Then, he has got him in his power,--somehow or other, anyhow,
Barrymaine fears him, I know. When the time comes, Chichester means
to reach the sister through her love for her brother, and--before he
shall do that, Dick--" Barnabas threw up his head and clenched his
fists.
"Well, Bev?"
"I'll--kill him, Dick."
"You mean--fight him, of course?"
"It would be all one," said Barnabas grimly.
"And how do you propose to--go about the matter--to save Barrymaine?"
"I shall pay off his debts, first of all."
"And then?"
"Take him away with me."
"When?"
"To-morrow, if possible--the sooner the better."
"And give up the race, Bev?"
"Yes," said Barnabas, sighing, "even that if need be."
Here the Viscount lay back among his pillows and stared up at the
tester of the bed, and his gaze was still directed thitherwards when
he spoke:
"And you would do all this--"
"For--Her sake," said Barnabas softly, "besides, I promised, Dick."
"And you have seen her--only once, Bev!"
"Twice, Dick."
Again there was silence while the Viscount stared up at the tester
and Barnabas frowned down at the clenched fist on his knee.
"Gad!" said the Viscount suddenly, "Gad, Beverley, what a deuced
determined fellow you are!"
"You see--I love her, Dick."
"And by the Lord, Bev, shall I tell you what I begin to think?"
"Yes, Dick."
"Well, I begin to think that in spite of--er--me, and hum--all the
rest of 'em, in spite of everything--herself included, if need be,
--you'll win her yet."
"And shall I tell you what I begin to think, Dick?"
"Yes."
"I begin to think that you have never--loved her at all."
"Eh?" cried the Viscount, starting up very suddenly, "what?--never
lov--oh, Gad, Beverley! what the deuce should make you think that?"
"Clemency!" said Barnabas.
The Viscount stared, opened his mouth, shut it, ran his fingers
through his hair, and fell flat upon his pillows again.
"So now," said Barnabas the persistent, "now you know why I am so
anxious to meet Jasper Gaunt."
"Gaunt!" said the Viscount dreamily, "Gaunt!"
"Captain Slingsby has to see him this afternoon,--at least so you
said, and I was wondering--"
"Slingsby! Oh, egad I forgot! so he has,--curricle's ordered for
half-past three. Will you oblige me by prodding him with your cane,
Bev? Don't be afraid,--poke away, my dear fellow, Sling takes a
devil of a lot of waking."
Thus admonished, Barnabas presently succeeded in arousing the
somnolent Slingsby, who, lifting a drowsy head, blinked sleepily,
and demanded in an injured tone:
"Wha' the dooce it was all about, b'gad?" Then having yawned
prodigiously and come somewhat to himself, he proceeded to crawl
from under the settee, when, catching sight of Barnabas, he sprang
lightly to his feet and greeted him cordially.
"Ah, Beverley!" he cried,--"how goes it? Glad you woke me--was
having a devil of a dream. Thought the 'Rascal' had strained his
'off' fore-leg, and was out of the race! What damnable things dreams
are, b'gad!"
"My dear Sling," said the Viscount, "it is exactly a quarter past
three."
"Oh, is it, b'gad! Well?"
"And at four o'clock I believe you have an appointment with Gaunt."
"Gaunt!" repeated the Captain, starting, and Barnabas saw all the
light and animation die out of his face, "Gaunt,--yes, I--b'gad!--I
'd forgotten, Devenham."
"You ordered your curricle for half-past three, didn't you?"
"Yes, and I've no time to bathe--ought to shave, though, and oh,
damme,--look at my cravat!"
"You'll find everything you need in my dressing-room, Sling."
The Captain nodded his thanks, and forthwith vanished into the
adjacent chamber, whence he was to be heard at his ablutions,
puffing and blowing, grampus-like. To whom thus the Viscount,
raising his voice: "Oh, by the way, Sling, Beverley wants to go with
you." Here the Captain stopped, as it seemed in the very middle of a
puff, and when he spoke it was in a tone of hoarse incredulity:
"Eh,--b'gad, what's that?"
"He wants you to introduce him to Jasper Gaunt."
Here a sudden explosive exclamation, and, thereafter, the Captain
appeared as in the act of drying himself, his red face glowing from
between the folds of the towel while he stared from the Viscount to
Barnabas with round eyes.
"What!" he exclaimed at last, "you, too, Beverley! Poor devil, have
you come to it--and so soon?"
"No," said Barnabas, shaking his head, "I wish to see him on behalf
of another--"
"Eh? Another? Oh--!"
"On behalf of Mr. Ronald Barrymaine."
"Of Barrym--" Here the Captain suddenly fell to towelling himself
violently, stopped to stare at Barnabas again, gave himself another
futile rub or two, and, finally, dropped the towel altogether.
"On behalf of--oh b'gad!" he exclaimed, and incontinent vanished
into the dressing-room. But, almost immediately he was back again,
this time wielding a shaving brush. "Wish to see--Gaunt, do you?" he
inquired.
"Yes," said Barnabas.
"And," said the Captain, staring very hard at the shaving brush,
"not--on your own account?"
"No," answered Barnabas.
"But on behalf--I think you said--of--"
"Of Ronald Barrymaine," said Barnabas.
"Oh!" murmured the Captain, and vanished again. But now Barnabas
followed him.
"Have you any objection to my going with you?" he inquired.
"Not in the least," answered the Captain, making hideous faces at
himself in the mirror as he shaved, "oh, no--delighted, 'pon my soul,
b'gad--only--"
"Well?"
"Only, if it's time you're going to ask for--it's no go, my
boy--hard-fisted old rasper, you know the saying,--(Bible, I think),
figs, b'gad, and thistles, bread from stones, but no mercy from
Jasper Gaunt."
"I don't seek his mercy," said Barnabas.
"Why, then, my dear Beverley--ha! there's Jenk come up to say the
curricle's at the door."
Sure enough, at the moment, the Viscount's gentleman presented
himself to announce the fact, albeit mournfully and with a sigh. He
was about to bow himself out again when the Viscount stayed him with
an upraised finger.
"Jenkins," said he, "my very good Jenk!"
"Yes, m'lud?" said Jenkins.
"Is the person with the--ah--bristles--still downstairs?"
"He is, m'lud," said Jenkins, with another sigh.
"Then tell him to possess his soul in patience, Jenk,--for I fear he
will remain there a long, long time."