Read Ebook: The Honourable Mr. Tawnish by Farnol Jeffery Brock C E Charles Edmund Illustrator

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 191 lines and 10016 words, and 4 pages

"What?" I cried.

"Listen," says Jack.

"'Whether a gentleman riding abroad in naught but his hat and shirt is a sufficiently laughable matter, or an object of derision, depends altogether upon the point of view, and I must leave your friends, namely, Sir Richard Eden and Mr. Bentley, to decide. There remains now but one more undertaking, that of putting you all--together and at the same time--at a disadvantage, which I shall confidently hope to perform so soon as Dame Fortune will permit.

"'I am returning their pistols to Sir Richard Eden and Mr. Bentley to-night.

"'Trusting that you and yours are blooming in all health, I beg to subscribe myself,

"'Your most obedient, humble servant to command,

"'HORATIO TAWNISH.'"

"Tawnish," says Bentley.

"Tawnish!" says Jack. "Devil take him!"

"Egad!" says Jack, sourly, "I almost think you love the fellow."

"On my soul!" says I, "I almost think I do."

In most lives there is a time which, looming ahead of us dark and sombre, fills us with a direful expectancy and a thousand boding fears, so that with every dawn we thank God that it is not yet. Still, the respite thus allowed brings us little ease, for the knowledge of its coming haunts us through the day and night, creeping upon us nearer and nearer with every tick of the clock, until the last chime has rung--until the sand is all run down in the glass, and we are left face to face with our destiny to front it as we may.

Christmas Day was dawning. From my window I had watched the first pale light gather little by little beyond the distant trees, until the whole dismal scene had come into view.

It had snowed all night, and now everything showed beneath a white burden that, as I watched, seemed horribly suggestive of shrouds; so I turned from the casement with a shiver, and drawing the curtains, sat down before the fire , dejected in mind, and heavy with lack of sleep. Somewhere further down the corridor I could hear Bentley snoring, and the sound, rising and falling in the quietude with wearisome monotony, irritated my fractious nerves to that degree that I was of half a mind to go and wake him. Since Penelope had left for London, two days before, he and I had been staying with Jack at the Manor. And very silent the great place had seemed without her; Jack had been more fretful than usual, and more than once I had thrown down my cards in a huff, for cards, after all, were a very sorry substitute for our lovely, laughing Pen. Hereupon I must needs fall to thinking of her mother --dead now these twenty years and more. But what are years after all to one who has loved as I? And from the broken threads of my life that was, I began to weave a life of the "might have been"--a fuller, richer life, perfected by love, and a woman's sweet companionship--so very different to the lonely life that was mine. Well, she had decreed otherwise,--and now--now she was dead--and I an old man, and lonely. But Jack had loved her passing well, and he was lonely too--and Bentley likewise--Bentley, who was snoring like a grampus. I rose, and slipping on some clothes, stepped out into the corridor. But with my hand upon the latch of his bedroom door I stopped, and changing my mind, went down the stairs to the library. To my surprise the candles were still burning, and through the open door I saw Jack sprawled across the table, his face buried in his hands, and beside him Penelope's miniature. Now as I stood there hesitating, I saw his shoulders heaving very strangely, wherefore, turning about, I began to creep softly up the stairs again, lest he should find himself discovered. Half-way up, however, I heard the scrape of his chair as he rose, and a moment after the sound of his step, firm and resolute as ever, noting which I turned and came down again, coughing very naturally as I reached the last stair.

"Ah, Dick!" says he, as he turned and saw me, "A Merry Christmas to thee."

Now it had ever been our custom, since he and I and Bentley were lads together at Charterhouse, at this so happy season to greet each other thus, but for once I found the words to stick most woefully, and for no reason in the world my eyes wandered from his face to the miniature upon the table, seeing which he picked it up--yet kept it covered in his hand.

"Aye," says I, "we did."

"This was the first great sorrow of my life--that by my happiness you two were rendered desolate," says he, laying his hand upon my shoulder.

"Yes," says he, "think you I have been so blind, Dick?"

"True, I was her choice," he repeated, "and methinks it came nigh breaking both your hearts, yet you were my friends still--the old bonds were too strong for self to break them."

"And now, Dick," says he, with his eyes on the cornice again, "there is Pen," and I saw his lips quiver slightly.

"Aye," I nodded, "there's Pen--our Pen."

I felt his fingers tighten on my shoulder, but he was silent.

"When I go out to-day," says he at last, and stopped.

"When I go out to-day--" he began once more, and stopped again; then, with a sudden gesture, he thrust the miniature into my hand. "You and Bentley!" says he, and turned to the papers that littered the table. "You understand?" says he, over his shoulder.

"Yes," says I, from the window, gazing across the bleak, grey desolation of the park. "Yes, I understand."

"I've been setting my papers in order, Dick,--a hard business," says he, with a rueful shake of the head, "a hard business, Dick--and now I'm minded to write a few lines to her, and that methinks will be harder yet." And passing his hand wearily over his brow, he took up his pen.

"Oh Jack--Jack," says I, suddenly, "there may be hope yet--"

"None," says he, quietly; "I was ever a fool with the small-sword, as you will remember, Dick. But I do not repine--you and Bentley are left."

So I presently went up-stairs again, and this time I did not pass Bentley's door, but entering, found him already nearly dressed, and as I live!--a-whistling of his eternal "Lillibuleero."

"Bentley," says I, sharply, "you surely forget what day it is?"

"No," says he, reaching out his hand with a smile. "A Merry Christmas, Dick!"

But seeing my look, and how I shrank from his proffered hand, his face grew solemn all in a moment.

"Good God, man!" I cried, "cannot you understand!" and with the words, I held up the miniature before his eyes. "From to-day she is in our care alone--her mother died twenty years ago--and to-day--poor Jack--oh, damn your Merry Christmas!--are you so utterly heartless and without feeling, or only a blind fool?"

And with this I turned my back fairly upon him and hurried from the room.

My anger toward Bentley, sudden though it may appear, was scarcely the outcome of the moment. I could not but call to mind the thousand little things he had both done and said during the past weeks that demonstrated the strange indifference he had shown toward the whole affair. Thus, as the day advanced, my feeling against him grew but the more intense. Looking back on it now, I am inclined to put this down partly to the reason already stated, partly to lack of sleep, and partly to the carking care that had gnawed at my heart all these weeks--though even now I am inclined to think that his conduct, as I then viewed it, justified my resentment.

I noticed as the day advanced that he seemed to be labouring under some strong excitement, and more than once he manifested a desire to speak with me aside, but I took good care to give him no opportunity. At length, however, Jack chancing to be out of the room for a moment, he seized me by the arm ere I could escape him.

"Dick--" he began.

"Sir!" I cut in, shaking myself free of him, "whatever explanation you may have to offer for your strange, and--yes, sir--utterly heartless conduct of late, I beg that you will let it stand until this most unhappy affair is over--I'm in no mood for it now." He fell back from me, staring as one utterly bewildered for a moment, then he smiled.

"If you will but listen, Dick--"

"Sir," says I, drawing away from him, "I have asked no explanation at your hands, and desire none--the callousness which you have shown so persistently of late has utterly broken down and severed once and for all whatever feeling of friendship I may have entertained for you hitherto."

"You don't mean it--you can never mean it," says he, stretching out an eager hand towards me. "Dick, do but listen--"

"Mean it, sir!" I repeated, "I tell you it is but the memory of that dead friendship which stays me from calling upon you to account to me with your sword."

"But," he stammered, "you--you would never--you could never--"

"Enough, sir," says I, "I have no desire for further speech with you--save that it would be well at least to keep up an appearance of the old relationship, until this affair is over and done with."

"Why, Dick!" says he, his lips twitching strangely, "why--Dick!" and with the word he turned suddenly and left me.

The duel had been settled for twelve o'clock, and it was exactly half after eleven by my chronometer when a servant came to warn us that the coach was at the door. So we presently descended and got in with never a word betwixt us. When men know each other so thoroughly, there is no need for the mask of gaiety to be held up as is usual at such times; thus we rode very silent and thoughtful for the most part, until we heard Purdy, the surgeon, hailing us from where he stood waiting at the cross roads as had been arranged.

"Well, sirs," says he, nodding and frowning at us in his sharp way as he took his seat, "and how is the foot?"

"Right as a trivet!" says Jack.

"I question that," says Purdy, dogmatically; "that tendon cannot be well for a full month yet--curse me if it can! They tell me," he went on, "that the other side has young Prothero--gentlemen, mark my words!--Prothero's a stark, staring fool--a positive ass!--A man breaks his leg--'Give him a clyster!' says Prothero. A child has teething-rash!--'A clyster! a clyster!' cries Prothero. A boy has the collywobbles or mumps--'A clyster!' says Prothero. Mark me, gentlemen, should Sir John here pink his man, depend upon it Prothero will finish him with a clyster!"

This journey, which I had made a thousand times and more, never seemed so short as it did upon this Christmas morning, yet I for one experienced a feeling akin to relief as we were ushered into the sanded parlour of "The Chequers."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet