The Cruise of the Shining Light Part 36

"I'll hear you, sir," I answered.

"Attend, then," says he. "I have brought you here to warn you, and my warning is but half spoken. Frankly, in this I have no concern for your happiness, with which I have nothing to do: I have been moved to this ungrateful and most dangerous interview by a purely selfish regard for my own career. Do you know the word? A political career of some slight importance," he added, with a toss of the head, "which is now menaced, at a most critical moment, by that merciless, wicked old pirate whom you have shamelessly been deceived into calling your uncle Nicholas. To be frank with you, you are, and have been for several years, an obstacle. My warning, however, as you will believe, is advanced upon grounds advantageous to yourself. Put the illusions of this designing old bay-noddie away from you," says he, now accentuating his earnestness with a lean, white forefinger. "Rid yourself of these rings and unsuitable garments: they disgrace you.

When the means of their possession is disclosed to you--when the wretched crime of it is made known--you will suffer such humiliation as you did not dream a man could feel. Put 'em away. Put 'em out of sight and mind. Send that young man from London back to the business he came from. A tutor! Your tutor! Tom Callaway's son with an English tutor! You are being made a ghastly fool of; and I warn you that you will pay for every moment of the illusion. Poor lad!" cries he, in genuine distress. "Poor lad!"

It might be: I had long thought so.

"And as for this grand tour abroad," he began, with an insolently curling lip, "why, for G.o.d's sake! don't be a--"

"Sir!" I interrupted, in a rage.

There had been talk of a trip abroad: it seemed I was bound upon it, by advice of Sir Harry, to further my education and to cure my foot of its twist.

"Well," the gray personage laughed, "being what you are, remembering what I have with candor and exact honesty told you, if you can permit this old pirate--"

I stopped him. I would have no more of it--not I, by Heaven!

"This extortionate old--"

"I'll not hear it!" I roared.

"In this fine faith," sneers he, "I find at least the gratifying prospect of being some day privileged to observe Top broil as on a griddle in h.e.l.l."

'Twas most obscure.

"I refer," says he, "to the moment of grand climax when this pirate tells you where your diamonds came from. Your diamonds?" he flashed.

"You may get quit of your diamonds; but the fine gentleman this low villain has fashioned of a fishing-skipper's whelp will all your days keep company at your elbow. And you won't love Top for this," says he, with malevolent satisfaction; "you won't love Top!"

I walked to the window for relief from him. 'Twas all very well that he should discredit and d.a.m.n my uncle in this way; 'twas all very well that he should raise spectres of unhappiness before me: but there, on the opposite pavement, abroad in the foggy wind, jostled by ill-tempered pa.s.sengers, was this self-same old foster-father of mine, industriously tap-tapping the pavement with his staff, as he had periodically done, whatever the weather, since I could remember the years of my life. I listened to the angry tapping, watched the urchins and curious folk gather for the show; and I was moved to regard the mystifying spectacle with an indulgent grin. The gray stranger, however, at that instant got ear of the patter of the staff and the clamor of derision. He cried upon me sharply to stand from the window; but I misliked this harsh manner of authority, and would not budge: whereupon he sprang upon me, caught me about the middle, and violently flung me back. 'Twas too late to avert the catastrophe: my uncle had observed me, and was even then bound across the street, flying all sail, to the terrified confusion of the exalted political personage whose career he menaced. 'Twas a pitiable spectacle of fright and helpless uncertainty the man furnished, seeming at one moment bent on keeping my uncle out, whom he feared to admit, at another to wish him well in, whom he dared not exclude.

"The man's stark mad!" he would repeat, in his panic of gesture and pacing. "The man's stark mad to risk this!"

My uncle softly closed the door behind him. "Ah, Dannie!" says he.

"You here?" He was breathless, and gone a ghastly color; there was that about his scars and eyes, too, to make me wonder whether 'twas rage or fear had mastered him: I could not tell, but mightily wished to determine, since it seemed that some encounter impended. "Ye're an unkind man," says he, in a pa.s.sionless way, to the gray stranger, who was now once more seated at his desk, fingering the litter of doc.u.ments. "Ye've broke your word t' me. I must punish ye for the evil ye've done this lad. I'll not ask ye what ye've told un till I haves my way with ye; but then," he declared, his voice betraying a tremor of indignation, "I'll have the talk out o' ye, word for word!" The gray stranger was agitated, but would not look up from his aimlessly wandering hand to meet my uncle's lowering, reproachful eyes.

"Dannie," says my uncle, continuing in gentle speech, "pa.s.s the cushion from the big chair. Thank 'e, lad. I'm not wantin' the man t'

hurt his head." He cast the cushion to the floor. "Now, sir," says he, gently, "an ye'll be good enough t' step within five-foot-ten o'

that there red cushion, I'll knock ye down an' have it over with."

The man looked sullenly out of the window.

"Five-foot-ten, sir," my uncle repeated, with some cheerfulness.

"Top," was the vicious response, "you invite a.s.sa.s.sination."

My uncle put his hand on my shoulder. "'Tis not fit for ye t' see, lad," says he. "Ye'd best be off t' the fresh air. 'Tis so wonderful stuffy here that ye'll be growin' pale an ye don't look out. An' I'm not wantin' ye t' see me knock a man down," he repeated, with feeling.

"I'm not wantin' ye even t' _think_ that I'd do an unkind thing like that."

I moved to go.

"Now, sir!" cries my uncle to the stranger.

As I closed the door behind me the man was pa.s.sing with snarling lips to the precise spot my uncle had indicated....

XX

NO APOLOGY

My uncle knocked on my door at the hotel and, without waiting to be bidden, thrust in his great, red, bristling, monstrously scarred head.

'Twas an intrusion most diffident and fearful: he was like a mischievous boy come for chastis.e.m.e.nt.

"You here, Dannie?" he gently inquired.

"Come in, sir," says I.

'Twas awkwardly--with a bashful grin and halting, doubtful step--that he stumped in.

"Comfortable?" he asked, looking about. "No complaint t' make ag'in this here hotel?"

I had no complaint.

"Not troubled, is you?"

I was not troubled.

"Isn't bothered, is you?" he pursued, with an inviting wink. "Not bothered about nothin', lad, is you?"

Nor bothered.

"Come now!" cries he, dissembling great candor and heartiness, "is you got any questions t' ask ol' Nick Top?"

"No, sir," I answered, quite confidently.

"Dannie, lad," says my uncle, unable to contain his delight, with which, indeed, his little eyes brimmed over, "an ye'd jus' be so d.a.m.ned good as t' tweak that there--"

I pulled the bell-cord.

"A nip o' the best Jamaica," says he.

Old Elihu Wall fetched the red dram.

"Lad," says my uncle, his gla.s.s aloft, his eyes resting upon me in pride, his voice athrill with pa.s.sionate conviction, "here's t' _you_!

That's good o' you," says he. "That's very good. I 'low I've fetched ye up very well. Ecod!" he swore, with most reverent and gentle intention, "ye'll be a gentleman afore ye knows it!"

He downed the liquor with a grin that came over his lurid countenance like a burst of low sunshine.

"A gentleman," he repeated, "in spite o' Chesterfield!"