Part 21 (1/2)

'A--ha, ha, ha!--what? Murdered my father, and married my grandmother?'

snarled Sturk, sneeringly, amused or affecting to be so, and striving to laugh at the daisies before his toes, as he trudged along, with his hands in his breeches' pockets. 'I have not a secret on earth, Sir. 'Tis not a b.u.t.ton to me, Sir, who talks about me; and I don't owe a guinea, Sir, that is, that I could not pay to-morrow, if I liked it; and there's nothing to trouble me--nothing, Sir, except this dirty, little, gouty dyspepsy, scarce worth talking about.

Then came a considerable silence; and Toole's active little mind, having just made a note of this, tripped off smartly to half-a-dozen totally different topics, and he was mentally tippling his honest share of a dozen of claret, with a pleasant little masonic party at the Salmon-leap, on Sunday next, and was just going to charm them with his best song, and a new verse of his own compounding, when Sturk, in a moment, dispersed the masons, and brought him back by the ear at a jump from the Salmon-leap, with a savage----

'And I'd like to know, Sir, who the deuce, or, rather, what the ----(_plague_ we'll say) could put into your head, Sir, to suppose any such matter?'

But this was only one of Sturk's explosions, and he and little Toole parted no better and no worse friends than usual, in ten minutes more at the latter's door-step.

So Toole said to Mrs. T. that evening----

'Sturk owes money, mark my words, sweetheart. Remember _I_ say it--he'll cool his heels in a prison, if he's no wiser than of late, before a twel'month. Since the beginning of February he has lost--just wait a minute, and let me see--ay, that, 150 by the levanting of old Tom Farthingale; and, I had it to-day from little O'Leary, who had it from Jim Kelly, old Craddock's conducting clerk, he's bit to the tune of three hundred more by the failure of Larkin, Brothers, and Hoolaghan.

You see a little bit of usury under the rose is all very well for a vulgar dog like Sturk, if he knows the town, and how to go about it; but hang, it, he knows nothing. Why, the turnpike-man, over the way, would not have taken old Jos. Farthingale's bill for fippence--no, nor his bond neither; and he's stupid beside--but he can't help that, the hound!--and he'll owe a whole year's rent only six weeks hence, and he has not a s.h.i.+lling to bless himself with. Unfortunate devil--I've no reason to like him--but, truly, I do pity him.'

Saying which Tom Toole, with his back to the fire, and a look of concern thrown into his comic little mug, and his eyebrows raised, experienced a very pleasurable glow of commiseration.

Sturk, on the contrary, was more than commonly silent and savage that evening, and sat in his drawing-room, with his fists in his breeches'

pockets, and his heels stretched out, lurid and threatening, in a gloomy and highly electric state. Mrs. S. did not venture her usual 'would my Barney like a dish of tea?' but plied her worsted and knitting-needles with mild concentration, sometimes peeping under her lashes at Sturk, and sometimes telegraphing faintly to the children if they whispered too loud--all cautious pantomime--_nutu signisque loquuntur_.

Sturk was incensed by the suspicion that Tom Toole knew something of his losses, 'the dirty, little, unscrupulous spy and tattler.' He was confident, however, that he could not know their extent. It was certainly a hard thing, and enough to exasperate a better man than Sturk, that the savings of a shrewd, and, in many ways, a self-denying life should have been swept away, and something along with them, by a few unlucky casts in little more than twelve months. And he such a clever dog, too! the best player, all to nothing, driven to the wall, by a cursed obstinate run of infernal luck. And he used to scowl, and grind his teeth, and nearly break the keys and s.h.i.+llings in his gripe in his breeches' pocket, as imprecations, hot and unspoken, coursed one another through his brain. Then up he would get, and walk sulkily to the brandy-flask and have a dram, and feel better, and begin to count up his chances, and what he might yet save out of the fire; and resolve to press vigorously for the agency, which he thought Dangerfield, if he wanted a useful man, could not fail to give him; and he had hinted the matter to Lord Castlemallard, who, he thought, understood and favoured his wishes. Yes; that agency would give him credit and opportunity, and be the foundation of his new fortunes, and the saving of him. A precious, pleasant companion, you may suppose, he was to poor little Mrs. Sturk, who knew nothing of his affairs, and could not tell what to make of her Barney's eccentricities.

And so it was, somehow, when Dangerfield spoke his greeting at Sturk's ear, and the doctor turned short round, and saw his white frizzed hair, great gla.s.s eyes, and crooked, short beak, quizzical and sinister, close by, it seemed for a second as if the 'caw' and the carrion-crow of his dream was at his shoulder; and, I suppose, he showed his discomfiture a little, for he smiled a good deal more than Sturk usually did at a recognition.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

IN WHICH MR. IRONS RECOUNTS SOME OLD RECOLLECTIONS ABOUT THE PIED HORSE AND THE FLOWER DE LUCE.

It was so well known in Chapelizod that Sturk was poking after Lord Castlemallard's agency that Nutter felt the scene going on before his eyes between him and Dangerfield like a public affront. His ire was that of a phlegmatic man, dangerous when stirred, and there was no mistaking, in his rigid, swarthy countenance, the state of his temper.

Dangerfield took an opportunity, and touched Nutter on the shoulder, and told him frankly, in effect, though _he_ wished things to go on as heretofore, Sturk had wormed himself into a sort of confidence with Lord Castlemallard.

'Not confidence, Sir--_talk_, if you please,' said Nutter grimly.

'Well, into talk,' acquiesced Dangerfield; 'and by Jove, I've a hard card to play, you see. His lords.h.i.+p will have me listen to Doctor Sturk's talk, such as it is.'

'He has no talk in him, Sir, you mayn't get from any other impudent dunderhead in the town,' answered Nutter.

'My dear Sir, understand me. I'm your friend,' and he placed his hand amicably upon Nutter's arm; 'but Lord Castlemallard has, now and then, a will of his own, I need not tell you; and somebody's been doing you an ill turn with his lords.h.i.+p; and you're a gentleman, Mr. Nutter, and I like you, and I'll be frank with you, knowing 'twill go no further.

Sturk wants the agency. You have _my_ good-will. _I_ don't see why he should take it from you; but--but--you see his lords.h.i.+p takes odd likings, and he won't always listen to reason.'

Nutter was so shocked and exasperated, that for a moment he felt stunned, and put his hand toward his head.

'I think, Sir,' said Nutter, with a stern, deliberate oath, I'll write to Lord Castlemallard this evening, and throw up his agency; and challenge Sturk, and fight him in the morning.'

'You must not resign the agency, Sir; his lords.h.i.+p is whimsical; but you have a friend at court. I've spoken in full confidence in your secrecy; and should any words pa.s.s between you and Dr. Sturk, you'll not mention my name; I rely, Sir, on your honour, as you may on my good-will;' and Dangerfield shook hands with Nutter significantly, and called to Irons, who was waiting to accompany him, and the two anglers walked away together up the river.