Part 34 (1/2)
”It is strange,” Treurenberg begins; his voice has a hard, forced sound, he affects an indifference foreign to his nature, ”but since my marriage I have had excellent luck at play. To speak frankly, it has been very convenient. Do not look so startled; wait until you are in my position. In the last few days, however, fortune has failed me. In my circ.u.mstances this is extremely annoying.” He laughs, and flicks a grain of dust from his coat-sleeve.
Harry looks at him, surprised. ”Ah! I understand. You want money. How much? If I can help you out I shall be glad to do so.”
”Six hundred guilders,” says Lato, curtly.
Harry can scarcely believe his ears. How can Lato come to him for such a trifle?
”I can certainly sc.r.a.pe together that much for you,” he says, carelessly, and going to his writing-table he takes a couple of bank-notes out of a drawer. ”Here!” and he offers the notes to his friend.
Lato hesitates for a moment, as if in dread of the money, then takes it, and puts it in his pocket.
”Thanks,” he murmurs, hoa.r.s.ely, and again there is a silence, which Lato is the first to break. ”Why do you look at me so inquiringly?” he exclaims, almost angrily.
”Forgive me, Lato, we are such old friends.”
”What do you want to know?”
”I was only wondering how a man in your brilliant circ.u.mstances could be embarra.s.sed for so trifling a sum as six hundred guilders!”
”A man in my brilliant circ.u.mstances!” Lato repeats, bitterly. ”Yes, you think, as does everybody else, that I am still living upon my wife's money. But you are mistaken. I tried it, indeed, for a while, but I was not made to play that part, no! It was different at first; my wife wished that I should have the disposal of her means, and I half cheated myself into the belief that her millions belonged to me. She came to me for every farthing. I used to rally her upon her extravagance; I played at magnanimity, and forgave her, and made her costly presents--yes--good heavens, how disgusting! But that is long since past; we have separate purses at present, thank G.o.d! I am often too shabby nowadays for the grand folk at Dobrotschau, but that does not trouble me.” He drums nervously upon the table.
Harry looks more and more amazed. ”But then I cannot see why--” he murmurs, but lacks the courage to finish the sentence.
”I know what you wish to say,” Lato continues, bitterly. ”You wonder why, under these circ.u.mstances, I cannot shake off the old habit. What would you have? Hitherto I have won almost constantly; now my luck has turned, and yet I cannot control myself. Those who have not this cursed love of play in their blood cannot understand it, but play is the only thing in the world in which I can become absorbed,--the only thing that can rid me of all sorts of thoughts which I never ought to entertain.
There! now you know!”
He draws a deep, hoa.r.s.e breath, then laughs a hard, wooden laugh. Harry is very uncomfortable: he has never before seen Lato like this. It distresses him to notice how his friend has changed in looks of late.
His eyes are hollow and unnaturally bright, his lips are dry and cracked as from fever, and he is more restless than is his wont.
”Poor Lato! what fresh trouble have you had lately?” asks Harry, longing to express his sympathy.
Lato flushes crimson, then nervously curls into dog's-ears the leaves of a Greek grammar on the table, and shrugs his shoulders.
”Oh, nothing,--disagreeable domestic complications,” he mutters, evasively.
”Nothing new has happened, then?” asks Harry, looking at him keenly.
Lato cannot endure his gaze. ”What could have happened?” he breaks forth.
”How do you get along with your wife?”
”Not at all,--worse every day,” Treurenberg says, dryly. ”And now comes this cursed, meddling Polish jackanapes----”
”If the gentlemen please, the Baroness sends me to say that coffee is served.” With these words Blasius makes his appearance at the door.
Lato springs hastily to his feet. The conversation is at an end.
CHAPTER XXII.
HARRY'S MUSINGS.