Paul Kelver Part 36

"That strong cigar," I whispered feebly to myself; "I ought never to have ventured upon it. And then the little room with all those people in it. Besides, I have been working very hard. I must really take more exercise."

It gave me some satisfaction to observe that, shuffling and cowardly though I might be, I was not a person easily bamboozled.

"Nonsense," I told myself brutally; "don't try to deceive me. You were drunk."

"Not drunk," I pleaded; "don't say drunk; it is such a coa.r.s.e expression. Some people cannot stand sweet champagne, so I have heard.

It affected my liver. Do please make it a question of liver."

"Drunk," I persisted unrelentingly, "hopelessly, vulgarly drunk--drunk as any 'Arry after a Bank Holiday."

"It is the first time," I murmured.

"It was your first opportunity," I replied.

"Never again," I promised.

"The stock phrase," I returned.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"So you have not even the excuse of youth. How do you know that it will not grow upon you; that, having thus commenced a downward career, you will not sink lower and lower, and so end by becoming a confirmed sot?"

My heavy head dropped into my hands, and I groaned. Many a temperance tale perused on Sunday afternoons came back to me. Imaginative in all directions, I watched myself hastening toward a drunkard's grave, now heroically struggling against temptation, now weakly yielding, the craving growing upon me. In the misty air about me I saw my father's white face, my mother's sad eyes. I thought of Barbara, of the scorn that could quiver round that bewitching mouth; of Hal, with his tremendous contempt for all forms of weakness. Shame of the present and terror of the future between them racked my mind.

"It shall be never again!" I cried aloud. "By G.o.d, it shall!" (At nineteen one is apt to be vehement.) "I will leave this house at once,"

I continued to myself aloud; "I will get away from its unwholesome atmosphere. I will wipe it out of my mind, and all connected with it. I will make a fresh start. I will--"

Something I had been dimly conscious of at the back of my brain came forward and stood before me: the flabby figure of Miss Rosina Sellars.

What was she doing here? What right had she to step between me and my regeneration?

"The right of your affianced bride," my other half explained, with a grim smile to myself.

"Did I really go so far as that?"

"We will not go into details," I replied; "I do not wish to dwell upon them. That was the result."

"I was--I was not quite myself at the time. I did not know what I was doing."

"As a rule, we don't when we do foolish things; but we have to abide by the consequences, all the same. Unfortunately, it happened to be in the presence of witnesses, and she is not the sort of lady to be easily got rid of. You will marry her and settle down with her in two small rooms.

Her people will be your people. You will come to know them better before many days are pa.s.sed. Among them she is regarded as 'the lady,' from which you can judge of them. A nice commencement of your career, is it not, my ambitious young friend? A nice mess you have made of it!"

"What am I to do?" I asked.

"Upon my word, I don't know," I answered.

I pa.s.sed a wretched day. Ashamed to face Mrs. Peedles or even the slavey, I kept to my room, with the door locked. At dusk, feeling a little better--or, rather, less bad, I stole out and indulged in a simple meal, consisting of tea without sugar and a kippered herring, at a neighbouring coffee-house. Another gentleman, taking his seat opposite to me and ordering hot b.u.t.tered toast, I left hastily.

At eight o'clock in the evening Minikin called round from the office to know what had happened. Seeking help from shame, I confessed to him the truth.

"Thought as much," he answered. "Seems to have been an A1 from the look of you."

"I am glad it has happened, now it is over," I said to him. "It will be a lesson I shall never forget."

"I know," said Minikin. "Nothing like a fair and square drunk for making you feel real good; better than a sermon."

In my trouble I felt the need of advice; and Minikin, though my junior, was, I knew, far more experienced in worldly affairs than I was.

"That's not the worst," I confided to him. "What do you think I've done?"

"Killed a policeman?" suggested Minikin.

"Got myself engaged."

"No one like you quiet fellows for going it when you do begin,"

commented Minikin. "Nice girl?"

"I don't know," I answered. "I only know I don't want her. How can I get out of it?"

Minikin removed his left eye and commenced to polish it upon his handkerchief, a habit he had when in doubt. From looking into it he appeared to derive inspiration.

"Take-her-own-part sort of a girl?"

I intimated that he had diagnosed Miss Rosina Sellars correctly.

"Know how much you're earning?"

"She knows I live up here in this attic and do my own cooking," I answered.

Minikin glanced round the room. "Must be fond of you."

"She thinks I'm clever," I explained, "and that I shall make my way.

"And she's willing to wait?"

I nodded.

"Well, I should let her wait," replied Minikin, replacing his eye.

"There's plenty of time before you."

"But she's a barmaid, and she'll expect me to walk with her, to take her out on Sundays, to go and see her friends. I can't do it. Besides, she's right: I mean to get on. Then she'll stick to me. It's awful!"

"How did it happen?" asked Minikin.

"I don't know," I replied. "I didn't know I had done it till it was over."

"Anybody present?"