O'Shea swaggered into the room where Heathcote was standing to await
him, in the attitude of one who desired to make his visit as brief as
might be.
“How good of you to drive over to this dreary spot,” began the Member,
jauntily, “where the blue devils seem to have their especial home. I 'm
hipped and bored here as I never was before. Come, sit down; have you
breakfasted?”
“Three hours ago.”
“Take some luncheon, then; a glass of sherry, at least.”
“Nothing--thanks--it's too early.”
“Won't you have even a weed?” said he, opening a cigar-box.
“I 'm provided,” said the other, showing the half of a still lighted
cigar. “I came over this morning, hoping to catch you at home, and make
some sort of settlement about our little transactions together.”
“My dear fellow, you surely can't think it makes any matter between
_us_. I hope you know that it is entirely a question for your own
convenience. No man has more experience of what it is to be 'hit hard,'
as they say. When I first came out, I got it. By Jove! did n't I get it,
and at both sides of the head too. It was Mopus's year, when the
Yorkshire Lass ran a dead heat with Skyrocket for the Diddlesworth. I
stood seventeen to one, in thousands! think of that,--seventeen thousand
pounds to one against the filly. It was thought so good a thing that
Naylor--old Jerry, as they used to call him--offered me a clean thousand
to let him take half the wager. But these are old stories now, and they
only bore you; in fact, it was just to show you that every man has his
turn--”
“I own frankly,” broke in Heathcote, “I am far too full of selfish cares
to take a proper interest in your story. Just tell me if these figures
are correct?” And he turned to look out for a particular page in a small
book.
“Confound figures! I wish they never were invented. If one only thinks
of all the hearty fellows they 've set by the ears, the close
friendships they have severed, the strong attachments they have broken,
I declare one would be justified in saying it was the devil himself
invented arithmetic.”
“I wish he 'd have made it easier when he was about it,” said Heathcote.
“Excellent, by Jove!--how good! 'Made it easier'--capital!” cried
O'Shea, laughing with a boisterous jollity that made the room ring. “I
hope I 'll not forget that. I must book that _mot_ of yours.”
Heathcote grew crimson with shame, and, in an angry impulse, pitched his
cigar into the fire.
“That's right,” broke in O'Shea; “these are far better smoking than your
cheroots; these are Hudson's 'Grand Viziers,' made especially for Abba
Pasha's own smoking.”
Heathcote declined coldly, and continued his search through his note-
book.
“It was odd enough,” said O'Shea, “just as you came in I was balancing
in my own mind whether I 'd go over to the Villa, or write to you.”
“Write to me!” said the other, reddening.
“Don't be scared; it was not to dun you. No; I was meditating whether it
was quite fair of me to take that trap and the nags. _You_ like that
sort of thing; it suits you too. Now, I 'm sobering down into the period
of Park phaetons and George the Fourths: a low step to get in, and a
deep, well-cushioned seat, with plenty of leg room; that's more my
style. As Holditch says, 'The O'Shea wants an armchair upon C springs
and Collinge's patent' Free and easy that, from a rascally coachmaker,
eh?”
“I don't want the horses. I have no use for them. I 'm not quite clear
whether you valued the whole thing at two hundred and fifty or three
hundred and fifty?”
“We said, two fifty,” replied O'Shea, in his silkiest of tones.
“Be it so,” muttered Heathcote; “I gave two hundred for the chestnut
horse at Tattersall's.”
“He was dear,--too dear,” was the dry reply.
“Esterhazy called him the best horse he ever bred.”
“He shall have him this morning for a hundred and twenty.”
“Well, well,” burst in Heathcote, “we are not here to dispute about
that. I handed you, as well as I remember, eighty, and two hundred and
thirty Naps.”
“More than that, I think,” said O'Shea, thoughtfully, and as if laboring
to recollect clearly.
“I'm certain I'm correct,” said Heathcote, haughtily. “I made no other
payments than these two,--eighty and two hundred and thirty.”
“What a memory I have, to be sure!” said O'Shea, laughingly. “I remember
now, it was a rouleau of fifty that I paid away to Layton was running in
my head.”
Heathcote's lip curled superciliously, but it was only for a second, and
his features were calm as before. “Two thirty and eighty make three
hundred and ten, and three fifty--”
“Two fifty for the trap!” broke in O'Shea.
“Ah! to be sure, two fifty, make altogether five hundred and sixty Naps,
leaving, let me see--ninety-four--sixty-one--one hundred and twelve--”
“A severe night that was. You never won a game!” chimed in O'Shea.
“--One hundred and twelve and seventy, making three hundred and thirty-
seven in all. Am I right?”
“Correct as Cocker, only you have forgotten your walk against time, from
the fish-pond to the ranger's lodge. What was it,--ten Naps, or twenty?”
“Neither. It was five, and I paid it!” was the curt answer.
“Ain't I the stupidest dog that ever sat for a borough?” said O'Shea,
bursting out into one of his boisterous laughs. “Do you know, I'd have
been quite willing to have bet you a cool hundred about that?”
“And you 'd have lost,” said Heathcote, dryly.
“Not a doubt of it, and deserved it too,” said he, merrily.
“I have brought you here one hundred and fifty,” said Heathcote, laying
down three rouleaux on the table, “and, for the remainder, my note at
three months. I hope that may not prove inconvenient?”
“Inconvenient, my boy! never say the word. Not to mention that fortune
may take a turn one of these days, and all this California find its way
back to its own diggings.”
“I don't mean to play any more.”
“Not play any more! Do you mean to say that, because you have been once
repulsed, you 'll never charge again? Is that your soldier's pluck?”
“There is no question here of my soldier's pluck. I only said I 'd not
play billiards.”
“May I ask you one thing? How can you possibly expect to attain
excellence in any pursuit, great or small, when you are so easily
abashed?”
“May I take the same liberty with you, and ask how can it possibly
concern any one but myself that I have taken this resolution?”
“There you have me! a hazard and no mistake! I may be your match at
billiards; but when it comes to repartee, you are the better man,
Heathcote.”
Coarse as the flattery was, it was not unpleasing. Indeed, in its very
coarseness there was a sort of mock sincerity, just as the stroke of a
heavy hand on your shoulder is occasionally taken for good fellowship,
though you wince under the blow. Now Heathcote was not only gratified by
his own smartness, but after a moment or two he felt half sorry he had
been so “severe on the poor fellow.” He had over-shotted his gun, and
there was really no necessity to rake him so heavily; and so, with a
sort of blundering bashfulness, he said,--
“You 're not offended; you 're not angry with me?”
“Offended! angry! nothing of the kind. I believe I am a peppery sort of
fellow,--at least, down in the West there they say as much of me; but
once a man is my friend,--once that I feel all straight and fair between
us,--he may bowl me over ten times a day, and I 'll never resent it.”
There was a pause after this, and Heathcote found his position painfully
awkward. He did not fancy exactly to repudiate the friendship thus
assumed, and he certainly did not like to put his name to the bond; and
so he walked to the window and looked out with that half-hopeless
vacuity bashful men are prone to.
“What's the weather going to do?” said he, carelessly. “More rain?”
“Of course, more rain! Amongst all the humbugs of the day, do you know
of one equal to the humbug of the Italian climate? Where's the blue sky
they rave about?”
“Not there, certainly,” said Heathcote, laughing, as he looked up at the
leaden-colored canopy that lowered above them.
“My father used to say,” said O'Shea, “that it was all a mistake to talk
about the damp climate of Ireland; the real grievance was, that when it
rained it always rained dirty water!”
The conceit amused Heathcote, and he laughed again.
“There it comes now, and with a will too!” And at the same instant, with
a rushing sound like hail, the rain poured down with such intensity as
to shut out the hills directly in front of the windows.
“You 're caught this time, Heathcote. Make the best of it, like a man,
and resign yourself to eat a mutton-chop here with me at four o'clock;
and if it clears in the evening, I 'll canter back with you.”
“No, no, the weather will take up; this is only a shower. They 'll
expect me back to dinner, besides. Confound it, how it does come down!”
“Oh, faith!” said O'Shea, half mournfully, “I don't wonder that you are
less afraid of the rain than a bad dinner.”
“No, it's not that,--nothing of the kind,” broke in Heathcote,
hurriedly; “at another time I should be delighted! Who ever saw such
rain as that!”
“Look at the river too. See how it is swollen already.”
“Ah! I never thought of the mountain torrents,” said Heathcote,
suddenly.
“They 'll be coming down like regular cataracts by this time. I defy any
one to cross at Borgo even now. Take my advice, Heathcote, and reconcile
yourself to old Pan's cookery for to-day.”
“What time do you dine?”
“What time will suit you? Shall we say four or five?”
“Four, if you'll permit me. Four will do capitally.”
“That's all right And now I 'll just step down to Panini myself, and
give him a hint about some Burgundy he has got in the cellar.”
Like most men yielding to necessity, Heathcote felt discontented and
irritated, and no sooner was he alone than he began to regret his having
accepted the invitation. What signified a wetting? He was on horseback,
to be sure, but he was well mounted, and it was only twelve miles,--an
hour or an hour and a quarter's sharp canter; and as to the torrents, up
to the girths, perhaps, or a little beyond,--it could scarcely come to
swimming. Thus he argued with himself as he walked to and fro, and
chafed and fretted as he went. It was in this irritated state O'Shea
found him when he came back.
“We 're all right. They 've got a brace of woodcock below stairs, and
some Pistoja mutton; and as I have forbidden oil and all the grease-
pots, we 'll manage to get a morsel to eat.”
“I was just thinking how stupid I was to--to--to put you to all this
inconvenience,” said he, hastily changing a rudeness into an apology.
“Isn't it a real blessing for me to catch you?” cried O'Shea. “Imagine
me shut up here by myself all day, no one to speak to, nothing to do,
nothing to read but that old volume of the 'Wandering Jew,' that I begin
to know by heart, or, worse again, that speech of mine on the Italian
question, that whenever I 've nearly finished it the villains are sure
to do something or other that destroys all my predictions and ruins my
argument. What would have become of me to-day if you had n't dropped
in?”
Heathcote apparently did not feel called upon to answer this inquiry,
but walked the room moodily, with his hands in his pockets.
O'Shea gave a little faint sigh,--such a sigh as a weary pedestrian may
give, as, turning the angle of the way, he sees seven miles of straight
road before him, without bend or curve. It was now eleven o'clock, and
five dreary hours were to be passed before dinner-time.
Oh, my good reader, has it been amongst your life's experiences to have
submitted to an ordeal of this kind,--to be caged up of a wet day with
an unwilling guest, whom you are called on to amuse, but know not how to
interest; to feel that you are bound to employ his thoughts, with the
sad consciousness that in every pause of the conversation he is cursing
his hard fate at being in your company; to know that you must deploy all
the resources of your agreeability without even a chance of success,
your very efforts to amuse constituting in themselves a boredom? It is
as great a test of temper as of talent. Poor O'Shea, one cannot but pity
you! To be sure, you are not without little aids to pass time, in the
shape of cards, dice, and such-like. I am not quite sure that a
travelling roulette-table is not somewhere amongst your effects. But of
what use are they all _now?_ None would think of a lecture on anatomy to
a man who had just suffered amputation.
No, no! play must not be thought of,--it must be most sparingly alluded
to even in conversation,--and so what remains? O'Shea was not without
reminiscences, and he “went into them like a man.” He told scenes of
early Trinity College life; gave sketches of his contemporaries, one or
two of them now risen to eminence; he gave anecdotes of Gray's Inn,
where he had eaten his terms; of Templar life, its jollities and its
gravities; of his theatrical experiences, when he wrote the “Drama” for
two weekly periodicals; of his like employ when he reported prize-
fights, boat-races, and pigeon-matches for “Bell's Life.” He then gave a
sketch of his entrance into public life, with a picture of an Irish
election, dashed off spiritedly and boldly; but all he could obtain from
his phlegmatic listener was a faint smile at times, and a low muttering
sound, that resolved itself into, “What snobs!”
At last he was in the House, dealing with great names and great events,
which he ingeniously blended up with Bellamy's and the oyster suppers
below stairs; but it was no use,--they, too, were snobs! It was all
snobbery everywhere. Freshmen, Templars, Pugilists, Scullers, County
Electors, and House of Commons celebrities,--all snobs!
O'Shea then tried the Turf,--disparagingly, as a great moralist ought.
They were, as he said, a “bad lot;” but he knew them well, and they
“could n't hurt _him_.” He had a variety of curious stories about racing
knaveries, and could clear up several mysterious circumstances, which
all the penetration of the “Ring” had never succeeded in solving.
Heathcote, however, was unappeasable; and these, too,--trainers,
jockeys, judges, and gentlemen,--they were all snobs!
It was only two o'clock, and there were two more mortal hours to get
through before dinner. With a bright inspiration he bethought him of
bitter beer. Oh, Bass! ambrosia of the barrack-room, thou nectar of the
do-nothings in this life, how gracefully dost thou deepen dulness into
drowsiness, making stupidity but semi-conscious! What a bond of union
art thou between those who have talked themselves out, and would without
thy consoling froth, become mutually odious! Instead of the torment of
suggestiveness which other drinks inspire, how gloriously lethargic are
all thy influences, how mind-quelling, and how muddling!
There is, besides, a vague notion prevalent with your beer-drinker, that
there is some secret of health in his indulgence,--that he is undergoing
a sort of tonic regimen, something to make him more equal to the ascent
of Mont Blanc, or the defeat of the Zouaves, and he grows in self-esteem
as he sips. It is not the boastful sentiment begotten of champagne, or
the defiant courage of port, but a dogged, resolute, resistant spirit,
stout in its nature and bitter to the last!
And thus they sipped, and smoked, and said little to each other, and the
hours stole over, and the wintry day darkened apace, and, at last, out
of a drowsy nap over the fire, the waiter awoke them, to say dinner was
on the table.
“You were asleep!” said O'Shea, to his companion.
“Yes, 'twas your snoring set me off!” replied Heathcote, stretching
himself, as he walked to the window. “Raining just as hard as ever!”
“Come along,” said the other, gayly. “Let us see what old Fan has done
for us.”