Part 49 (1/2)

”Why, then--in plain words, my dear Beverley,--he's suffering from an acute attack of the Jews, dammem!--a positive seizure, sir!”

”Do you mean he has been taken--for debt?”

”Precisely, my dear fellow. An old affair--ages ago--a stab in the dark! Nothing very much, in fact a mere bagatelle, only, as luck will have it, I am d.a.m.nably short myself just now.”

”How much is it?”

”Altogether exactly twenty-five pound ten. An absurd sum, but all my odd cash is on the race. So I ventured here on my young friend's behalf to ask for a trifling loan,--a pound--or say thirty s.h.i.+llings would be something.”

Barnabas crossed to a cabinet, unlocked a drawer, and taking thence a smallish bag that jingled, began to count out a certain sum upon the table.

”You said twenty-five pounds ten, I think?” said Barnabas, and pushed that amount across the table. Mr. Smivvle stared from the money to Barnabas and back again, and felt for his whisker with fumbling fingers.

”Sir,” he said, ”you can't--you don't mean to--to--”

”Yes,” said Barnabas, turning to re-lock the drawer. Mr. Smivvle's hand dropped from his whiskers, indeed, for the moment he almost seemed to have forgotten their existence.

”Sir,” he stammered, ”I cannot allow--no indeed, sir! Mr. Beverley, you overwhelm me--”

”Debts are necessary evils,” said Barnabas, ”and must be paid.”

Mr. Smivvle stared at Barnabas, his brow furrowed by perplexity, --stared like one who is suddenly at a loss; and indeed his usual knowing air was quite gone. Then, dropping his gaze to the money on the table, he swept it into his pocket, almost furtively, and took up his hat and cane, and, it is worthy of note, that he did it all without a flourish.

”Mr. Beverley,” said he, ”in the name of my friend Barrymaine, I thank you, and--I--I thank you!” So he turned and went out of the room, and, as he went, he even forgot to swagger.

Then Barnabas crossed to a mirror, and, once more, fell to studying his reflection with critical eyes, in the midst of which examination he looked up to find Peterby beside him.

”Are you quite satisfied, sir?”

”They are wonderful, John.”

”The coat,” said Peterby, ”y-e-s, the coat will pa.s.s well enough, but I have grave doubts as regard the pantaloons.”

”I refuse to have 'em touched, John. And Natty Bell was quite right.”

”Sir?” said Peterby.

”You don't know Natty Bell as yet, John, but you may; he is a very remarkable man! He told me, I remember, that in Town, a man had his clothes put on for him, and--remembered them,--and so he does,--the difficulty will be ever to forget 'em, they”--here Barnabas stole a glance at his legs--”they positively obtrude themselves, John! Yes, clothes are wonderful things, but I fear they will take a great deal of living up to!”

Here Barnabas drew a long sigh, in the midst of which he was interrupted by the calves of the Gentleman-in-Powder, which presented themselves at the doorway with the announcement:

”Viscount Deafenem, sir!”

Barnabas started and hurried forward, very conscious, very nervous, and for once uncertain of himself by reason of his new and unaccustomed splendor. But the look in the Viscount's boyish eyes, his smiling nod of frank approval, and the warm clasp of his hand, were vastly rea.s.suring.

”Why, Bev, that coat's a marvel!” he exclaimed impulsively, ”it is, I swear it is; turn round--so! Gad, what a fit!”

”I hoped you 'd approve of it, d.i.c.k,” said Barnabas, a little flushed, ”you see, I know very little about such things, and--”

”Approve of it! My dear fellow! And the cut!”

”Now--as for these--er--pantaloons, d.i.c.k--?”