Part 82 (1/2)
”He said that you were a fine-hearted, plucky fellow, who had not the success he deserved in life.”
”And he said true; and he might have said that others made a stepping-stone of me, and left me to my fate when they pa.s.sed over me!”
The door opened at this moment, and the bland butler announced that the ”Gentleman's supper was served.”
”Come in here, Mr. O'Rorke, when you have finished, and Til give you a cigar. I want to hear more about the snipe shooting,” said Ladarelle, carelessly; and, without noticing the other's leave-takings, he returned to his easy-chair and his musings.
”I wonder which of the two is best to deal with,” muttered O'Rorke to himself, and on this text he speculated as he ate his meal. It was a very grand moment of his existence certainly: he was served on silver, fed by a French cook, and waited on by two servants--one being the black-coated gentleman, whose duty seemed to be in antic.i.p.ating Mr.
O'Rorke's desires for food or drink, and whose marvellous instincts were never mistaken. ”Port, always port,” said he, holding up his gla.s.s. ”It is the wine that I generally drink at home.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: 424]
”This is Fourteen, Sir; and considered very good,” said the butler, obsequiously; for humble as the guest appeared, his master's orders were to treat him with every deference and attention.
”Fourteen or fifteen, I don't care which,” said O'Rorke, not aware to what the date referred; ”but the wine pleases me, and I'll have another bottle of it.”
He prolonged his beat.i.tude till midnight, and though Mr. Fisk came twice to suggest that Mr. Ladarelle would like to see him, O'Rorke's answer was, each time, ”The day for business, the evening for relaxation; them's my sentiments, young man.”
At last a more peremptory message arrived, that Mr. Ladarelle wanted him at once, and O'Rorke, with a prompt.i.tude that astonished the messenger, arose, and cooling his brow and bathing his temples with a wet napkin, seemed in an instant to restore himself to his habitual calm.
”Where is he?” asked he.
”In his dressing-room. I'll show you the way,” said Fisk. ”I don't think you'll find him in a pleasant humour, though. You've tried his patience a bit.”
”Not so easy to get speech of you, Mr. O'Rorke,” said Ladarelle, when they were alone. ”This is about the third or fourth time I have sent to say I wanted you.”
”The port, Sir, the port! It was impossible to leave it. Indeed, I don't know how I tore myself away at last.”
”It will be your own fault if you haven't a bin of it in your cellar at home.”
”How so?”
”I mean that as this old place and all belonging to it must one day be mine, it will be no very difficult matter to me to recompense the man who has done me a service.”
”And are you the heir, Sir?” asked O'Rorke, for the first time his voice indicating a tone of deference.
”Yes, it all comes to me; but my old relative is bent on trying my patience. What would you say his age was?”
”He's not far off eighty.”
”He wants six or seven years of it. Indeed, until the other day he did not look seventy. He broke down all at once.”
”That's the way they all do,” said O'Rorke, sententiously.
”Yes, but now and then they make a rally, Master O'Rorke, and that's what I don't fancy; do you understand me?”
In the piercing look that accompanied these words there seemed no common significance, and O'Rorke, drawing closer to the speaker, dropped his voice to a mere whisper, and said, ”Do you want to get rid of him?”
”I'd be much obliged to him if he would die,” said the other, with a laugh.