Part 39 (1/2)

”The captain has a ridiculous idea that he is the cause of my going,” I said quickly.

John Paul rose somewhat abruptly, seized his hat and bowed to his Lords.h.i.+p, and in the face of a rain sallied out, remarking that he had as yet seen nothing of the city.

”Jack, you must do me the favour not to talk of this in John Paul's presence,” I said, when the door had closed.

”If he doesn't suspect why you are going, he has more stupidity than I gave him credit for,” Comyn answered gruffly.

”I fear he does suspect,” I said.

His Lords.h.i.+p went to the table and began to write, leaving me to the Chronicle, the pages of which I did not see. Then came Mr. Dix, and such a change I had never beheld in mortal man. In place of the would-be squire I had encountered in Threadneedle Street, here was an unctuous person of business in sober gray; but he still wore the hypocritical smirk with no joy in it. His bow was now all respectful obedience. Comyn acknowledged it with a curt nod.

Mr. Dix began smoothly, where a man of more honesty would have found the going difficult.

”Mr. Carvel,” he said, rubbing his hands, ”I wish first to express my profound regrets for what has happened.”

”Curse your regrets,” said Comyn, bluntly. ”You come here on business.

Mr. Carvel does not stand in need of regrets at present.”

”I was but on the safe side of Mr. Carvel's money, my Lord.”

”Ay, I'll warrant you are always on the safe side of money,” replied Comyn, with a laugh. ”What I wish to know, Mr. Dix,” he continued, ”is whether you are willing to take my word that this is Mr. Richard Carvel, the grandson and heir of Lionel Carvel, Esquire, of Carvel Hall in Maryland?”

”I am your Lords.h.i.+p's most obedient servant,” said Mr. Dix.

”Confound you, sir! Can you or can you not answer a simple question?”

Mr. Dix straightened. He may have spoken elsewhere of a.s.serting his dignity.

”I would not presume to doubt your Lords.h.i.+p's word.”

”Then, if I were to be personally responsible for such sums as Mr.

Carvel may need, I suppose you would be willing to advance them to him.”

”Willingly, willingly, my Lord,” said Mr. Dix, and added immediately: ”Your Lords.h.i.+p will not object to putting that in writing? Merely a matter of form, as your Lords.h.i.+p knows, but we men of affairs are held to a strict accountability.”

Comyn made a movement of disgust, took up a pen and wrote out the indors.e.m.e.nt.

”There,” he said. ”You men of affairs will at least never die of starvation.”

Mr. Dix took the paper with a low bow, began to shower me with protestations of his fidelity to my grandfather's interests, which were one day to be my own,--he hoped, with me, not soon,--drew from his pocket more than sufficient for my immediate wants, said that I should have more by a trusty messenger, and was going on to clear himself of his former neglect and indifference, when Banks announced:

”His honour, Mr. Manners!”

Comyn and I exchanged glances, and his Lords.h.i.+p gave a low whistle. Nor was the circ.u.mstance without its effect upon Mr. Dix. With my knowledge of the character of Dorothy's father I might have foreseen this visit, which came, nevertheless, as a complete surprise. For a moment I hesitated, and then made a motion to show him up. Comyn voiced my decision.

”Why let the little cur stand in the way?” he said; ”he counts for nothing.”

Mr. Marmaduke was not long in ascending, and tripped into the room as Mr. Dix backed out of it, as gayly as tho' he had never sent me about my business in the street. His clothes, of a cherry cut velvet, were as ever a little beyond the fas.h.i.+on, and he carried something I had never before seen, then used by the extreme dandies in London,--an umbrella.

”What! Richard Carvel! Is it possible?” he screamed in his piping voice.

”We mourned you for dead, and here you turn up in London alive and well, and bigger and stronger than ever. Oons! one need not go to Scripture for miracles. I shall write my congratulations to Mr. Carvel this day, sir.” And he pushed his fingers into my waistcoat, so that Comyn and I were near to laughing in his face. For it was impossible to be angry with a little c.o.xcomb of such pitiful intelligence.