Part 42 (2/2)
As I had followed his game, I also had lost considerably, and he entreated me not to play any more--but _I was a gamester_, it appeared, and I would not pay attention to him, and did not quit the table until I had lost every s.h.i.+lling in my pocket. I left the house in no very good humour, and Atkinson, who had waited for me, accompanied me home.
”Newland,” said he, ”I don't know what you may think of me--you may have heard that I'm a _roue_, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, but this I always do, which is, caution those who are gamesters from their hearts. I have watched you to-night, and I tell you, that you will be ruined if you continue to frequent that table. You have no command over yourself. I do not know what your means may be, but this I do know, that if you were a Croesus, you would be a beggar. I cared nothing for you while you were the Mr Newland, the admired, and leader of the fas.h.i.+on; but I felt for you when I heard that you were scouted from society, merely because it was found out that you were not so rich as you were supposed to be.
I had a fellow feeling, as I told you. I did not make your acquaintance to win your money--I can win as much as I wish from the scoundrels who keep the tables, or from those who would not scruple to plunder others; and I now entreat you not to return to that place--and am sorry, very sorry, that ever I took you there. To me, the excitement is nothing--to you it is overpowering. You are a gamester, or rather, you have it in your disposition. Take, therefore, the advice of a friend, if I may so call myself, and do not go there again. I hope you are not seriously inconvenienced by what you have lost to-night.”
”Not the least,” replied I. ”It was ready money. I thank you for your advice, and will follow it. I have been a fool to-night, and one folly is sufficient.”
Atkinson then left me. I had lost about two hundred and fifty pounds, which included my winnings of the night before. I was annoyed at it, but I thought of Harcourt's safety, and felt indifferent. The reader may recollect that I had three thousand pounds, which Mr Masterton had offered to put out at mortgage for me, but until he could find an opportunity, by his advice I had bought stock in the three per cents.
Since that time he had not succeeded, as mortgages in general are for larger sums, and it had therefore remained. My rents were not yet due, and I was obliged to have recourse to this money. I therefore went into the city, and ordered the broker to sell out two hundred pounds, intending to replace it as soon as I could--for I would not have liked that Mr Masterton should have known that I had lost money by gambling.
When I returned from the city, I found Captain Atkinson in my apartments, waiting for me.
”Harcourt is doing well, and you are not doing badly, I have let all the world know that you intend to call out whoever presumes to treat you with indifference.”
”The devil you have! but that is a threat which may easier be made than followed up by deeds.”
”Shoot two or three more,” replied Atkinson, coolly, ”and then, depend upon it, you'll have it all your own way. As it is, I acknowledge there has been some show of resistance, and they talk of making a resolution not to meet you, on the score of your being an impostor.”
”And a very plausible reason, too,” replied I; ”nor do I think I have any right--I am sure I have no intention of doing as you propose.
Surely, people have a right to choose their acquaintance, and to cut me, if they think I have done wrong. I am afraid, Captain Atkinson, you have mistaken me; I have punished Harcourt for his conduct towards me-- he deserved punishment. I had claims on him; but I have not upon the hundreds, whom, when in the zenith of my popularity, I myself, perhaps, was not over courteous to. I cannot _run the muck_ which you propose, nor do I consider that I shall help my character by so doing. I may become notorious, but certainly, I shall not obtain that species of notoriety which will be of service to me. No, no; I have done too much, I may say, already; and, although not so much to blame as the world imagines, yet my own conscience tells me, that by allowing it to suppose that I was what I was not, I have, to say the least, been a party to the fraud, and must take the consequence. My situation now is very unpleasant, and I ought to retire, and, if possible, re-appear with real claims upon the public favour. I have still friends, thank G.o.d! and influential friends. I am offered a writers.h.i.+p in India--a commission in the army--or to study the law. Will you favour me with your opinion?”
”You pay me a compliment by asking my advice. A writers.h.i.+p in India is fourteen years' transportation, returning with plenty to live on, but no health to enjoy it. In the army you might do well, and, moreover, as an officer in the army, none dare refuse to go out with you. At the same time, under your peculiar circ.u.mstances, I think if you were in a crack regiment, you would, in all probability, have to fight one half the mess, and be put in Coventry by the other. You must then exchange on half-pay, and your commission would be a great help to you. As for the law--I'd sooner see a brother of mine in his coffin. There, you have my opinion.”
”Not a very encouraging one, at all events,” replied I, laughing; ”but there is much truth in your observations. To India I will not go, as it will interfere with the great object of my existence.”
”And pray, if it be no secret, may I ask what that is?”
”To find out _who is my father_.”
Captain Atkinson looked very hard at me. ”I more than once,” said he, ”have thought you a little cracked, but now I perceive you are _mad_-- downright _mad_: don't be angry, I couldn't help saying so, and if you wish me to give you satisfaction, I shall most unwillingly oblige you.”
”No, no, Atkinson, I believe you are not very far wrong, and I forgive you--but to proceed. The army, as you say, will give me a position in society, from my profession being that of a gentleman, but as I do not wish to take the advantage which you have suggested from the position, I shrink from putting myself into one which may lead to much mortification. As for the law, although I do not exactly agree with you in your abhorrence of the profession, yet I must say, that I do not like the idea. I have been rendered unfit for it by my life up to the present. But I am permitted to select any other.”
”Without wis.h.i.+ng to pry into your affairs, have you sufficient to live upon?”
”Yes, in a moderate way; about a younger brother's portion, which will just keep me in gloves, cigars, and eau de cologne.”
”Then take my advice and be _nothing_. The only difference I can see between a gentleman and anybody else, is that one is idle and the other works hard. One is a useless, and the other a useful, member of society. Such is the absurdity of the opinions of the world.”
”Yes, I agree with you, and would prefer being a gentleman in that respect, and do nothing, if they would admit me in every other; but that they will not do. I am in an unfortunate position.”
”And will be until your feelings become blunted as mine have been,”
replied Atkinson. ”Had you acquiesced in my proposal you would have done better. As it is, I can be of no use to you; nay, without intending an affront, I do not know if we ought to be seen together, for your decision not to _fight_ your way is rather awkward, as I cannot back one with my _support_ who will not do credit to it. Do not be angry at what I say; you are your own master, and have a right to decide for yourself. If you think yourself not so wholly lost as to be able eventually to recover yourself by other means, I do not blame you, as I know it is only from an error in judgment, and not from want of courage.”
”At present I am, I acknowledge, lost, Captain Atkinson; but if I succeed in finding my father--”
”Good morning, Newland, good morning,” replied he, hastily. ”I see how it is; of course we shall be civil to each other when we meet, for I wish you well, but we must not be seen together, or you may injure my character.”
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