It was a most appetizing little dinner that was now set before the
O'Shea and Charles Heathcote. The trout from Castellano and the mutton
from Pistoja were each admirable; and a brace of woodcocks, shot in the
first snowstorm on the Carrara mountains, were served in a fashion that
showed the cook had benefited by English teachings.
“There are worse places than this, after all!” said O'Shea, as he sat at
one side of the fire, Heathcote opposite, and a small table liberally
covered with decanters between them.
“Wonderful Burgundy this,” said Heathcote, gazing at his glass in the
light. “What does he call it?”
“He calls it Lafitte. These fellows think all red wines come from the
Bordeaux country. Here it is,--marked seven francs.”
“Cheap at double the price. My governor will take every bottle of it.”
“Not before I leave, I hope,” said O'Shea, laughing. “I trust he 'll
respect what they call vested interests.”
“Oh, by the way,” said the other, indolently, “you _are_ going?”
“Yes. Our party are getting uneasy, and I am constantly receiving
letters pressing me to return to England.”
“Want you in the House, perhaps?” said Heathcote, as he puffed his cigar
in lazy enjoyment.
“Just so. You see, a parliamentary session is a sort of campaign in
which every arm of warfare is needed. You want your great guns for the
grand battles, your dashing cavalry charges for emergencies, and your
light skirmishers to annoy the enemy and disconcert his advance.”
“And which are _you?_” asked the other, in a tone of bantering
indifference.
“Well, I 'm what you might call a mounted rifleman,--a dash of the
dragoon with a spice of the sharpshooter.”
“Sharp enough, I take it,” muttered Heathcote, who bethought him of the
billiard-table, and the wonderful “hazards” O'Shea used to accomplish.
“You understand,” resumed the Member, confidentially, “I don't come out
on the Budget, or Reform, or things of that kind; but I lie by till I
hear some one make a blunder or a mistake, no matter how insignificant,
and then I 'm down on him, generally with an anecdote--something he
reminds me of--and for which I 'm sure to have the laugh against him.
It's so easy, besides, to make them laugh; the worst jokes are always
successful in the House of Commons.”
“Dull fellows, I suppose?” chimed in Heathcote.
“No, indeed; not that. Go down with six or eight of them to supper, and
you'll say you never met pleasanter company. 'T is being caged up there
all together, saying the same things over and over, that's what destroys
them.”
“It must be a bore, I take it?” sighed out Heathcote.
“I'll tell you what it is,” said O'Shea, as, in a voice of deepest
confidence, he leaned over the table and spoke,--“I 'll tell you what it
is. Did you ever play the game called Brag, with very little money in
your pocket?”
Heathcote nodded what might mean assent or the opposite.
“That's what Parliament is,” resumed O'Shea. “You sit there, night after
night, year after year, wondering within yourself, 'Would it be safe for
me to play this hand? Shall I venture now?' You know well that if you
_do_ back your luck and lose, that it's all up with you forever, so that
it's really a mighty serious thing to risk it. At last, maybe, you take
courage. You think you 've got the cards; it's half-past two o'clock;
the House is thin, and every one is tired and sleepy. Up you get on your
legs to speak. You're not well down again, till a fellow from the back
benches, you thought sound asleep, gets up and tears all you said to
tatters,--destroys your facts, scatters your inferences, and maybe
laughs at your figures of speech.”
“Not so pleasant, that,” said Heathcote, languidly.
“Pleasant! it's the devil!” said O'Shea, violently; “for you hear the
pen scratching away up in the reporters' gallery, and you know it will
be all over Europe next morning.”
“Then why submit to all this?” asked Heathcote, more eagerly.
“Just as I said awhile ago; because you might chance upon a good card,
and 'brag' on it for something worth while. It's all luck.”
“Your picture of political life is not fascinating,” said Heathcote,
coldly.
“After all, do you know, I like it,” resumed O'Shea. “As long as you 've
a seat in the House, there's no saying when you might n't be wanted; and
then, when the session's over, and you go down to the country, you are
the terror of all the fellows that never sat in Parliament. If they say
a word about public matters, you put them down at once with a cool 'I
assure you, sir, that's not the view we take of it in the House.'”
“I 'd say, 'What's that to _me?_'”
“No, you would n't,--not a bit of it; or, if you did, nobody would mind
you, and for this reason,--it's the _real_ place, after all. Why do you
pay Storr and Mortimer more than another jeweller? Just because you're
sure of the article. There now, that's how it is!”
“There's some one knocking at the door, I think,” said Heathcote; but at
the same instant Joe's head appeared inside, with a request to be
admitted. “'T is the telegraph,” said he, presenting a packet.
“I have asked for a small thing in Jamaica, some ten or twelve hundred a
year,” whispered O'Shea to his friend. “I suppose this is the reply.”
And at the same time he threw the portentous envelope carelessly on the
table.
Either Heathcote felt no interest in the subject, or deemed it proper to
seem as indifferent as his host, for he never took any further notice of
the matter, but smoked away as before.
“You need n't wait,” said O'Shea to Joe, who still lingered at the door.
“That fellow is bursting with curiosity now,” said he, as the man
retired; “he 'd give a year's wages to know what was inside that
envelope.”
“Indeed!” sighed out Heathcote, in a tone that showed how little he
sympathized with such eagerness.
If O'Shea was piqued at this cool show of indifference, he resolved to
surpass it by appearing to forget the theme altogether; and, pushing the
bottle across the table, he said, “Did I ever tell you how it was I
first took to politics?”
“No, I think not,” said Heathoote, listlessly.
“Well, it was a chance, and a mere chance; this is the way it happened.
Though I was bred to the Bar, I never did much at the law; some say that
an agreeable man, with a lively turn in conversation, plenty of
anecdote, and a rich fancy, is never a favorite with the attorneys; the
rascals always think that such a man will never make a lawyer, and
though they 'll listen to his good stories by the hour in the Hall,
devil a brief they 'll give him, nor so much as a 'declaration.' Well,
for about five years I walked about in wig and gown, joking and quizzing
and humbugging all the fellows that were getting business, and taking a
circuit now and again, but all to no good; and at last I thought I 'd
give it up, and so my friends advised me, saying, 'Get something under
the Government, Gorman; a snug place with a few hundreds a year, and be
sure take anything that 's offered you to begin with.'
“Now there was a room in Dublin Castle--it's the second down the
corridor off the private stairs--that used to be called the Poker-room.
It may be so still, for anything I know, and for this reason: it was
there all the people expecting places or appointments were accustomed to
wait. It was a fine, airy, comfortable room, with a good carpet, easy-
chairs, and always an excellent fire; and here used to meet every day of
their lives the same twenty or five-and-twenty people, one occasionally
dropping off, and another coming in, but so imperceptibly and gradually
that the gathering at last grew to be a sort of club, where they sat
from about eleven till dark every day, chatting pleasantly over public
and private events. It was thus found necessary to give it a kind of
organization, and so we named for President the oldest,--that is, the
longest expectant of place,--who, by virtue of his station, occupied the
seat next the fire, and alone, of all the members, possessed the
privilege of poking it. The poker was his badge of office; and the last
act of his official life, whenever promotion separated him from us, was
to hand the poker to his successor, with a solemn dignity of manner and
a few parting words.
I verily believe that most of us got to be so fond of the club that it
was the very reverse of a pleasure when we had to leave it to become,
maybe, a Police Inspector at Skibbereen, Postmaster at Tory Island, or a
Gauger at Innismagee; and so we jogged on, from one Viceroy to another,
very happy and contented. Well, it was the time of a great Marquis,--I
won't say who, but he was the fast friend of O'Connell,--and we all of
us thought that there would be plenty of fine things given away, and the
poker-room was crammed, and I was the President, having ascended the
throne two years and a half before. It was somewhere early in March; a
cold raw day it was. I had scarcely entered the club, than a messenger
bawled out, 'Gorman O'Shea,--Mr. Gorman O'Shea.' 'Here he is,' said I.
'Wanted in the Chief Secretary's office,' said he, 'immediately.' I gave
a knowing wink to the company around the fire, and left the room. Three
mortal hours did I stand in the ante-room below, seeing crowds pass in
and out before I was called in; and then, as I entered, saw a little
wizened, sharp-faced man standing with his back to the fire paring his
nails. He never so much as looked at me, but said in a careless,
muttering sort of way,--
“'You're the gentleman who wishes to go as resident magistrate to
Oackatoro, ain't you?'
“'Well, indeed, sir, I'm not quite sure,' I began.
“'Oh yes, you are,' broke he in. 'I know all about you. Your name has
been favorably mentioned to the office. You are Mr. O'Gorman--'
“'Mr. Gorman O'Shea,' said I, proudly.
“'The same thing, Gorman O'Shea. I remember it now. Your appointment
will be made out: five hundred a year, and a retiring pension after six
years; house, and an allowance for monkeys.'
“'A what?' asked I.
“'The place is much infested with a large species of oorang-outang, and
the governor gives so much per head for destroying them. Mr. Simpson, in
the office, will give you full information. You are to be at your post
by the 1st of August.'
“'Might I make bold to ask where Whackatory is?'
“'Oackatoro, sir,' said he, proudly, 'is the capital of Fighi. I trust I
need not say where that is.'
“'By no means,' said I, modestly; and, muttering my thanks for the
advancement, I backed out, almost deranged to think that I did n't know
where I was going.
“'Where is it? What is it? How much is it, O'Shea?' cried thirty ardent
voices, as I entered the club.
“'It's five hundred a year,' said I, 'without counting the monkeys. It's
a magistrate's place; but may a gooseberry skin make a nightcap for me
if I know where the devil it is!'
“'But you have accepted!' cried they out, all together.
“'I have,' said I. 'I'm to be at Fighi, wherever that is, by the 1st of
August. And now,' said I, turning to the fire, and taking up the poker,
'there is nothing for me to do but resign this sacred symbol of my
office into the hands of my successor.'
“Where's O'Dowd?' shouted out the crowd. And they awoke out of a
pleasant sleep a little old fellow that never missed his day for two
years at the club.
“'Gentlemen,' said I, in a voice trembling with feeling, 'the hour is
come when my destiny is to separate me from you forever; an hour that is
equally full of the past and the future, and has even no small share of
present emotions. If ever there were a human institution devised to
cement together the hearts and affections of men, to bind them into one
indissoluble mass, and blend their instincts into identity, it is the
club we have here. Here we stand, like the departed spirits at the Styx,
waiting for the bark of Charon to ferry us over. To what, however? Is it
to some blessed elysium of a Poor Law Commissioner's place, or is it to
some unknown fate in a distant land, with five hundred a year and an
allowance for monkeys? That's the question, there's the rub! as Hamlet
says.' After dilating at large on this, I turned to O'Dowd. 'To your
hands,' said I, 'I commit this venerable relic: keep it, guard it, honor
it, and preserve it. Remember,' said I, 'that when you stir those coals
it is the symbol of keeping alive in the heart the sparks of an undying
hope; that though they may wet the slack and water the cinders of our
nature, the fire within us will still survive, red, glowing, and
generous. Is n't that as fine, as great, glorious, and free, I ask you?'
“'Who is that fellow that's talking there, with a voice like Lablache?'
asked a big man at the door; and then, as the answer was whispered in
his ear, he said, 'Send him out here to me.'
“Out I went, and found myself face to face with O'Connell.
“'I want a man to stand for Drogheda to-morrow; the gentleman I expected
cannot arrive there possibly before three. Will you address the
electors, and speak till he comes? If he isn't there by half-past three,
you shall be returned!'
“'Done!' said I. And by five o'clock on the following evening Gorman
O'Shea was at the top of the poll and declared Member for Drogheda! That
was, I may say, the first lift I ever got from Fortune. May I never!”
exclaimed O'Shea, half angrily,--“may I never, if he's not asleep--and
snoring! These Saxons beat the world for stupidity.”
The Member now suddenly bethought him that it would be a favorable
moment to read his telegram, and so he tore open the envelope, and held
it to the light. It was headed as usual, and addressed in full, showing
that no parsimony defrauded him of his full title. The body of the
despatch was, however, brief enough, and contained only one word,
“Bosh!” It was clear, bold, and unmistakably “Bosh!” Could insolence go
further than that? To send such a message a thousand miles, at the cost
of one pound fourteen and sixpence!
“What the deuce? you've nearly upset the table!” cried Heathcote, waking
suddenly up, as O'Shea with a passionate gesture had thrown one of the
decanters into the other's lap.
“I was asleep, like yourself, I suppose,” said the Member, roughly. “I
must say, we are neither of us the very liveliest company.”
“It was that yarn of yours about attacking monkeys with a poker, or some
stuff of that kind, set me off,” yawned Heathcote, drearily. “I had not
felt the least sleepy till then.”
“Here, let us fill our glasses, and drink to the jolly time that is
coming for us,” said O'Shea, with all his native recklessness.
“With all my heart; but I wish I could guess from what quarter it's
coming,” said Heathcote, despondingly.
If neither felt much disposed to converse, they each drank deeply; and
although scarcely more than a word or two would pass between them, they
sat thus, hour after hour, till it was long past midnight.
It was after a long silence between them that Heathcote said: “I never
tried so hard in my life to get drunk, without success. I find it won't
do, though; I'm just as clearheaded and as low-spirited as when I
started.”
“Bosh!” muttered O'Shea, half dreamily.
“It's no such thing!” retorted Heathcote. “At any ordinary time one
bottle of that strong Burgundy would have gone to my head; and see, now
I don't feel it.”
“Maybe you 're fretting about something. It's perhaps a weight on your
heart--”
“That's it!” sighed out the other, as though the very avowal were an
inexpressible relief to him.
“Is it for a woman?” asked O'Shea.
The other nodded, and then leaned his head on his hand.
“Upon my conscience, I sometimes think they 're worse than the Jews,”
said the Member, violently; “and there's no being 'up to them.'”
“It's our own fault, then,” cried Heathcote; “because we never play
fairly with them.”
“Bosh!” muttered O'Shea, again.
“I defy you to deny it,” cried he, angrily.
“I 'd like a five-pound note to argue it either way,” said O'Shea.
As if offended by the levity of the speech, Heathcote turned away and
said nothing.
“When you get down to Rome, and have some fun over those ox-fences, you
'll forget all about her, whoever she is,” said O'Shea.
“I'm for England to-morrow, and for India next week, if they 'll have
me.”
“Well, if that's not madness--”
“No, sir, it is not,” broke in Heathoote, angrily; “nor will I permit
you or any other man to call it so.”
“What I meant was, that when a fellow had _your_ prospects before him,
India ought n't to tempt him, even with the offer of the Governor-
Generalship.”
“Forgive me my bad temper, like a good fellow,” cried Heathoote,
grasping the other's hand; “but, in honest truth, I have no prospects,
no future, and there is not a more hopeless wretch to be found than the
man before you.”
O'Shea was very near saying “Bosh!” once more, but he coughed it under.
Like all bashful men who have momentarily given way to impatience,
Charles Heathoote was over eager to obtain his companion's good will,
and so he dashed at once into a full confession of all the difficulties
that beset, and all the cares that surrounded him. O'Shea had never
known accurately, till now, the amount of May Leslie's fortune, nor how
completely she was the mistress of her own fate. Neither had he ever
heard of that strange provision in the will which imposed a forfeit upon
her if unwilling to accept Charles Heathcote as her husband,--a
condition which he shrewdly judged to be the very surest of all ways to
prevent their marriage.
“And so you released her?” cried he, as Heathoote finished his
narrative.
“Released her! No. I never considered that she was bound. How could I?”
“Upon my conscience,” muttered the O'Shea, “it is a hard case--a mighty
hard case--to see one's way in; for if, as you say, it's not a worthy
part for a man to compel a girl to be his wife just because her father
put it in his will, it's very cruel to lose her only because she has a
fine property.”
“It is for no such reason,” broke in Heathoote, half angrily. “I was
unwilling--I am unwilling--that May Leslie should be bound by a contract
she never shared in.
“That's all balderdash!” cried O'Shea, with energy.
“What do you mean, sir?” retorted the other, passionately.
“What I mean is this,” resumed he: “that it's all balderdash to talk of
the hardship of doing things that we never planned out for ourselves.
Sure, ain't we doing them every moment of our lives? Ain't I doing
something because you contrived it? and ain't you doing something else
because I left it in your way?”
“It comes to this, then, that you 'd marry a girl who did n't care for
you, if the circumstances were such as to oblige her to accept you?”
“Not absolutely,--not unreservedly,” replied O'Shea.
“Well, what is the reservation? Let us hear it.”
“Her fortune ought to be suitable.”
“Oh, this is monstrous!”
“Hear me out before you condemn me. In marriage, as in everything else,
you must take it out in malt or in meal: don't fancy that you 're going
to get love and money too. It's only in novels such luck exists.”
“I'm very glad I do not share your sentiments,” said Charles, sternly.
“They 're practical, anyway. But now to another point. Here we are,
sitting by the fire in all frankness and candor. Answer me fairly two
questions: Have you given up the race?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, have you any objection if I enter for the stakes myself?”
“You! Do you mean that you would propose for May Leslie?”
“I do; and, what's more, I don't despair of success, either.”
An angry flush rose to Heathcote's face, and for a moment it seemed as
if his passion was about to break forth; but he mastered it, and, rising
slowly, said: “If I thought such a thing possible, it would very soon
cure me of _one_ sorrow.” After a pause, he added: “As for _me_, I have
no permission to give or to withhold. Go, by all means, and make your
offer. I only ask one thing: it is, that you will honestly tell me
afterwards how it has been received.”
“That I pledge my word to. Where do you stop in Paris?”
“At the Windsor.”
“Well, you shall have a despatch from me, or see myself there, by
Saturday evening; one or the other I swear to.”
“Agreed. I'll not wish you success, for that would be hypocritical, but
I 'll wish you well over it!” And with this speech, uttered in a tone of
jeering sarcasm, Heathcote said good-bye, and departed.