Barrington Volume Ii Part 29

"Then I 'd have made the remainder just as certain."

"It is a vulgar crime, Duff; it would be very hard to stoop to it."

"Fifty things are harder,--no cash, no credit are harder. The Fleet is harder. But what is that noise? Don't you hear a knock at the door? Yes, there's some one without who hasn't much patience." So saying, he arose and walked to the door. As he opened it, he started back a little with surprise, for it was a police constable stood before him.

"Not you, Captain, not _you_, sir! it's another gentleman I want. I see him at the table there,--Major Stapylton." By this time the man had entered the room and stood in front of the fire. "I have a warrant against you, Major," said he, quietly. "Informations have been sworn before Mr. Colt that you intend to fight a duel, and you must appear at the office to-morrow, to enter into your bond, and to give securities to keep the peace."

"Who swore the informations?" cried Brown.

"What have we to do with that?" said Stapylton, impatiently. "Isn't the world full of meddling old women? Who wants to know the names?"

"I 'll lay the odds it was old Conyers; the greatest humbug in that land of humbugs,--Bengal. It was he that insisted on my leaving the Fifth.

Come, Sergeant, out with it. This was General Conyers's doing?"

"I'm sorry to be obliged to declare you in custody, Major," said the policeman; "but if you like to come over to Mr. Colt's private residence, I 'm sure he 'd settle the matter this evening."

"He'll do no such thing, by George!" cried Brown. "The sneaking dogs who have taken this shabby course shall be exposed in open court. We 'll have the names in full, and in every newspaper in England. Don't compromise the case, Stapylton; make them eat the mess they have cooked, to the last mouthful. We 'll show the world what the fighting Irishman and his gallant friend are made of. Major Stapylton is your prisoner, Sergeant?"

The man smiled slightly at the pa.s.sionate energy of the speaker, and turned to Stapylton. "There 's no objection to your going to your lodgings, Major. You 'll be at the chief office by ten to-morrow."

Stapylton nodded a.s.sent, and the other retired and closed the door.

"What do you say now?" cried Brown, triumphantly. "Did n't I tell you this? Did n't I say that when old Con-yers heard my name, he 'd say, 'Oh, there 'll be no squaring this business'?"

"It's just as likely that he said, 'I 'll not confer with that man; he had to leave the service.'"

"More fool you, then, not to have had a more respectable friend. Had you there, Stapylton,--eh?"

"I acknowledge that. All I can say in extenuation is, that I hoped old Barrington, living so long out of the world, would have selected another old mummy like himself, who had never heard of Captain Duff Brown, nor his famous trial at Calcutta."

"There's not a man in the kingdom has not heard of me. I 'm as well known as the first Duke in the land."

"Don't boast of it, Duff; even notoriety is not always a cheap luxury."

"Who knows but you may divide it with me to-morrow or next day?"

"What do you mean, sir?--what do you mean?" cried Stapylton, slapping the table with his clenched hand.

"Only what I said,--that Major Stapylton may furnish the town with a nine-days wonder, _vice_ Captain Duff Brown, forgotten."

Evidently ashamed of his wrath, Stapylton tried to laugh off the occasion of it, and said, "I suppose neither of us would take the matter much to heart."

"I 'll not go to the office with you to-morrow, Stapylton," added he, after a pause; "that old Sepoy General would certainly seize the opportunity to open some old scores that I'd as soon leave undisturbed."

"All right, I think you are prudent there."

"But I 'll be of use in another way. I 'll lay in wait for that fellow who reports for the 'Chronicle,' the only paper that cares for these things, and I 'll have him deep in the discussion of some devilled kidneys when your case is called on."

"I fancy it does not matter what publicity it obtains."

"Ah, I don't know that. Old Braddell, our major, used to say, 'Reputation, after forty, is like an old wall. If you begin to break a hole in it, you never know how much will come away.'"

"I tell you again, Duff, I'm past scandalizing; but have your way, if you will 'muzzle the ox,' and let us get away from this as soon as may be. I want a little rest after this excitement."

"Well, I 'm pretty much in the same boot myself, though I don't exactly know where to go. France is dangerous. In Prussia there are two sentences recorded against me. I 'm condemned to eight years' hard labor in Wurtemberg, and p.r.o.nounced dead in Austria for my share in that Venetian disturbance."

"Don't tell me of these rascalities. Bad enough when a man is driven to them, but downright infamy to be proud of."

"Have you never thought of going into the Church? I 've a notion you 'd be a stunning preacher."

"Give up this bantering, Duff, and tell me how I shall get hold of young Conyers. I 'd rather put a ball in that fellow than be a Lieutenant-General. He has ever been my rock ahead. That silly c.o.xcomb has done more to mar my destiny than scores of real enemies. To shoot him would be to throw a sh.e.l.l in the very midst of them."

"I 'd rather loot him, if I had the choice; the old General has lots of money. Stapylton, scuttle the ship, if you like, but first let _me_ land the cargo. Of all the vengeances a man can wreak on another the weakest is to kill him. For my part, I 'd cherish the fellow that injured me.

I 'd set myself to study his tastes and learn his ambitions. I 'd watch over him and follow him, being, as it were, his dearest of all friends,--read backwards!"

"This is tiresome scoundrelism. I'll to bed," said Stapylton, taking a candle from the table.

"Well, if you must shoot this fellow, wait till he's married; wait for the honeymoon."

"There's some sense in that. I 'll go and sleep over it."

CHAPTER XVIII. AUNT DOROTHEA.

"You must come down with me for one day, Tom, to see an old aunt of mine at Bournemouth," said Hunter to young Dill. "I never omitted going to see her the first thing whenever I landed in England, and she 'll not forgive me if I were to do so now."

"But why should I go, sir? My presence would only trouble the comfort of a family meeting."

"Quite the reverse. She 'll be delighted to see you. It will be such a triumph to her, amongst all her neighbors, to have had a visit from the hero of the day,--the fellow that all the print-shops are full of. Why, man, you are worth five hundred pounds to me. I 'm not sure I might not say double as much."

"In that case, sir, I 'm perfectly at your orders."

And down they went, and arrived late on the day after this conversation at an old-fashioned manor-house, where Miss Dorothy Hunter had pa.s.sed some sixty-odd years of her life. Though to Tom she seemed to bear a great resemblance to old Miss Barrington, there was really little likeness between them, beyond an inordinate pride of birth, and an intense estimation for the claims of family. Miss Hunter's essential characteristic was a pa.s.sion for celebrities; a taste somewhat difficult to cultivate in a very remote and little visited locality. The result was that she consoled herself by portraits, or private letters, or autographs of her heroes, who ranged over every imaginable career in life, and of whom, by mere dint of iteration, she had grown to believe herself the intimate friend or correspondent.

No sooner had she learned that her nephew was to be accompanied by the gallant young soldier whose name was in every newspaper than she made what she deemed the most suitable preparations for his reception. Her bedroom was hung round with portraits of naval heroes, or pictures of sea-fights. Grim old admirals, telescope in hand, or with streaming hair, shouting out orders to board the enemy, were on every side; while, in the place of honor, over the fireplace, hung a vacant frame, destined one day to contain the hero of the hour, Tom Dill himself.

Never was a poor fellow in this world less suited to adulation of this sort. He was either overwhelmed with the flattery, or oppressed by a terror of what some sensible spectator--if such there were--would think of the absurd position in which he was forced to stand. And when he found himself obliged to inscribe his name in a long column of ill.u.s.trious autographs, the sight of his own scarce legible characters filled up the measure of his shame.

"He writes like the great Turenne," said Miss Dorothy; "he always wrote from above downwards, so that no other name than his own could figure on the page."

"I got many a thrashing for it at school, ma'am," said Tom, apologizing, "and so I gave up writing altogether."

"Ah, yes! the men of action soon learn to despise the pen; they prefer to make history rather than record it."

It was not easy for Hunter to steer his bashful friend through all the shoals and quicksands of such flattery; but, on the plea of his broken health and strength, he hurried him early to his bed, and returned to the fireside, where his aunt awaited him.

"He's charming, if he were only not so diffident. Why will he not be more confiding, more at his ease with me,--like Mungo Park, or Sir Sidney Smith?"