When Nelly retired after dinner on that day, leaving Mr. Cutbill to
the enjoyment of his wine--an indulgence she well knew he would not
willingly forego--that worthy individual drew one chair to his side to
support his arm, and resting his legs on another, exclaimed, “Now, this
is what I call cosy. There 's a pleasant light, a nice bit of view out
of that window, and as good a bottle of St. Julien as a man may desire.”
“I wish I could offer you something better,” began Augustus, but Cutbill
stopped him at once, saying,--
“Taking the time of the year into account, there 's nothing better! It's
not the season for a Burgundy or even a full-bodied claret. Shall I tell
you, Bramleigh, that you gave me a better dinner to-day than I got at
your great house,--the Bishop's Folly?”
“We were very vain of our cook, notwithstanding, in those days,” said
Augustus, smiling.
“So you might. I suppose he was as good as money could buy--and you had
plenty of money. But your dinners were grand, cumbrous, never-ending
feeds, that with all the care a man might bestow on the bill o' fare,
he was sure to eat too much of venison curry after he had taken mutton
twice, and pheasant following after fat chickens. I always thought your
big dinners were upside down; if one could have had the tail-end first
they'd have been excellent. Somehow, I fancy it was only your brother
Temple took an interest in these things at your house. Where is he now?”
“He's at Rome with my brother-in-law.”
“That 's exactly the company he ought to keep. A lord purifies the air
for him, and I don't think his constitution could stand without one.”
“My brother has seen a good deal of the world; and, I think, understands
it tolerably well,” said Bramleigh, meaning so much of rebuke to the
other's impertinence as he could force himself to bestow on a guest.
“He knows as much about life as a dog knows about decimals. He knows the
cad's life of fetch and carry; how to bow himself into a room and out
again; when to smile, and when to snigger; how to look profound when a
great man talks, and a mild despair when he is silent; but that ain't
life, Bramleigh, any more than these strawberries are grapes from
Fontainebleau!”
“You occasionally forget, Mr. Cutbill, that a man's brother is not
exactly the public.”
“Perhaps I do. I only had one brother, and a greater blackguard never
existed; and the 'Times' took care to remind me of the fact every year
till he was transported; but no one ever saw me lose temper about it.”
“I can admire if I cannot envy your philosophy.”
“It's not philosophy at all; it's just common sense, learned in the only
school for that commodity in Europe,--the City of London. We don't make
Latin verses as well as you at Eton or Rugby, but we begin life somewhat
'cuter than you, notwithstanding. If we speculate on events, it is not
like theoretical politicians, but like practical people, who know that
Cabinet Councils decide the funds, and the funds make fortunes. _You_,
and the men like you, advocated a free Greece and a united Italy for
sake of fine traditions. _We_ don't care a rush about Homer or Dante,
but we want to sell pig-iron and printed calicoes. Do you see the
difference now?”
“If I do, it's with no shame for the part you assign us.”
“That's as it may be. There may be up there amongst the stars a planet
where your ideas would be the right thing. Maybe Doctor Cumming knows of
such a place. I can only say Tom Cutbill does n't, nor don't want to.”
For a while neither spoke a word; the conversation had taken a
half-irritable tone, and it was not easy to say how it was to be turned
into a pleasanter channel.
“Any news of Jack?” asked Cutbill, suddenly.
“Nothing since he sailed.”
Another and a longer pause ensued, and it was evident neither knew how
to break the silence.
“These ain't bad cigars,” said Cutbill, knocking the ash off his cheroot
with his finger. “You get them here?”
“Yes; they are very cheap.”
“Thirty, or thirty-five centimes?”
“Ten!”
“Well, it ain't dear! Ten centimes is a penny--a trifle less than a
penny. And now, Bramleigh, will you think it a great liberty of me, if I
ask you a question,--a sort of personal question?”
“That will pretty much depend upon the question, Mr. Cutbill. There are
matters, I must confess, I would rather not be questioned on.”
“Well, I suppose I must take my chance for that! If you are disposed to
bristle up, and play porcupine because I want to approach you, it can't
be helped--better men than Tom Cutbill have paid for looking into a
wasp's nest. It's no idle curiosity prompts my inquiry, though I won't
deny there is a spice of curiosity urging me on at this moment. Am I
free to go on, eh?”
“I must leave you to your own discretion, sir.”
“The devil a worse guide ever you 'd leave me to. It is about as humble
a member of the Cutbill family as I'm acquainted with. So that without
any reference to my discretion at all, here 's what I want. I want
to know how it is that you 've left a princely house, with plenty of
servants and all the luxuries of life, to come and live in a shabby
corner of an obscure town and smoke penny cigars? There's the riddle I
want you to solve for me.”
For some seconds Bramleigh's confusion and displeasure seemed to master
him completely, making all reply impossible; but at last he regained a
degree of calm, and with a voice slightly agitated, said, “I am sorry to
balk your very natural curiosity, Mr. Cutbill, but the matter on which
you seek to be informed is one strictly personal and private.”
“That's exactly why I'm pushing for the explanation,” resumed the other,
with the coolest imaginable manner. “If it was a public event I 'd have
no need to ask to be enlightened.”
Bramleigh winced under this rejoinder, and a slight contortion of the
face showed what his self-control was costing him.
Cutbill, however, went on, “When they told me, at the Gresham, that
there was a man setting up a claim to your property, and that you
declared you 'd not live in the house, nor draw a shilling from the
estate, till you were well assured it was your own beyond dispute, my
answer was, 'No son of old Montague Bramleigh ever said that. Whatever
you may say of that family, they 're no fools.'”
“And is it with fools you would class the man who reasoned in this
fashion?” said Augustus, who tried to smile and seem indifferent as he
spoke.
“First of all, it's not reasoning at all; the man who began to doubt
whether he had a valid right to what he possessed might doubt whether he
had a right to his own name--whether his wife was his own, and what not.
Don't you see where all this would lead to? If I have to report whether
a new line is safe and fit to be opened for public traffic, I don't
sink shafts down to see if some hundred fathoms below there might be an
extinct volcano, or a stratum of unsound pudding-stone. I only want to
know that the rails will carry so many tons of merchandise. Do you see
my point?--do you take me, Bramleigh?”
“Mr. Cutbill,” said Augustus, slowly, “on matters such as these you have
just alluded to there is no man's opinion I should prefer to yours,
but there are other questions on which I would rather rely upon my
own judgment. May I beg, therefore, that we should turn to some other
topic.”
“It's true, then--the report was well-founded?” cried Cutbill, staring
in wild astonishment at the other's face.
“And if it were, sir,” said Bramleigh, haughtily, “what then?”
“What then? Simply that you'd be the--no matter what. Your father was
very angry with me one night, because I said something of the same kind
to him.”
And as he spoke he pushed his glass impatiently from him, and looked
ineffably annoyed and disgusted.
“Will you not take more wine, Mr. Cutbill?” said Augustus, blandly, and
without the faintest sign of irritation.
“No; not a drop. I'm sorry I've taken so much. I began by filling my
glass whenever I saw the decanter near me--thinking, like a confounded
fool as I was, we were in for a quiet confidential talk, and knowing
that I was just the sort of fellow a man of your own stamp needs and
requires; a fellow who does nothing from the claims of a class--do you
understand?--nothing because he mixes with a certain set and dines at a
certain club; but acts independent of all extraneous pressure--a bit of
masonry, Bramleigh, that wants no buttress. Can you follow me, eh?”
“I believe I can appreciate the strength of such a character as you
describe.”
“No, you can't, not a bit of it. Some flighty fool that would tell
you what a fine creature you were, how greathearted--that's the cant,
great-hearted!--would have far more of your esteem and admiration than
Tom Cutbill, with his keen knowledge of life and his thorough insight
into men and manners.”
“You are unjust to each of us,” said Bramleigh, quietly.
“Well, let us have done with it. I 'll go and ask Miss Ellen for a cup
of tea, and then I 'll take my leave. I 'm sure I wish I 'd never have
come here. It's enough to provoke a better temper than mine. And now
let me just ask you, out of mere curiosity--for, of course, I must n't
presume to feel more--but just out of curiosity let me ask you, do you
know an art or an industry, a trade or a calling, that would bring you
in fifty pounds a year? Do you see your way to earning the rent of a
lodging even as modest as this?”
“That is exactly one of the points on which your advice would be very
valuable to me, Mr. Cutbill.”
“Nothing of the kind. I could no more tell a man of your stamp how to
gain his livelihood than I could make a tunnel with a corkscrew. I know
your theory well enough. I 've heard it announced a thousand times and
more. Every fellow with a silk lining to his coat and a taste for fancy
jewelry imagines he has only to go to Australia to make a fortune; that
when he has done with Bond Street he can take to the bush. Isn't that
it, Bramleigh--eh? You fancy you 're up to roughing it and hard work
because you have walked four hours through the stubble after the
partridges, or sat a 'sharp thing' across country in a red coat! Heaven
help you! It isn't with five courses and finger-glasses a man finishes
his day at Warra-Warra.”
“I assure you, Mr. Cutbill, as regards my own case, I neither take a
high estimate of my own capacity nor a low one of the difficulty of
earning a living.”
“Humility never paid a butcher's bill, any more than conceit!” retorted
the inexorable Cutbill, who seemed bent on opposing everything. “Have
you thought of nothing you could do? for, if you 're utterly incapable,
there's nothing for you but the public service.”
“Perhaps that is the career would best suit me,” said Bramleigh,
smiling; “and I have already written to bespeak the kind influence of an
old friend of my father's on my behalf.”
“Who is he?”
“Sir Francis Deighton.”
“The greatest humbug in the Government! He trades on being the most
popular man of his day, because he never refused anything to anybody--so
far as a promise went; but it's well known that he never gave anything
out of his own connections. Don't depend on Sir Francis, Bramleigh,
whatever you do.”
“That is sorry comfort you give me.”
“Don't you know any women?”
“Women--women? I know several.”
“I mean women of fashion. Those meddlesome women that are always
dabbling in politics and the Stock Exchange--very deep where you think
they know nothing, and perfectly ignorant about what they pretend to
know best. They 've two-thirds of the patronage of every government in
England; you may laugh, but it's true.”
“Come, Mr. Cutbill, if you 'll not take more wine we 'll join my
sister,” said Bramleigh, with a faint smile.
“Get them to make you a Commissioner--it doesn't matter of what--Woods
and Forests--Bankruptcy--Lunacy--anything; it 's always two thousand a
year, and little to do for it. And if you can't be a Commissioner, be
an Inspector, and then you have your travelling expenses;” and Cutbill
winked knowingly as he spoke, and sauntered away to the drawing-room.