style="font-size:15px;"> “Of cawse – of cawse,” replied he of Her Majesty’s Horse Guards, without taking note of the rudeness. “Demmed awkward, too!” he continued, reflectingly. “I am here a stwanger – no fwend – ”
“Oh, for that matter,” interrupted Lucas, the owner of the Newfoundland dog, “there need be no difficulty. I shall be most happy to act as your second.”
The man who thus readily volunteered his services was as arrant a poltroon as could have been found about the fashionable hostelry in which the conversation was taking place – not excepting Swinton himself. He, too, had good cause for playing principal in a duel with Captain Maynard. But it was safer to be second; and no man knew this better than Louis Lucas.
It would not be the first time for him to act in this capacity. Twice before had he done so, obtaining by it a sort of borrowed éclat that was mistaken for bravery. For all this he was in reality a coward; and though smarting under the remembrance of his encounter with Maynard, he had allowed the thing to linger without taking further steps. The quarrel with Swinton was therefore in good time, and to his hand.
“Either I, or my friend here,” he added.
“With pleasure,” assented the other.
“Thanks, gentlemen; thanks, both! Exceedingly kind of you! But,” continued Swinton in a hesitating manner, “I should be sowy to bwing either of you into my scwape. There are some of my old comwades in Canada, sarving with their wegiments. I shall telegwaph to them. And this fellaw must wait. Now, dem it! let’s dwop the subject, and take anothaw dwink.”
All this was said with an air of assumed coolness, of which not even the drinks already taken could cover the pretence. It was, in truth, but a subterfuge to gain time, and reflect upon some plan to escape without calling Maynard out.
There might be a chance, if left to himself; but once in the hands of another, there would be no alternative but to stand up.
These were the thoughts rapidly coursing through Mr Swinton’s mind, while the fresh drinks were being prepared.
As the glass again touched his lips, they were white and dry; and the after-conversation between him and his picked-up acquaintances was continued on his part with an air of abstraction that told of a terrible uneasiness.
It was only when oblivious with more drink that he assumed his swagger; but an hour afterward, as he staggered upstairs, even the alcoholic “buzzing” in his brain did not hinder him from having a clear recollection of the encounter with the “demmed Iwishman!”
Once inside his own apartment, the air of the nobleman a as suddenly abandoned. So, too, the supposed resemblance in speech. His talk was now that of a commoner – intoxicated. It was addressed to his valet, still sitting up to receive him.
A small ante-chamber on one side was supposed to be the sleeping-place of this confidential servant. Judging by the dialogue that ensued, he might be well called confidential. A stranger to the situation would have been surprised it listening to it.
“A pretty night you’ve made of it!” said the valet, speaking more in the tone of a master.
“Fact – fac – hic’p! you speak th’ truth, Frank! No – not pretty night. The very reverse – a d-damned ugly night.”
“What do you mean, you sot?”
“Mean – mee-an! I mean the g-gig-game’s up. ’Tis, by Jingo! Splend’d chance. Never have such ’nother. Million dollars! All spoiled – th’ infernal fella!”
“What fellow?”
“Who d’ye ’spose I’ve seen – met him in the ball – ball – bar-room – down below. Let’s have another drink! Drinks all round – who’s g-gig-goin’ drink?”
“Try and talk a little straighter! What’s this about?”
“Whas’t ’bout? What sh’d be about? Him – hic’p! ’bout him.”
“Him! who?”
“Who – who – who – why, Maynard. Of course you know Maynard? B’long to the Thirty – Thirty – Don’t reclect the number of regiment. No matter for that. He’s here – the c-c-confounded cur.”
“Maynard here!” exclaimed the valet, in a tone strange for a servant.
“B’shure he is! Straight as a trivet, curse him! Safe to spoil everything – make a reg’lar mucker of it.”
“Are you sure it was he?”
“Sure – sure! I sh’d think so. He’s give me good reason, c-curse ’im!”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Yes – yes.”
“What did he say to you?”
“Not much said – not much. It’s what he’s – what he’s done.”
“What?”
“Devil of a lot – yes – yes. Never mind now. Let’s go to bed, Frank. Tell you all ’bout in the morning. Game’s up. ’Tis by J-Jupiter!”
As if incapable of continuing the dialogue – much less of undressing himself – Mr Swinton staggered across to the bed; and, sinking down upon it, was soon snoring and asleep.
It might seem strange that the servant should lie down beside him, which he did. Not after knowing that the little valet was his wife! It was the amiable “Fan” who thus shared the couch of her inebriate husband.
Chapter Thirteen.
Challenging the Challenger
“In faith, I’ve done a very foolish thing,” reflected the young Irishman, as he entered his dormitory, and flung himself into a chair. “Still there was no help for it. Such talk as that, even from a stranger like Dick Swinton, would play the deuce with me. Of course they don’t know him here; and he appears to be playing a great part among them; no doubt plucking such half-fledged pigeons as those with him below.
“Very likely he said something of the same to the girl’s mother – to herself? Perhaps that’s why I’ve been treated so uncourteously! Well, I have him on the hip now; and shall make him repent his incautious speeches. Kicked out of the British service! Lying cur, to have said it! To have thought of such a thing! And from what I’ve heard it’s but a leaf from his own history! This may have suggested it. I don’t believe he’s any longer in the Guards: else what should he be doing out here? Guardsmen don’t leave London and its delights without strong, and generally disagreeable, reasons. I’d lay all I’ve got he’s been disgraced. He was on the edge of it when I last heard of him.
“He’ll fight of course? He wouldn’t if he could help it – I know the sweep well enough for that. But I’ve given him no chance to get out of it. A kid glove across the face, to say nothing of a threat to spit in it – with a score of strange gentlemen looking on and listening! If ten times the poltroon he is, he dare not show the white feather now.
“Of course he’ll call me out; and what am I to do for a second? The three or four fellows I’ve scraped companionship with here are not the men – one of them. Besides, none of them might care to oblige
