Part 61 (1/2)
He went and got some more water for a jug of white lilies that stood on the table, and began to put things a little straight--as if he were a woman.
”Maurice!”
”You're not to talk, Linn, I tell you!”
”I must--just a word,” Lionel said, and Mangan was forced to listen.
”What does the doctor really say?”
”About you?--oh, you're going on first-rate! Only you've to keep still and quiet and not trouble about anything.”
”What day is this?”
”Why, Tuesday.”
He thought for a little.
”It--it was a Sat.u.r.day I was taken ill? I have forgotten so many things.
But--but there's this, Maurice; if anything happens to me--the piano in the next room--it belongs to me--you will give that to Francie for her wedding-present. I would have--given her something more, but you know.
And if you ever hear of Nina Rossi, will you ask her to--to take some of the things in a box you'll find on the top of the piano--they all belonged to her--if she won't take them all back, she must take some--as a--as a keepsake. She ought to do that. Perhaps she won't think I treated her so badly--when it's all over--”
He lay back exhausted with this effort.
”Oh, stuff and nonsense, Linn!” his friend exclaimed, in apparent anger.
”What's the use of talking like that! You know you were worried into this illness, and I want to explain to you that you needn't worry any longer, that you've nothing to do but get well! Now listen--and be quiet. To begin with, Lord Rockminster has got his three hundred pounds--”
”I remember about that--it was awfully good of you, Maurice--”
”Be quiet. Then there's that diabolical eleven hundred pounds. Well, things have to be faced,” continued Mangan, with a matter-of-fact air.
”It's no use sighing and groaning when you or your friends are in a pickle; you've just got to make the best of it. Very well. Do you see this slip of paper?--this is a check for eleven hundred pounds, drawn out and signed by me, Maurice Mangan, barrister-at-law, and author of several important works not yet written. I took it up this afternoon to that young fellow's rooms in Bruton Street, to get a receipt for the money, for I thought that would satisfy you better; but I found he was in Paris. Never mind. There is the check, and I am going to post it directly, so that he will get it the moment he returns--”
”Maurice, you must ask Francie.”
”I will not ask Francie,” his friend said, promptly. ”Francie must attend to her own affairs until she has acquired the legal right to control me and mine. You needn't make a fuss about a little thing like that, Linn. I can easily make it up; in fact, I may say I have already secured a means of making it up, as a telegram I received this very afternoon informs me. Here is the story: I can talk to you, if you may not talk to me, and I want you to know that everything is straight and clear and arranged. About ten days ago I had a letter from a syndicate in the North asking me if I could write for them a weekly article--not a London correspondent's news-letter--but a series of comments on the important subjects of the day, outside politics. Outside politics, of course; for I dare say they will supply this article to sixty or eighty country papers. Very well. You know what a lazy wretch I am; I declined.
Then yesterday, when I was dawdling about the house here, it suddenly occurred to me that after all I couldn't do better than sit down and write to my enterprising friends in the North, and tell them that they could have that weekly column of enlightenment, if they hadn't engaged any one else, and if they were prepared to pay well enough for it. This afternoon comes their answer; here it is: 'Offer still open? will four hundred suit you?' Four hundred pounds a year will suit me very well.”
”Maurice, you're taking on all that additional work on my account,”
Lionel managed to say, by way of feeble protest.
”I am taking it on to cure myself of atrocious habits of indolence. And look at the educational process. I shall have to read all the important new books, and attend the Private Views, and examine the working local government; bless you! I shall become a compendium of information on every possible modern subject. Then think of the power I shall wield; let Quirk and his gang beware!--I shall be able to kick those log-rollers all over the country--there will be a buffet for them here, and a buffet for them there, until they'll go to their mothers and ask, with tears in their eyes, why they ever were born. Or will it be worth while? No. They are hardly important enough; the public don't heed them.
But the four hundred pounds is remarkably important--to any one looking forward to having an extravagant spendthrift of a wife on his hands, and so you see, Linn, everything promises well. And I will say good-night to you now--though I am not leaving the house yet--oh, no!--you can send the nurse for me if you want me. _Schlaf' wohl!_”
The sick man murmured something unintelligible in reply, and then lay still.
Now Maurice Mangan had spoken of his dawdling about this house; but the fact was that he had his hands full from morning till night. The mere correspondence he had to answer was considerable. Then there were the visitors and the doctors to be received, and the nurse to be looked after, and the anxious mother to be appeased and rea.s.sured. Indeed, on this evening, the old lady, hearing that her son was sensible, begged and entreated to be allowed to go in and talk to him, and it took both her husband and Maurice to dissuade her.