The Man Who Rose Again

Nevertheless he was moody, and seemed unhappy. He met these men sometimes at the club, but spoke little. Moreover, in public he was very abstemious, so much so that even the waiter noticed it.

"Is he turning over a new leaf?" asked Purvis of Sprague.

"If he is, he is not playing the game," replied the other.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because it was understood that he should win her on the understanding that he was an atheist and a drunkard."

"But surely you don't object to his reforming?"

"No, of course I should be only too glad if he did, only in that case all the point of our discussion would be gone."

They were, during this conversation, sitting in the club where we first met them, and just as Purvis was about to reply to the other Leicester entered the room. He looked even paler than usual, and the dark rings around his eyes suggested pain either physical or mental. No sooner did he see them than he walked towards them, as if glad of an opportunity of companionship.

"How are you, Leicester?"

"I have a beastly headache," he replied.

Sprague and Purvis looked at each other significantly, a look which Leicester noticed.

"No," he said, "don't draw your conclusions. I have not been drinking. It's that confounded constituency."

"Why, anything happened there?"

"No – nothing of importance. It's only the old game. This man has to be written to, and the other man has to have a certain statement explained. I'd give up the whole thing for twopence."

"Where would your career be then, Leicester?"

"Hang the career," he said moodily.

"It's all very well to say that, old man, but a great deal depends on it."

"What?"

"Well, your future – your future in Parliament, and your future matrimonial arrangements."

He gave the two men an angry look.

"Surely that's my affair," he said.

"Sorry to contradict you, old man; but it is our affair too. That hundred pounds, you know."

Leicester gave expression to a sentiment which was more forcible than elegant.

Sprague looked at him eagerly. Ever since the night when we first met these men, he had cherished anger in his heart towards Leicester. He felt that this man despised him, and he was glad of the opportunity of giving him one, as he termed it, "on his own account."

"Our gallant warrior is afraid to fight," he said with a sneer.

Leicester started as though he were stung. The look on Sprague's face maddened him. For Leicester was in a nervous condition that night. His abstention from spirits was telling on him terribly. Every fibre of his being was crying out for whisky, and every nerve seemed on edge.

"What do you mean, Sprague?" he demanded.

"I mean that our gallant warrior is pulling down his flag," said Sprague. "He has found out that the citadel cannot be easily taken, and he's ready to give up without striking a blow."

Leicester looked on the ground moodily. In his heart of hearts he was ashamed of the whole business, but he felt he would rather do anything than confess it before these fellows.

"I hear he's turned teetotaller, too," went on Sprague, who seemed anxious to pay off old scores. "Who knows? we may see Leicester posing as a temperance advocate yet."

Leicester rose to his feet as if unable to contain himself. To be sneered at by a man like Sprague was too much. He seemed about to give vent to an insulting remark, then as if thinking better of it checked himself. He rung a bell which stood on the table.

A waiter came in answer to his summons.

"Whisky," he said.

"A large or a small one, sir?"

"Bring – bring a bottle," he said savagely.

"I say, Leicester, don't do that!" said Purvis.

"Don't do what?"

"Don't start drinking again."

Again Leicester was almost overwhelmed with anger. How dare these fellows seek to interfere with him!

"May I ask my dear Moody and Sankey when the control of my actions came within your province?" he said, with a strong effort at self-control.

"Don't take it in that way, old man. I'm sure you are ashamed of the other business, and – "

"What business?"

"You know what business. You can't go on with it. You would never have thought of it if you hadn't been drinking too much; and really, I was awfully glad when I saw that you were giving it up."

Leicester did not reply, but instead looked eagerly towards the waiter, who was coming towards him.

He poured out a large portion of whisky into a glass, and then, having added a small quantity of soda-water, he took a long draught.

"There," he said, when he set down the glass empty, "that for your pious platitudes, my friends."

The action seemed to restore something of his equanimity, and it also brought back the old bravado which had characterised him.

"The brave warrior appears to require Dutch courage," remarked Sprague, who seemed bent on arousing all that was evil in him.

"Better that than none at all," remarked Leicester quietly. "And let me tell you this, my friend, you can tell your mother that I shall not assist you in your drawing-room meetings. By the way, what line are you on now? Is it Hottentot children, anti-smoking, or the conversion of the Jews?"

The colour had risen to his cheeks, the old light had come back to his eyes.