gone up to the barracks, sir. Said heshould be back to dinner, sir."
"That is right, Isaac. That is right. I think I will go for a littlepromenade before dinner myself."
"He's a rum 'un," muttered the footman as he stood behind the curtain onone side of the window; "anyone would think we were all as happy as theday's long here, when all the time the place is chock full of horrors,and if I was to speak--"
Isaac did not finish his sentence, but remained watching the Master ofthe Ceremonies with his careful mincing step till he was out of sight,when the footman turned from the window to stand tapping thedining-table with his finger tips.
"If I was to go, there'd be a regular wreck, and I shouldn't get a pennyof my back wages. If I stay, he may get them two well married, and thenthere'd be money in the house. Better stay. Lor', if people only knewall I could tell 'em about this house, and the scraping, and putting offbills, and the troubles with Miss May and the two boys, and--"
Isaac drew a long breath and turned rather white.
"I feel sometimes as if I ought to make a clean breast of it, but Idon't like to. He isn't such a bad sort, when you come to know him, butthat--ugh!"
He shuddered, and began to rattle the knives and forks upon the table,giving one a rub now and then on his shabby livery.
"It's a puzzler," he said, stopping short, after breathing in a glass,and giving it a rub with a cloth. "Some day, I suppose, there'll be adifference, and he'll be flush of money. I suppose he daren't startyet. Suppose I--No; that wouldn't do. He'll pay all the back, then,and I might--"
Isaac shuddered again, and muttered to himself in a very mysterious way.Then, all at once:
"Why, I might cry halves, and make him set me up for life. Why not?She was good as gone, and--"
He set down the glass, and wiped the dew that had gathered off his brow,looking whiter than before, for just then a memory had come into Isaac'smental vision--it was a horrible recollection of having been tempted togo and see the execution of a murderer at the county town, and thisman's accomplice was executed a month later.
"Accomplice" was an ugly word that seemed to force itself into Isaac'smind, and he shook his head and hurriedly finished laying the cloth.
"Let him pay me my wages, all back arrears," he said. "Perhaps there isa way of selling a secret without being an accomplice, but I don't know,and--oh, I couldn't do it. It would kill that poor girl, who's aboutworried to death with the dreadful business, without there beinganything else."
Volume One, Chapter XXIV.
PRESSED FOR MONEY.
As a rule, a tailor is one who will give unlimited credit so long as hisclient is a man of society, with expectations, and the maker of garmentscan charge his own prices; but Stuart Denville, Esq, MC, of Saltinville,paid a visit to his tailor to find that gentleman inexorable.
"No, Mr Denville, sir, it ain't to be done. I should be glad to fitout the young man, as he should be fitted out as a gentleman, sir; butthere is bounds to everything."
"Exactly, my dear Mr Ping, but I can assure you that before long bothhis and my accounts shall be paid."
"No, sir, can't do it. I'm very busy, too. Why not try Crowder andSon?"
"My dee-ar Mr Ping--you'll pardon me? I ask you as a man, as an artistin your profession, could I see my son--my heir--a gentleman who I hopesome day will make a brilliant match--a young man who is going at onceinto the best of society--could I now, Mr Ping, see that youth in asuit of clothes made by Crowder and Son? Refuse my appeal, if youplease, my dear sir, but--you'll pardon me--do not add insult to theinjury."
Mr Ping was mollified, and rubbed his hands softly. This wasflattering: for Crowder and Son, according to his view of the case, didnot deserve to be called tailors--certainly not gentlemen's tailors; buthe remained firm.
"No, Mr Denville, sir, far be it from me to wish to insult you, sir,and I thank you for the amount of custom you've brought me. You can'tsay as I'm unfair."
"You'll pardon me, Mr Ping; I never did."
"Thank you, sir; but as I was a saying, you've had clothes of me, sir,for years, and you haven't paid me, sir, and I haven't grumbled, seeingas you've introduced me clients, but I can't start an account for MrDenville, junior, sir, and I won't."
The MC took snuff, and rested first on one leg and then on the other;lastly, he held his head on one side and admired two or three velvetwaistcoat pieces, so as to give Mr Ping time to repent. But Mr Pingdid not want time to repent, and he would not have repented had the MCstayed an hour, and this the latter knew, but dared not resent, bowinghimself out at last gracefully.
"Good-morning, Mr Ping, good-morning. I am sorry you--er--but nomatter. Lovely day, is it not?"
"Lovely, sir. Good-morning--poor, penniless, proud, stuck-up,half-starved old dandy," muttered the prosperous tradesman, as he stoodin his shirt-sleeves at the door, his grey hair all brushed forward intoa fierce frise, and a yellow inch tape round his neck like an alderman'schain. "I wouldn't trust his boy a sixpence to save his life.Prospects, indeed. Fashion, indeed. I expect he'll have to 'list."
The MC went smiling and mincing along the parade, waving his canejauntily, and passing his snuff-box into the other hand now and then toraise his hat to some one or another, till he turned up a side street,when, in the solitude of the empty way, he uttered a low groan, and hisface changed.
"My God!" he muttered. "How long is this miserable degradation tolast?"
He looked round sharply, as if in dread lest the emotion into which hehad been betrayed should have been observed, but there was no one near.
"I must try Barclay. I dare not go to Frank Burnett, for poor May'ssake."
A few minutes later he minced and rolled up to a large, heavy-lookingmansion in a back street, where, beneath a great dingy portico, agrotesque satyr's head held a heavy knocker, and grinned at the visitorwho made it sound upon the door.
"Hallo, Denville, you here?" said Mr Barclay, coming up from thestreet. "Didn't expect to see you. I've got the key: come in."
"A little bit of business, my dear sir. I thought I'd come on insteadof writing. Thanks--you'll pardon me--a pinch of snuff--the Prince'sown mixture."
"Ah yes." _Snuff, snuff, snuff_. "Don't like it though--too scentedfor me. Come along."
He led the way through a large, gloomy hall, well hung with largepictures and ornamented with pedestals and busts, up a broad,well-carpeted staircase and into the drawing-room of the house--a room,however, that looked more like a museum, so crowded was it withpictures, old china, clocks, statues, and bronzes. Huge vases, tinyDresden ornaments, rich carpets, branches and lustres of cut-glass andormolu, almost jostled each other, while the centre of the room wasfilled with lounges, chairs and tables, rich in buhl and marqueterie.
At a table covered with papers sat plump, pleasant-looking Mrs Barclay,in a very rich, stiff brocade silk. Her appearance was vulgar; therewere too many rings upon her fat fingers, too much jewellery about herneck and throat; and her showy cap was a wonder of lace and ribbons; butNature had set its stamp upon her countenance, and though she washolding her head on one side, pursing up her lips and frowning as shewrote in the big ledger-like book open before her, there was nomistaking the fact that she was a thoroughly good-hearted amiable soul.
"Oh, bless us, how you startled me!" she cried, throwing herself back,for the door had opened quietly, and steps were hardly heard upon thesoft carpet. "Why, it's you, Mr Denville, looking as if you were justgoing to a ball. How are you? Not well? You look amiss. And how'sMiss Claire? and pretty little Mrs Mayblossom--Mrs Burnett?"
"My daughters are well in the extreme, Mrs Barclay," said the MC,taking the lady's plump extended hand as she rose, to bend over it, andkiss the fingers with the most courtly grace. "And you, my dear madam,you?"
"Oh, she's well enough, Denville," said Barclay, chuckling. "Robust'sthe word for her."
"For shame, Jo-si-ah!" exclaimed the lady, reddening furiously. She hadonly blushed slightly befor
e with pleasure; and after kicking back herstiff silk dress to make a profound curtsey. "You shouldn't say suchthings. Why, Mr Denville, I haven't seen you for ever so long; andI've meant to call on Miss Claire, for we always get on so welltogether; but I'm so busy, what with the servants, _and_ the dusting,_and_ the keeping the books, _and_ the exercise as I'm obliged totake--"
"And don't," said Barclay, placing a chair for the MC, and then sittingdown and putting his hands in his pockets.
"For shame, Jo-si-ah. I do