Tom Moore Part 10

"We have been pals since boyhood. As little lads we blacked each other's eyes."

"We did," admitted Sir Percival, laughing gently, "and bled each other's noses, too."

"We licked the same stick of candy."

"Gad, yes. My favorite was peppermint. I remember it as well as though it were but yesterday."

"We grew up to manhood together," continued Brooking, half sadly. "A pretty couple of rakes we were, too."

"We _are_ still, dear lad," corrected Sir Percival. "Two very pretty little libertines, upon my honor."

"In London, where we were well known as an unworthy couple, I have no fault to find with you."

"No?" said the baronet in surprise. "To tell the truth, that statement causes me some little astonishment."

"We sailed under our true colors there--"

"But," interrupted Sir Percival, "the same flag is still flying, old man."

"Ah," said his lordship, "while that is true, it must be remembered that they do not understand its meaning down here. I haven't much to brag of in the way of morals, more is the pity, but no woman has ever wept of shame from my wrong doing, nor will a woman ever do so."

Sir Percival gave his companion a smile of interrogation.

"And I?" he asked.

"I am not so sure about you," responded Lord Brooking, deliberately, "but in London, where you are known, the folly of a girl in trusting you would be so inexcusable that indiscretion upon your part might be readily condoned; but here in this peaceful, simple old town it is very different."

"Come to the point, Brooking. You are almost tiresomely wordy to-day."

"It amounts to this, Percy. I have done some things I 'm heartily ashamed of and I intend in the future to be a better fellow."

"Very commendable, indeed," observed the baronet, a trifle bored, "Does my approval encourage you?"

"What do you intend to do with Bessie d.y.k.e?" demanded the younger man, halting as he spoke.

Sir Percival paused and pensively cut down a weed or two with his walking stick.

"Hum," he said slowly. "As I thought."

"Do you mean honestly by the girl?"

"Your last words are quite correct," said the baronet, coolly. "Buy the girl--I mean to do that, Brooking."

"You frankly avow that is your object?" began Brooking, genuinely shocked.

"Tut--tut!" interrupted his companion, good humoredly. "She is a pretty creature, is n't she? Clever, too, in her own innocent, foolish, little way. For her smiles and bread-and-b.u.t.tery love--a welcome change, by the way, from the London brand of petulant pa.s.sion--I 'll give her a carriage, horses, fine dresses, a necklace or two, and lastly my own charming self for--er--for probably as long a time as several months."

"And _then_, what will become of her?"

"Really, I don't know," answered Sir Percival. "Can't imagine, and I shan't bore myself by wondering. Perhaps she will marry some clodhopper like this Tom Moore. No doubt he would think her doubly valuable when I have finished with her."

"You are not in earnest," stammered Brooking, incredulously.

"Quite in earnest, my dear old chap. Ah, you think that I will not succeed? Pshaw, Brooking! Not here, perhaps, in this deliciously moral atmosphere, but elsewhere, yes. And I intend that she shall be elsewhere. Brooking, I shall fetch this rural beauty to London."

"She will not go," a.s.serted his lordship.

"No?" returned the baronet. "Who, think you, will prevent her?"

"Tom Moore, or I am much mistaken," answered Brooking, confidently.

"Tut!" said Sir Percival, incredulously. "You do not give my tact sufficient consideration. I 'll wager the objections Mr. Moore may see fit to make will prove of no avail in influencing the lady. In fact, if I do say it myself, my plans are clever enough to discount the efforts of a dozen bogtrotters, let alone one and he a rhymester. To begin with I have read and gone in raptures over old Robin d.y.k.e's verses. Egad, I have p.r.o.nounced them beautiful, and really they are not half bad, Brooking. If they were not so crammed with anarchy they would sell in London. The old boy is a socialist, you know. Yes, i' faith, he bastes the Prince and Castlereagh soundly," and this ardent royalist chuckled gleefully at the memory.

"Then you have broached the subject to Mr. d.y.k.e?" asked Lord Brooking, as they continued their stroll in the direction of the schoolhouse. Sir Percival nodded his head.

"Yes, Brooking, the old scribbler is half persuaded already. I have promised him my support and patronage in London if he comes."

"And the girl?"

"I am tempting Bessie with the promise of a place at Old Drury, where, as you know, I am not without influence. Stab me! with her eyes and rosy red cheeks she would need neither paint nor powder to make her an ornament to the boards. Like most clever women, she has ambitions of a histrionic nature. She will come to London, Brooking, and once there!--once there--she is mine, dear lad, she is mine."

Brooking's anger and disgust refused to be longer pent up beneath his calm, almost indifferent, demeanor.

"What a low scoundrel you are!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, much to Sir Percival's surprise. The baronet for a moment regarded him quizzically, as though suspicious that this uncomplimentary description of his character was intended as a humorous remark, but seeing severity in his lordship's face, he smiled pleasantly and refused to take offence.

"Don't be so serious, old c.o.c.k," he drawled. "Earnestness is so tiresome. Ah, life at its best bores me. My friends bore me. _Even you_, Brooking, bore me at times. Toss me, if I know anything that does not bore me sooner or later."

"Sir Percival," said the younger gentleman, "if I whispered one half that you have said to me in Tom Moore's ear he would choke the life out of you and sink your body in the pond."

"And spoil the drinking water? Well, such treatment as you describe would not bore me at all events. 'T would be exciting, even unpleasant, 't is true, but interesting in the extreme, and anything which is not tedious is worthy of all consideration."

Brooking laughed, amused in spite of his disapproval.

"You are incorrigible," he said.

"Permit me to explain my view of the matter," continued Sir Percival, amiably.

"By all means, Percy."

"This piquant country damsel pleases me rarely. She is a sweet little thing whose view of life is about as comprehensive as that of a day-old kitten. She shall be educated, Brooking, and I will serve as tutor. You saw me stoop and pluck a primrose from beside the road as we walked this way, did you not? Here it is in my b.u.t.ton-hole. This girl is a primrose, Brooking; I 'll wear her till she is faded,--then, like this wilted blossom, I will toss her aside. And why? Because there are other primroses as fair and sweet, unplucked and unfaded, that grow beside my path farther on, and I like fresh flowers and new faces."

This very pretty gentleman helped himself to snuff, and then beamed benevolently upon his companion. Brooking saw the baronet was in sober earnest in spite of his pleasant manner and humorous tone. A new comprehension of his friend's real character dawned upon his mind, and for the first time in the long years of their acquaintance and fellowship he was able to strip from the libertine the exterior of the winning and courtly gentleman that had hitherto served to conceal his imperfections. In that one moment vanished the affection and admiration the younger man had felt for the elder, leaving only the colder and less exacting friendship existing between men of the same circle in society, who find much to interest and amuse in each other's company, but nothing to love or respect.

There was a slight pause before his lordship spoke, but when he did so there was a new ring to his voice.

"If you harm this little girl, I 'll never take your hand in mine again.

You hear, Percy? Do as you have said, and we are strangers forever."