Part 23 (1/2)
”Get out! I won't have it. You want waking up,” said Pradelle, in a low, earnest voice. ”Think, lad, a few pounds placed as I could place 'em, and there's fortune for us both, without reckoning on what you could do in France. As your aunt says, there's money and a t.i.tle waiting for you, if you'll only stretch out your hand to take 'em.
Come, rouse yourself. Harry Vine isn't the lad to settle down to this drudgery. Why, I thought it was one of the workmen when I came up.”
”It's of no use,” said Harry gloomily, as he seated himself on the ingots of tin. ”A man must submit to his fate.”
”Bah! a man's fate is what he makes it. Look here; fifty or a hundred borrowed for a few days, and then repaid.”
”But suppose--”
”Suppose!” cried Pradelle mockingly; ”a business man has no time to suppose. He strikes while the iron's hot. You're going to strike iron, not tin.”
”How? Where's the money?”
”Where's the money?” said Pradelle mockingly. ”You want fifty or a hundred for a few days, when you could return it fifty times over; and you say, where's the money?”
”Don't I tell you I have no one I could borrow from?” said Harry angrily.
”Yes, you have,” said Pradelle, sinking his voice. ”It's easy as easy.
Only for a few days. A temporary loan. Look here.”
He bent down, and whispered a few words in the young man's ear, words which turned him crimson, and then deadly pale.
”Pradelle!” he cried, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper; ”are you mad?”
”No. I was thinking of coming over to Auvergne to spend a month with my friend, the Count. By and by, dear lad--by and by.”
”No, no; it is impossible,” said Harry, hoa.r.s.ely, and he gave a hasty glance round. ”I couldn't do that.”
”You could,” said Pradelle, and then to himself; ”and, if I know you, Harry Vine, you shall.”
Volume 1, Chapter X.
HARRY VINE HAS A WANT.
Breakfast-time, with George Vine quietly partaking of his toast and giving furtive glances at a _Beloe_ in a small squat bottle. He was feeding his mind at the same time that he supplied the wants of his body. Now it was a bite of toast, leaving in the embrowned bread such a mark as was seen by the dervish when the man asked after the lost camel; for the student of molluscous sea-life had lost a front tooth. Now it was a glance at the little gooseberry-shaped creature, clear as crystal, glistening in the clear water with iridescent hues, and trailing behind it a couple of filaments of an extreme delicacy and beauty that warranted the student's admiration.
Louise was seated opposite, performing matutinal experiments, so it seemed, with pots, cups, an urn, and various infusions and crystals.
Pradelle was reading the paper, and Harry was dividing his time between eating some fried ham and glancing at the clock, which was pointing in the direction of the hour when he should be at Van Heldre's.
”More tea, Louie; too sweet,” said the head of the house, pa.s.sing his cup, _via_ Pradelle.
The cup was filled up and pa.s.sed back, Louise failing to notice that Pradelle manoeuvred to touch her hand as he played his part in the transfer. Then the door opened, and Liza, the brown-faced, black-haired Cornish maid, entered, bearing a tray with an untouched cup of tea, a brown piece of ham on its plate, and a little covered dish of hot toast.
”Please, 'm, Miss Vine says she don't want no breakfast this morning.”
The _Beloe_ bottle dropped back into George Vine's pocket.
”Eh! My sister ill?” he said anxiously.
”No, sir; she seems quite well, but she was gashly cross with me, and said why didn't Miss Louie bring it up.”