Part 42 (2/2)
”Nor Dig, perhaps?”
”No, sir.”
”Remarkable--hum!” exclaimed Mr. Smivvle, shaking his head; ”but I'm ready to lay you odds that he _did_ speak of my friend Barry.
I may say my bosom companion--a Mr. Ronald Barrymaine, sir.”
”Ronald Barrymaine,” repeated Barnabas, trying the new point of his pen upon his thumb-nail, yet conscious of the speaker's keen glance, none the less. ”No, he did not.”
”Astounding!” exclaimed Mr. Smivvle.
”Why so?”
”Because my friend Barrymaine was particularly intimate with his Lords.h.i.+p, before he fell among the Jews, dammem! My friend Barry, sir, was a dasher, by George! a regular red-hot tearer, by heaven! a Go, sir, a Tippy, a bang up Blood, and would be still if it were not for the Jews--curse 'em!”
”And is Mr. Barrymaine still a friend of yours?”
At this Mr. Smivvle took off his hat again, clapped it to his bosom, and bowed.
”Sir,” said he, ”for weal or woe, in shadow or s.h.i.+ne, the hand of a Smivvle, once given, is given for good.”
As he spoke, Mr. Smivvle stretched out the member in question, which Barnabas observed was none too clean.
”The hand of a Smivvle, sir,” pursued that gentleman, ”the hand of a Smivvle is never withdrawn either on account of adversity, plague, poverty, pestilence, or Jews--dammem! As for my friend Barrymaine; but, perhaps, you are acquainted with him, sir.”
”No,” answered Barnabas.
”Ah! a n.o.ble fellow, sir! Heroic youth, blood, birth, and breeding to his finger-tips, sir. But he is, above all else, a brother to a--a sister, sir. Ah! what a creature! Fair, sir? fair as the immortal Helena! Proud, sir? proud as an arch-d.u.c.h.ess! Handsome, sir?
handsome, sir, as--as--oh, dammit, words fail me; but go, sir, go and ransack Olympus, and you couldn't match her, 'pon my soul! Diana, sir? Diana was a frump! Venus? Venus was a dowdy hoyden, by George!
and as for the ox-eyed Juno, she was a positive cow to this young beauty! And then--her heart, sir!”
”Well, what of it?” inquired Barnabas, rather sharply.
”Utterly devoted--beats only for my friend--”
”You mean her brother?”
”I mean her brother, yes, sir; though I have heard a rumor that Sir Mortimer Carnaby--”
”Pooh!” said Barnabas.
”With pleasure, sir; but the fact remains that it was partly on his account, and partly because of another, that she was dragged away from London--”
”What other?”
”Well, let us say--H.R.H.”
”Sir,” inquired Barnabas, frowning, ”do you mean the Prince?”
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