Captain Strachan was an old naval officer, who lived in a rather retired
spot on the borders of Somersetshire and Devonshire. His house had a
verandah round it, and one warm afternoon he was sitting at a table
under this, spectacles on nose, tying artificial flies. A young son of
twelve sat by him rapt, holding feathers and silk, which latter he had
previously drawn through a kid glove containing cobbler's wax, and
wondering whether he should ever attain to the paternal skill in this
manufacture.
Mrs Strachan and two of her girls were round another wicker-work table
a little farther off, indulging in afternoon tea, their books and
needlework put down for the minute. Presently the sound of a horse's
hoofs was heard upon the gravel beyond the garden hedge, and Mary, the
eldest girl, jumped from her low basket chair, exclaiming--
"Here he comes!"
Everybody looked up, expectant; even Captain Strachan laid down his
work--and those who have ever endeavoured to manufacture an artificial
fly know what _that_ means--as our old friend, Tom Strachan, walked up
the path towards the group. As he did not look very pleased, his mother
concluded the worst, and said--
"Never mind, Tom, if you _have_ failed; very few succeed the first time,
and you have two more chances."
For Tom had been in for the competitive examination, and had now ridden
over to Barnstaple to forestall the country postman and learn his fate.
"But I have not failed, mother," said Tom; "indeed, I am pretty high up
in the list--better than I expected."
"Well done, my boy!" cried Captain Strachan. "Not that I had any fear
for you, because I saw you reading steadily at home when there was no
pressure put upon you. And those were the fellows who always passed in
my days. But I am glad it is safe, all the same, and we will have a
bottle of that old Ferrier-Jouet for dinner on the strength of it. But
I say, Tom, you look as grave as a marine at a Court-Martial. No wonder
your mother thought you had scored a blank."
"Well, the fact is, my friend Kavanagh has not had my luck. It is
awfully hard lines, for he has only missed it by twenty marks. It is a
bad job."
"Aye, it is a pity," said Captain Strachan. Reginald Kavanagh was a
general favourite in the family, with whom he had twice been to stay in
the holidays. "A pity for him and a pity for the service. He was cut
out for a soldier if ever a lad was. Well, I hope he will study hard
now, and succeed next time."
"That is the worst of it," said Tom. "He has no second chance, for he
has no money to live upon till the time comes. I told you about that
will which has been stolen or lost; that was the only thing he had to
depend upon, and he has got to earn his bread."
There was a general murmur of regret. Mrs Strachan particularly pitied
him for having no mother to console him, though her husband thought that
this was a redeeming feature in the case. If he had to bear her
disappointment as well as his own it would be a great deal worse, he
said, and no young fellow of spirit wants to be pitied.
"Besides," he added, "there is this to be thought of. Suppose he had
succeeded, he would not have been in a very pleasant position. A
subaltern trying to live upon his pay is placed about as uncomfortably
as a lad can be. For my part, I am not sure that I would not sooner be
a full private, if I must take to soldiering at all."
"But your other friend, Forsyth, who went out to Egypt to find the man
who was supposed to have the will--has nothing been heard from him?"
asked Mary.
"Nothing to help," replied Tom. "There has been one letter from him,
and he was as hopeful as ever; but he had only got as far as Cairo. Of
course, if he succeeds Kavanagh will be right enough, but what is he to
do in the meantime? He has no relative to go to, you see."
"We would have him here for a spell if it were likely to do him any
good," said Captain Strachan.
"Thank you, father. It will be kind to ask him, but I know he won't
come. He has never been sanguine about Forsyth's recovering the will,
and I know had made up his mind to face the situation if he failed in
this. He would feel that coming here would only make it more difficult
afterwards. He expected to be spun, and I have no doubt has fixed his
plans."
Although his friend's failure damped Tom Strachan's pleasure in his own
success, it could not entirely quench it, and the family party soon grew
more cheery.
Of course the publication of the list was a terrible facer for Kavanagh,
and when he saw the certainty of his failure his heart thumped hard and
his brain reeled for half a minute. But when the mist cleared from his
eyes he drew a long breath, shook himself, and lit a cigar. He did not
bother himself with "ifs." _If_ he had read this subject a little more,
and that a little less, he would have got so many more marks. _If_
those questions he had particularly crammed in such a subject had been
set. _If_ there had been three more vacancies, etcetera. Neither did
he regret his former want of application, which he had done his very
utmost to remedy the last year. Nor did he give way to a passion of
vexation about the missing will, or repine at Fate. "What's the use?"
he said to himself when these thoughts recurred to him; and he smothered
them as he walked towards his room--this was in the chambers of a
brother militia officer who played at being a barrister and lived in the
Temple. As he was a sportsman and an Alpine climber, he did not live
very much in London, and finding that his subaltern, Kavanagh, was going
to lodge in the capital for the sake of reading with a crammer, and
having a spare bedroom which he did not want, and was thinking of
letting off if he found a friend whose coming in and out would not bore
him, to take it, he proposed that the lad should do so. If he liked to
pay him 20 pounds a year he might; if not, it did not matter. For he
had taken a great fancy to Kavanagh, who, indeed, was a general
favourite. When Royce, the owner of the chambers, was away, Kavanagh
had the sole use of the sitting-room as well as of the bedroom; and when
he was in town it was much the same thing. They breakfasted together,
but Royce spent most of the day at his club.
He was in London now, and Kavanagh wished he was not, for he did not
want consolation, advice, or offer of help. He knew that he had to work
out this business for himself, and the less said the better. Royce was
not in now, that was one consolation. Kavanagh went up to his room, and
began overhauling his clothes. He selected an old pair of corduroy
trousers which he had used for shooting, with a coat and waistcoat which
had been worn with them, and a pair of boots bought in the country
ready-made, on an occasion when he had been obliged, by an accident to
his wardrobe, to supply himself in a hurry. A much-worn check shirt,
with collar attached, and a black silk handkerchief, with a pair of
worsted socks, completed the lot of clothes which he laid upon the bed,
and for which he then changed what things he had on. These he packed up
with all his other clothes in several portmanteaus and carpet bags. He
next placed his tall hat away in its box, and, having completed these
arrangements, put on a wideawake, went out, and called a four-wheeler.
Then he went upstairs again, and returned with a tin uniform-case on one
shoulder and a portmanteau in his hand. It took him three trips to
bring all his goods down and stow them on and in the cab. When at last
he had accomplished it, he was stopped as he drove off by one of the
officials, who said--
"Halloa, my man, where are you off to with Mr Kavanagh's luggage?"
"I am Mr Kavanagh," he replied.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the man, touching his hat, as he
recognised him.
It was not very far that he took the cab, only across to Holywell
Street, where he stopped at an old clothes shop, and dismissed the
astonished cabby, after having carried all the luggage inside, a young
man with a hooked nose helping him quite as a matter of course.
"Now, then," said Kavanagh, "what are you going to give me for all these
things, clothes, uniform, portmanteaus, cases, and all. Of course they
will go dirt cheap, but don't overdo it, or I shall call a cab and go on
to the next establishment. I don't mind the trouble of packing up
again."
"Theresh no one in the street gives so good a prish as me," said the
man, turning over the different articles, and beginning to depreciate
them. There was no sale for uniforms; those shirts were thin in the
back; that coat was too big for most customers, and so forth. Kavanagh
cut him short--
"I don't want to know all that; come to the point, and say what you will
give for the lot."
"What do you ask?" counter-responded the Jew.
"Twenty pounds; and that's an alarming sacrifice."
"Twenty pounds! Did any one ever hear the like! Twenty pounds for old
clothes!"
"Why, you would sell the portmanteaus and tin cases alone for ten, and
that overcoat for three."
"You think so, my tear young man? Tear, tear, how little you know of
the trade! I'll give you five pounds for the lot, and then I doubt if I
shall make any profit," and the dealer looked determined.
"Say ten pounds, and it's a bargain," said Kavanagh.
"No, I say five, and I mean five. Take it, or leave it."
"Well, to have done with all bother, we will make it seven pounds,"
cried Kavanagh, who was amused with his first attempt at making a deal
of the kind.
The Jew compressed his lips and shook his head.
"Very good, then," said Kavanagh, dragging one of the portmanteaus
towards him, and beginning to pack it. "I will try my luck over the way
there. I see it is so close a cab will not be necessary; I can carry
the things across. Sorry to have troubled you."
"Here, stop a bit," said the Jew. "Say six pounds, and that is a more
generous offer than you will get anywhere else."
Kavanagh went on with his packing.
"Well, six ten, and that will swallow up all my profit, I fear, but I'll
risk it for once. Well, come, seven pounds then, since you must have
it."
So Kavanagh left goods and chattels, which had cost about seventy
pounds, behind him, and walked out with a tenth part of that sum in
cash.
Then he went down the Strand till he came to a pawnbroker's, where he
disposed of the rings, studs, and pins which he possessed, thus adding a
further ten pounds to his capital.
His next visit was to a watchmaker's, where he was known, though the
owner of it did not recognise him at first in his shabby clothes.
"You see I have come down in the world, Mr Balance," said Kavanagh.
Mr Balance put on what he meant for a grave and sympathetic face.
"To wear a gold watch and chain would be absurd in my altered
circumstances. Are you willing to change them for a stout silver one
which will keep as good time, and pay me something for the difference?"
"Certainly I will, Mr Kavanagh; but, dear me, sir, pardon my asking;
your guardian, Mr Burke, was such an old customer. I hope sir, there
has been no unpleasantness between you."
"None whatever; only he has died, poor man, and his will, in which I
know that I was well treated, cannot be found. So you see I must not
indulge in gold watches."
"Dear me!" said the old man, to whom Kavanagh had gone for his first
watch when quite a little boy, and upon whom he had called whenever he
was in town since; to get the second handsome gold hunter now in
question; to have it cleaned; to buy some little knick-knack, or merely
for a chat. "Dear me; I do hope all will come right; I am _sure_ all
will come right."
"I hope you are a true prophet," said Kavanagh, cheerily. "But now, how
about this silver watch?"
He chose a good strong one, with a chain to match, and handed over the
gold, Mr Balance giving him twenty-five pounds besides.
"I say! This is too much!" cried Kavanagh. "It only cost forty pounds
when new."
"And is worth thirty-five now," said the watchmaker. "I shall make a
good profit out of the bargain, I assure you."
Kavanagh pocketed his new watch, held out his hand, which the old man
grasped, across the counter, and walked away murmuring, "Good old chap!"
It was still early in the afternoon, so to complete all his business at
once he walked back to the chambers, took his sword, which he had not
parted with, packed it up in brown paper, and directed it to Tom
Strachan. Then he wrote this letter:--
"Dear Tom,--When I joined the Militia I hoped that it was a stepping-
stone to the Line, so I would not have a tailor's sword, but indulged
in the expensive luxury of a good one. Accept it, old fellow, with
all sorts of congratulations and good wishes. `The property of a
gentleman, having no further use for it,' eh? I must poke my way to
fame with a bayonet, if I am to get there, instead of carving it with
a sword. Thank your people for their kindness to me.--Yours,
etcetera."
"By-the-by," he soliloquised, when he had stuck and directed this
epistle, "I have not sent in the resignation of my commission yet." And
he took half a sheet of foolscap and wrote out the formal notice to the
Adjutant of the 4th Blankshire at once. Then he said, "There is nothing
else, I think, but to post the letters and send the sword off by rail;
and then go in for new experiences."
It was a good bit of a new experience for him to carry a parcel through
the streets of London, and book it himself, but in his present costume
he did not mind doing it one bit. Indeed, he felt quite light-hearted;
knowing the worst was much better than the anxiety of the past few
weeks. And then there was another matter. Having been used to a good
allowance, and possessing naturally somewhat fastidious tastes, he had
not been very economical, though, as he hated the idea of debt, and
would rather have blacked shoes for a livelihood than have imposed on
his generous godfather and guardian, he had not fallen into actually
extravagant habits.
When Mr Burke died, and the will was not forthcoming, and he was thus
placed face to face with actual impending poverty, Kavanagh had the
sense, the manliness, and the honesty, to do violence to his tastes and
feelings, by guarding against all unnecessary expenditure. But to a
free-handed and generous disposition this is a very hard task; and when
the end came, and he cast up his accounts, he found to his dismay that
he owed more than the balance of his allowance, the last sum paid to
him, would cover.
It was not much, and would not have been pressed for, but Kavanagh,
though rather weak about his personal appearance, had a pound of manly
pride to an ounce of girlish vanity, and would sooner have gone in rags
than owed money to a tailor. The money he had obtained that afternoon
would entirely clear him from every liability, and leave him with a few
pounds in his pocket; and this relief made him quite light-hearted, in
spite of the final tumble of his house of cards.
The question was--where to dine. He knew lots of restaurants and chop-
houses, but even in the most humble of the latter, where the floor was
saw-dusted, his present costume would excite remark. He had from
boyhood been particular about his dress, and his collars and waistcoats
had incited some of his friends to call him a dandy, so his scruples may
have been exaggerated.
At last he saw several better-class artisans go into an eating-house in
Oxford Street, and following them he did very well. The table-cloth was
stained with brown circles from the porter pots, and was otherwise
dirty; the forks were pewter, and there were no napkins; but the meat
was as good as you would get anywhere, so were the vegetables, the beer
also; and the cost was about half that of the most homely chop-houses he
had hitherto patronised.
His dinner done, it was about the time when the theatres were opening,
so he went to the gallery door of one of the principal of them, and
after waiting a little while, amongst the good-humoured crowd, he surged
upstairs with them--many stairs they were, and steep--and got a good
place close to the chandelier. The warmth and light from it were rather
too obtrusive, but did not prevent his taking an interest in the
performance, which was shared by his neighbours in the most intense and
hearty fashion. The women sobbed at the pathetic parts, while the men
set their teeth and turned white when the villain temporarily got the
best of it, and both sexes roared with delight over the comic scenes.
Likewise, all sucked oranges; therefore Kavanagh purchased and sucked an
orange, and ingratiated himself with his female neighbours by politely
offering them that fruit!
And between the acts, when the young men in the stalls, in their white
ties, and white kid gloves, and nicely parted hair, stood up and
languidly surveyed the house through their opera-glasses, Kavanagh had a
sardonic amusement in the recollection as he thought that a fortnight
before he had sat in that fourth stall in the third row, in evening
dress, with a gardenia in his button-hole, and had similarly inspected
the inferior beings around him. Froggy Barton occupied that seat to-
night. Kavanagh took a squeeze at his orange, and thought he could hit
Froggy with the skin. But of course he refrained from trying. Only he
did look so sleek! "What much wiser people we are than the swells!"
Kavanagh thought. "We enjoy ourselves without being ashamed of it, and
we endure crowding and semi-suffocation without getting ill-tempered!"
But he soon had enough of it, in spite of his philosophy, and after the
second fall of the curtain was glad to get into the fresh air.
When he reached the Temple he found Royce expecting him, and directly he
entered he got up and shook him by the hand.
"I did not see the list till six," he said, "and then I came to chambers
in hopes of finding you, and getting you to come out somewhere. You
have not been moping, I hope."
"Moping! Not a bit of it," replied Kavanagh. "I am not going to cry `I
take a licking!' because Fortune has caught me a couple of facers
without a return. I have been to the theatre, and enjoyed myself
vastly, I assure you."
"To the theatre! You; in that dress!" exclaimed Royce.
"Oh, I went to the gallery. I have accepted the situation."
"Come and sit down and light a pipe," said Royce. "I won't bore you
with unavailing regrets. Tell me what you are going to do, and if I can
help you at all."
"Thank you; I have thought it probable I should fail, and have debated
with myself deliberately what course is best to adopt. I have come to a
conclusion, and no one can help me. My first thought was that if I
failed to be an officer I would be a private, and the more I have
thought it over the more convinced I have become that that would suit me
better than anything else. I have never learned a trade, so I could not
be a skilled artisan, and a soldier's life would suit me better than
that of an ordinary day labourer, whose work requires no head-piece. As
for spending my days in an office, a warehouse, or a shop, it would be
like going to prison for me. In short, I am going to enlist, and have
also determined on the branch of the service which is to reap the
benefit."
"Cavalry, I suppose; Lancers, Dragoons, or Hussars?"
"Neither. I fixed on that arm at first; the uniform attracted me; the
sword is a noble weapon; and to ride is pleasanter than to walk. But
these advantages are more than counterbalanced by the lot of
accoutrements a horse soldier has to clean, and the fact that at the end
of a day's march he has to attend to his horse before he can look after
himself."
"A great many gentlemen's sons go into the Artillery."
"I have settled upon the Infantry, and intend to-morrow morning to offer
my invaluable services to the Foot Guards. You look surprised."
"Well, yes," said Royce. "To tell the truth I fancied that you would be
anxious to get to India; there is more chance, you know, of promotion
that way."
"I have thought out that. But, to tell the truth, unless there were a
prospect of active service I should prefer to remain in England, for
this sole reason. I do not give up all hope of that will turning up,
and if it should, I want to be in the way of getting early information,
and looking after my interests."