Celt and Saxon. Complete

‘Something for you, my dear Philip.’ Patrick brought out the miniature. He held it for his brother to look. ‘It was the only thing I could get. Mr. Adister sends it. The young lady, Miss Caroline, seconded me. They think more of the big portrait: I don’t. And it ‘s to be kept carefully, in case of the other one getting damaged. That’s only fair.’

Philip drank in the face upon a swift shot of his eyes.

‘Mr. Adister sends it?’ His tone implied wonder at such a change in Adiante’s father.

‘And an invitation to you to visit him when you please.’

‘That he might do,’ said Philip: it was a lesser thing than to send her likeness to him.

Patrick could not help dropping his voice: ‘Isn’t it very like?’ For answer the miniature had to be inspected closely.

Philip was a Spartan for keeping his feelings under.

‘Yes,’ he said, after an interval quick with fiery touches on the history of that face and his life. ‘Older, of course. They are the features, of course. The likeness is not bad. I suppose it resembles her as she is now, or was when it was painted. You ‘re an odd fellow to have asked for it.’

‘I thought you would wish to have it, Philip.’

‘You’re a good boy, Patrice. Light those candles we’ll go to bed. I want a cool head for such brains as I have, and bumping the pillow all night is not exactly wholesome. We’ll cross the Channel in a few days, and see the nest, and the mother, and the girls.’

‘Not St. George’s Channel. Mother would rather you would go to France and visit the De Reuils. She and the girls hope you will keep out of Ireland for a time: it’s hot. Judge if they’re anxious, when it’s to stop them from seeing you, Philip!’

‘Good-night, dear boy.’ Philip checked the departing Patrick. ‘You can leave that.’ He made a sign for the miniature to be left on the table.

Patrick laid it there. His brother had not touched it, and he could have defended himself for having forgotten to leave it, on the plea that it might prevent his brother from having his proper share of sleep; and also, that Philip had no great pleasure in the possession of it. The two pleas, however, did not make one harmonious apology, and he went straight to the door in an odd silence, with the step of a decorous office-clerk, keeping his shoulders turned on Philip to conceal his look of destitution.

CHAPTER XI. INTRODUCING A NEW CHARACTER

Letters and telegrams and morning journals lay on the breakfast-table, awaiting the members of the household with combustible matter. Bad news from Ireland came upon ominous news from India. Philip had ten words of mandate from his commanding officer, and they signified action, uncertain where. He was the soldier at once, buckled tight and buttoned up over his private sentiments. Vienna shot a line to Mrs. Adister O’Donnell. She communicated it: ‘The Princess Nikolas has a son!’ Captain Con tossed his newspaper to the floor, crying:

‘To-day the city’ll be a chimney on fire, with the blacks in everybody’s faces; but I must go down. It’s hen and chicks with the director of a City Company. I must go.’

Did you say, madam?’ Patrick inquired. ‘A son,’ said Mrs. Adister.

‘And the military holloaing for reinforcements,’ exclaimed Con. ‘Pheu! Phil!’

‘That’s what it comes to,’ was Philip’s answer. ‘Precautionary measures, eh?’

‘You can make them provocative.’ ‘Will you beg for India?’ ‘I shall hear in an hour.’ ‘Have we got men?’

‘Always the question with us.’

‘What a country!’ sighed the captain. ‘I’d compose ye a song of old Drowsylid, except that it does no good to be singing it at the only time when you can show her the consequences of her sluggery. A country of compromise goes to pieces at the first cannon-shot of the advance, and while she’s fighting on it’s her poor business to be putting herself together again: So she makes a mess of the beginning, to a certainty. If it weren’t that she had the army of Neptune about her—’

‘The worst is she may some day start awake to discover that her protecting deity ‘s been napping too.—A boy or girl did you say, my dear?’

His wife replied: ‘A son.’

‘Ah! more births.’ The captain appeared to be computing. ‘But this one’s out of England: and it’s a prince I suppose they’ll call him: and princes don’t count in the population for more than finishing touches, like the crossing of t’s and dotting of i’s, though true they’re the costliest, like some flowers and feathers, and they add to the lump on Barney’s back. But who has any compassion for a burdened donkey? unless when you see him standing immortal meek! Well, and a child of some sort must have been expected? Because it’s no miracle after marriage: worse luck for the crowded earth!’

‘Things may not be expected which are profoundly distasteful,’ Mrs. Adister remarked.

‘True,’ said her sympathetic husband. ‘ ‘Tis like reading the list of the dead after a battle where you’ve not had the best of it—each name ‘s a startling new blow. I’d offer to run to Earlsfont, but here’s my company you would have me join for the directoring of it, you know, my dear, to ballast me, as you pretty clearly hinted; and all ‘s in the city to-day like a loaf with bad yeast, thick as lead, and sour to boot. And a howl and growl coming off the wilds of Old Ireland! We’re smitten to-day in our hearts and our pockets, and it ‘s a question where we ought to feel it most, for the sake of our families.’

‘Do you not observe that your cousins are not eating?’ said his wife, adding, to Patrick: ‘I entertain the opinion that a sound breakfast-appetite testifies to the proper vigour of men.’

‘Better than a doctor’s pass: and to their habits likewise,’ Captain Con winked at his guests, begging them to steal ten minutes out of the fray for the inward fortification of them.

Eggs in the shell, and masses of eggs, bacon delicately thin and curling like Apollo’s locks at his temples, and cutlets, caviar, anchovies in the state of oil, were pressed with the captain’s fervid illustrations upon the brothers, both meditatively nibbling toast and indifferent to the similes he drew and applied to life from the little fish which had their sharpness corrected but not cancelled by the improved liquid they swam in. ‘Like an Irishman in clover,’ he said to his wife to pay her a compliment and coax an acknowledgement: ‘just the flavour of the salt of him.’

Her mind was on her brother Edward, and she could not look sweet-oily, as her husband wooed her to do, with impulse to act the thing he was imagining.

‘And there is to-morrow’s dinner-party to the Mattocks: I cannot travel to Earlsfont,’ she said.

‘Patrick is a disengaged young verderer, and knows the route, and has a welcome face there, and he might go, if you’re for having it performed by word of mouth. But, trust me, my dear, bad news is best communicated by telegraph, which gives us no stupid articles and particles to quarrel with. “Boy born Vienna doctor smiling nurse laughing.” That tells it all, straight to the understanding, without any sickly circumlocutory stuff; and there’s nothing more offensive to us when we’re hurt at intelligence. For the same reason, Colonel Arthur couldn’t go, since you’ll want him to meet the Mattocks?’

Captain Con’s underlip shone with a roguish thinness.

‘Arthur must be here,’ said Mrs. Adister. ‘I cannot bring myself to write it. I disapprove of telegrams.’

She was asking to be assisted, so her husband said:

‘Take Patrick for a secretary. Dictate. He has a bold free hand and’ll supply all the fiorituri and arabesques necessary to the occasion running.’

She gazed at Patrick as if to intimate that he might be enlisted, and said: ‘It will be to Caroline. She will break it to her uncle.’

‘Right, madam, on the part of a lady I ‘ve never known to be wrong! And so, my dear, I must take leave of you, to hurry down to the tormented intestines of that poor racked city, where the winds of panic are violently engaged in occupying the vacuum created by knocking over what the disaster left standing; and it ‘ll much resemble a colliery accident there, I suspect, and a rescue of dead bodies. Adieu, my dear.’ He pressed his lips on her thin fingers.

Patrick placed himself at Mrs. Adister’s disposal as her secretary. She nodded a gracious acceptance of him.

‘I recommended the telegraph because it’s my wife’s own style, and comes better from wires,’ said the captain, as they were putting on their overcoats in the hall. ‘You must know the family. “Deeds not words” would serve for their motto. She hates writing, and doesn’t much love talking. Pat ‘ll lengthen her sentences for her. She’s fond of Adiante, and she sympathises with her brother Edward made a grandfather through the instrumentality of that foreign hooknose; and Patrick must turn the two dagger sentiments to a sort of love-knot and there’s the task he’ll have to work out in his letter to Miss Caroline. It’s fun about Colonel Arthur not going. He’s to meet the burning Miss Mattock, who has gold on her crown and a lot on her treasury, Phil, my boy! but I’m bound in honour not to propose it. And a nice girl, a prize; afresh healthy girl; and brains: the very girl! But she’s jotted down for the Adisters, if Colonel Arthur can look lower than his nose and wag his tongue a bit. She’s one to be a mother of stout ones that won’t run up big doctors’ bills or ask assistance in growing. Her name’s plain Jane, and she ‘s a girl to breed conquerors; and the same you may say of her brother John, who ‘s a mighty fit man, good at most things, though he counts his fortune in millions, which I’ve heard is lighter for a beggar to perform than in pounds, but he can count seven, and beat any of us easy by showing them millions! We might do something for them at home with a million or two, Phil. It all came from the wedding of a railway contractor, who sprang from the wedding of a spade and a clod—and probably called himself Mattock at his birth, no shame to him.’

‘You’re for the city,’ said Philip, after they had walked down the street.

‘Not I,’ said Con. ‘Let them play Vesuvius down there. I’ve got another in me: and I can’t stop their eruption, and they wouldn’t relish mine. I know a little of Dick Martin, who called on the people to resist, and housed the man Liffey after his firing the shot, and I’m off to Peter M’Christy, his brother-in-law. I’ll see Distell too. I must know if it signifies the trigger, or I’m agitated about nothing. Dr. Forbery’ll be able to tell how far they mean going for a patriotic song.

“For we march in ranks to the laurelled banks,
On the bright horizon shining,
Though the fields between run red on the green,
And many a wife goes pining.”

Will you come, Phil?’

‘I ‘m under orders.’

‘You won’t engage yourself by coming.’

‘I’m in for the pull if I join hands.’