Doctor Claudius, A True Story Part 30

"Sir," said Carlyle, speaking for the first time during dinner, "the French n.o.bility of a hundred years ago said they could afford to laugh at theories. Then came a man and wrote a book called the _Social Contract_. The man was called Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and his book was a theory, and nothing but a theory. The n.o.bles could laugh at his theory; _but their skins went to bind the second edition of his book_[1]."

[Footnote 1: There was a tannery of human skins at Meudon during the Revolution.]

Look to your skin, world, lest it be dressed to morocco and cunningly tooled with gold. There is much binding yet to be done.

Claudius thought neither of the world nor of Mr. Carlyle as he walked back to the hotel; for he was thinking of the Countess Margaret, to the exclusion of every other earthly or unearthly consideration. But his thoughts were sad, for he knew that he was to leave her, and he knew also that he must tell her so. It was no easy matter, and his walk slackened, till, at the corner of the great thoroughfare, he stood still, looking at a poor woman who ground a tuneless hand-organ. The instrument of tympanum torture was on wheels, and to the back of it was attached a cradle. In the cradle was a dirty little baby, licking its fist and listening with conscientious attention to the perpetual trangle-tringle-jangle of the maternal music. In truth the little thing could not well listen to anything else, considering the position in which it was placed. Claudius stood staring at the little caravan, halted at the corner of the most aristocratic street in New York, and his attention was gradually roused to comprehend what he saw. He reflected that next to being bound on the back of a wild horse, like Mazeppa, the most horrible fate conceivable must be that of this dirty baby, put to bed in perpetuity on the back of a crazy grind-organ. He smiled at the idea, and the woman held out a battered tin dish with one hand, while the other in its revolution ground out the final palpitating squeaks of "_Ah, che la morte ognora_." Claudius put his hand into his pocket and gave the poor creature a coin.

"You are encouraging a public nuisance," said a thin gentlemanly voice at his elbow. Claudius looked down and saw Mr. Barker.

"Yes," said the Doctor, "I remember a remark you once made to me about the deserving poor in New York--it was the day before yesterday, I think. You said they went to the West."

"Talking of the West, I suppose you will be going there yourself one of these days to take a look at our 'park'--eh?"

"No, I am going East."

"To Boston, I suppose?" inquired the inquisitive Barker. "You will be very much amused with Boston. It is the largest village in the United States."

"I am not going to Boston," said Claudius calmly.

"Oh! I thought when you said you were going East you meant--"

"I am going to sail for Europe on Wednesday," said the Doctor, who had had time to reflect that he might as well inform Barker of his intention. Mr. Barker smiled grimly under his moustache.

"You don't mean that?" he said, trying to feign astonishment and disguise his satisfaction. It seemed too good to be true. "Going so soon? Why, I thought you meant to spend some time."

"Yes, I am going immediately," and Claudius looked Barker straight in the face. "I find it is necessary that I should procure certain papers connected with my inheritance."

"Well," said Barker turning his eyes another way, for he did not like the Doctor's look, "I am very sorry, any way. I suppose you mean to come back soon?"

"Very soon," answered Claudius. "Good-morning, Barker."

"Good morning. I will call and see you before you sail. You have quite taken my breath away with this news." Mr. Barker walked quickly away in the direction of Elevated Road. He was evidently going down town.

"Strange," thought Claudius, "that Barker should take the news so quietly. I think it ought to have astonished him more." Leaving the organ-grinder, the dirty baby, and the horse-cars to their fate, Claudius entered the hotel. He found the Duke over a late breakfast, eating cantelopes voraciously. Cantelopes are American melons, small and of sickly appearance, but of good vitality and unearthly freshness within, a joy to the hot-stomached foreigner. Behold also, his Grace eateth the cantelope and hath a cheerful countenance. Claudius sat down at the table, looking rather gloomy.

"I want you to give me an introduction to the English Amba.s.sador in Petersburg. Lord Fitzd.o.g.g.i.n, I believe he is."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed the peer; "what for?"

"I am going there," answered Claudius with his habitual calm, "and I want to know somebody in power."

"Oh! are _you_ going?" asked the Duke, suddenly grasping the situation.

He afterwards took some credit to himself for having been so quick to catch Claudius's meaning.

"Yes. I sail on Wednesday."

"Tell me all about it," said the Duke, who recovered his equanimity, and plunged a knife into a fresh cantelope at the same moment.

"Very well. I saw your friend, Mr. Horace Bellingham, this morning, and he told me all about the Countess's troubles. In fact, they are in the newspapers by this time, but I had not read about them. He suggested that some personal friend of the Countess had better proceed to headquarters at once, and see about it; so I said I would go; and he gave me some introductions. They are probably good ones; but he advised me to come to you and get one for your amba.s.sador."

"Anything Uncle Horace advises is right, you know," said his Grace, speaking with his mouth full. "He knows no end of people everywhere," he added pensively, when he had swallowed.

"Very well, I will go; but I am glad you approve."

"But what the deuce are you going to do about that fortune of yours?"

asked the other suddenly. "Don't you think we had better go down and swear to you at once? I may not be here when you get back, you know."

"No; that would not suit my arrangements," answered Claudius. "I would rather not let it be known for what purpose I had gone. Do you understand? I am going ostensibly to Heidelberg to get my papers from the University, and so, with all thanks, I need not trouble you." The Duke looked at him for a moment.

"What a queer fellow you are, Claudius," he said at last. "I should think you would like her to know."

"Why? Suppose that I failed, what a figure I should cut, to be sure."

Claudius preferred to attribute to his vanity an action which was the natural outcome of his love.

"Well, that is true," said the Duke; "but I think you are pretty safe for all that. Have some breakfast--I forgot all about it."

"No, thanks. Are you going to Newport to-day? I would like to see something outside of New York before I go back."

"By all means. Better go at once--all of us in a body. I know the Countess is ready, and I am sure I am."

"Very good. I will get my things together. One word--please do not tell them I am going; I will do it myself.

"All right," answered the Duke; and Claudius vanished. "He says 'them,'"

soliloquised the Englishman, "but he means 'her.'"

Claudius found on his table a note from Mr. Screw. This missive was couched in formal terms, and emitted a kind of phosph.o.r.escent wrath. Mr.

Screw's dignity was seriously offended by the summary ejectment he had suffered at the Doctor's hands on the previous day. He gave the Doctor formal notice that his drafts would not be honoured until the executors were satisfied concerning his ident.i.ty; and he solemnly and legally "regretted the position Dr. Claudius had a.s.sumed towards those whose sacred duty it was to protect the interests of Dr. Claudius." The cunning repet.i.tion of name conveyed the idea of two personages, the claimant and the real heir, in a manner that did not escape the Doctor.

Since yesterday he had half regretted having lost his temper; and had he known that Screw had been completely duped by Mr. Barker, Claudius would probably have apologised to the lawyer. Indeed, he had a vague suspicion, as the shadow of a distant event, that Barker was not altogether clear of the business; and the fact that the latter had shown so little surprise on hearing of his friend's sudden return to Europe had aroused the Doctor's imagination, so that he found himself piecing together everything he could remember to show that Barker had an interest of some kind in removing him from the scene. Nevertheless, the burden of responsibility for the annoyance he was now suffering seemed to rest with Screw, and Screw should be taught a great lesson; and to that end Claudius would write a letter. It was clear he was still angry.

The Doctor sat down to write; and his strong, white fingers held the pen with unrelenting determination to be disagreeable. His face was set like a mask, and ever and anon his blue eyes gleamed scornfully. And this is what he said--

"SIR--Having enjoyed the advantage of your society, somewhat longer than I could have wished, during yesterday afternoon, I had certainly not hoped for so early a mark of your favour and interest as a letter from you of to-day's date. As for your formal notice to me that my drafts will not be honoured in future, I regard it as a deliberate repet.i.tion of the insulting insinuation conveyed to me by your remarks during your visit. You are well aware that I have not drawn upon the estate in spite of your written authorisation to do so. I consider your conduct in this matter unworthy of a person professing the law, and your impertinence is in my opinion only second to the phenomenal clumsiness you have displayed throughout.

As I fear that your ignorance of your profession may lead you into some act of folly disastrous to yourself, I will go so far as to inform you that on my return from Europe, two months hence, your proceedings as executor for the estate of the late Gustavus Lindstrand will be subjected to the severest scrutiny. In the meantime, I desire no further communications from you.

CLAUDIUS."

This remarkable epistle was immediately despatched by messenger to Pine Street; and if Mr. Screw had felt himself injured before, he was on the verge of desperation when he read Claudius's polemic. He repeated to himself the several sentences, which seemed to breathe war and carnage in their trenchant brevity; and he thought that even if he had been guilty of any breach of trust, he could hardly have felt worse. He ran his fingers through his thick yellow-gray hair, and hooked his legs in and out of each other as he sat, and bullied his clerks within an inch of their lives. Then, to get consolation, he said to himself that Claudius was certainly an impostor, or he would not be so angry, or go to Europe, or refuse any more communications. In the midst of his rage, Mr. Barker the younger opportunely appeared in the office of Messrs.

Screw and Scratch, prepared to throw any amount of oil upon the flames.

"Well?" said Mr. Barker interrogatively, as he settled the flower in his gray coat, and let the paper ribband of the "ticker" run through his other hand, with its tale of the tide of stocks. Yellow Mr. Screw shot a lurid glance from his bra.s.sy little eyes.

"You're right, sir--the man's a humbug."

"Who?" asked Barker, in well-feigned innocence.

"Claudius. It's my belief he's a liar and a thief and a d.a.m.ned impostor, sir. That's my belief, sir." He waxed warm as he vented his anger.

"Well, I only suggested taking precautions. I never said any of these things," answered Barker, who had no idea of playing a prominent part in his own plot. "Don't give me any credit, Mr. Screw."