Part 5 (2/2)

”You have a very pretty piece of horseflesh, sir,” said he, as he came into the room. ”I took the liberty of looking it over a minute ago in the stables.”

”It is not bad,” said I. There was never a man in the world who did not relish praise of his horse, and I warmed to my new acquaintance.

”We are both, it seems, sleeping here to-night, and likely enough we are travelling the same road to-morrow.”

The young man shook his head.

”I could wish indeed,” said he, ”that we might be fellow-travellers, but though it may well be we follow the same road, we do not, alas, travel in the same way,” and he showed me his boots which were thickly covered with dust. ”My horse fell some half-a-dozen miles from here and snapped a leg. I must needs walk to-morrow so far as where I trust to procure another--that is to say,” he continued, ”if I do not have to keep my bed, for I have taken a devilish chill this evening,” and drawing up his chair to the empty fireplace, he crouched over an imaginary fire and s.h.i.+vered.

Now since he sat in this att.i.tude, I could not but notice his boots, and I fell to wondering what in the world he had done with his spurs.

For he wore none, and since he had plainly not troubled to repair the disorder of his dress, it seemed strange that he should have gone to the pains of removing his spurs. However, I was soon diverted from this speculation by the distress into which Mr. Featherstone's cold threw him. Featherstone was his name, as he was polite enough to tell me in the intervals of coughing, and I told him mine in return. At last his malady so increased that he called for the landlord, and bidding him light a great fire in his bedroom said he must needs go to bed.

”I trust, however,” he continued politely to me, ”that you, Mr.

Berkeley, will prove a Samaritan, and keep me company for a while. For I shall not sleep, upon my word I shall not sleep a wink,” and he was so positive in his a.s.surances that, though I was myself sufficiently tired, I thought it no more than kindness to fall in with his wishes.

Accordingly I followed him into his bedroom, where he lay in a great canopied bed, with a big fire blazing upon the hearth, and a bottle of rum with a couple of gla.s.ses upon a table at the bedside.

”It is an ague,” said he, ”which I caught upon the Gambia River, and from which I have ever since suffered many inconveniences;” he poured out the rum into the gla.s.ses, and wished me with great politeness all prosperity.

It was no doubt, also, because he had voyaged on the Gambia River that he suffered no inconvenience from the heat of the room. But what with the hot August night, and the blazing fire, and the closed window, I became at once so drowsy that I could hardly keep my eyes open, and I wished him good-night.

”But you will not go,” said he. ”We are but this moment acquainted, and to-morrow we shall wave a farewell each to the other. Let us, Mr.

Berkeley, make something of the meanwhile, I beg you.”

I answered him that I did not wish to appear churlish, but that I should most certainly appear so if I fell asleep while we talked, which, in spite of myself, I was very likely to do.

”But I have a bottle of salts here,” said he, with a laugh, as he reached out of bed and fumbled with his coat. ”I have a bottle of salts here which will infallibly persuade you from any thought of sleep,” and he drew out from the pocket of his coat a pack of cards.

”Well, what do you say?” he continued, as I did not move.

”It is some while since I handled a card,” said I slowly.

”A game of picquet,” he suggested.

”It is a good game,” said I.

He flipped the edges of the cards with his thumb. I drew nearer to the bed.

”Well, one game then,” said I.

”To be sure,” said he, shuffling the cards.

”And the stakes must be low.”

”I hate a gambler myself.”

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