Part 47 (1/2)
”They tell me so, and mine has a good reputation.”
”Then claret be it, and no other wine. Don't I make myself at home, old fellow, eh?” said he, clapping Upton on the shoulder. ”Have I not taken his Majesty's Emba.s.sy by storm, eh?”
”We surrender at discretion, only too glad to receive our vanquisher.
Well, and how do you find me looking? Be candid: how do I seem to your eyes?”
”Pretty much as I have seen you these last fifteen years,--not an hour older, at all events. That same delicacy of const.i.tution is a confounded deal better than most men's strong health, for it never wears out; but I have always said it, Upton will see us all down!”
Sir Horace sighed, as though this were too pleasant to be true.
”Well,” said he, at last, ”but you have not told me what good chance has brought you here. Is it the first post-station on the way to India?”
”No; they've taken me off the saddle, and given me a staff appointment at Corfu. I 'm going out second in command there; and whether it was to prevent my teasing them for something else, or that there was really some urgency in the matter, they ordered me off at once.”
”Are they reinforcing the garrison there?” asked Upton.
”No; not so far as I have heard.”
”It were better policy to do so than to send out a 'commander-in-chief and a drummer of great experience,'” muttered Upton to himself; but Harcourt could not catch the remark. ”Have you any news stirring in England? What do the clubs talk about?” asked Sir Horace.
”Glencore's business occupied them for the last week or so; now, I think, it is yourself furnishes the chief topic for speculation.”
”What of me?” asked Upton, eagerly.
”Why, the rumor goes that you are to have the Foreign Office; Adderley, they say, goes out, and Conway and yourself are the favorites, the odds being slightly on his side.”
”This is all news to me, George,” said Upton, with a degree of animation that had nothing fict.i.tious about it; ”I have had a note from Adderley in the last bag, and there's not a word about these changes.”
”Possibly; but perhaps my news is later. What I allude to is said to have occurred the day I started.”
”Ah, very true; and now I remember that the messenger came round by Vienna, sent there by Adderley, doubtless,” muttered he, ”to consult Conway before seeing _me_; and, I have little doubt, with a letter for _me_ in the event of Conway declining.”
”Well, have you hit upon the solution of it?” said Har-court, who had not followed him through his half-uttered observation.
”Perhaps so,” said Upton, slowly, while he leaned his head upon his hand, and fell into a fit of meditation. Meanwhile, Harcourt's dinner made its appearance, and the Colonel seated himself at the table with a traveller's appet.i.te.
”Whenever any one has called you a selfish fellow, Upton,” said he, as he helped himself twice from the same dish, ”I have always denied it, and on this good ground, that, had you been so, you had never kept the best cook in Europe, while unable to enjoy his talents. What a rare artist must this be! What's his name?”
”Pipo, how is he called?” said Upton, languidly.
”Monsieur Carmael, your Excellency.”
”Ah, to be sure; a person of excellent family. I've been told he's from Provence,” said Upton, in the same weary voice.
”I could have sworn to his birthplace,” cried Harcourt; ”no man can manage cheese and olives in cookery but a Provencal. Ah, what a gla.s.s of Bordeaux! To your good health, Upton, and to the day that you may be able to enjoy this as I do,” said he, as he tossed off a b.u.mper.
”It does me good even to witness the pleasure it yields,” said Upton, blandly.
”By Jove! then, I 'll be worth a whole course of tonics to you, for I most thoroughly appreciate all the good things you have given me. By the way, how are you off for dinner company here,--any pleasant people?”