A Rent In A Cloud

“The Gettone.”

“That’s it. I’m eager to measure my luck against these Milanais. They say, besides, no fellow has such a vein as when his life is threatened; and I remember myself, when I had the yellow fever at Galle, I passed twenty-one times at écarte’, all because I was given over!”

“What a fellow you are, Calvert!” said the other, with a weak man’s admiration for whatever was great, even in infamy.

“You’ll see how I’ll clear them out But what have I done with my purse? Left it on my dressing table, I suppose they are honest in the hotel?”

“Of course they are. It’s all safe; and I’ve more money about me than you want Old Rep handed me three thousand francs this morning to pay the bill, and when I saw you, I forgot all about it.”

“Another element of luck,” cried Calvert, joyously. “The money that does not belong to a man always wins. Why, there’s five thousand francs here,” said Calvert, as he counted over the notes.

“Two of them are Fanny’s, She got her quarter’s allowance yesterday. Stingy, isn’t it? Only three hundred a year.”

“It’s downright disgraceful. She ought to have eight at the very least; but wait till we come back from Basle. You’ll not believe what a change I’ll work in that old fellow, when I take him in hand.”

By this time they had reached the Gettone, and, after a brief colloquy, were suffered to pass up stairs and enter the rooms.

“Oh, it’s faro they play; my own game,” whispered Calvert, “I was afraid the fellows might have indulged in some of their own confounded things, which no foreigner can compete in. At faro I fear none.”

While Barnard joined a group of persons round a roulette-table, where fashionably-dressed women adventured their franc pieces along with men clad in the most humble mode, Calvert took his place among the faro players. The boldness of his play, and the reckless way he adventured his money, could not conceal from their practised acuteness that he was master of the game, and they watched him attentively.

“I think I have nearly cleaned them out, Bob,” cried he to his friend, as he pointed to a heap of gold and silver, which lay promiscuously piled up before him.

“I suppose you must give them their revenge?” whispered the other, “if they wish for it.”

“Nothing of the kind. At a public table, a winner rises when he pleases. If I continue to sit here now, it is because that old fellow yonder has got a rouleau in his pocket which he cannot persuade himself to break. See, he has taken it out: for the fourth time, this is. I wonder can he screw up his courage to risk it. Yes! he has! There go ten pieces on the queen. Go back to your flirtation with the blonde ringlets, and don’t disturb my game. I must have that fellow’s rouleau before I leave. Go back, and I’ll not tell your wife.”

It was in something less than an hour after this that Barnard felt a hand laid on his shoulder, and looking up, saw Calvert standing over him. “Well, it took you some time to finish that old fellow, Calvert!”

“He finished me which was worse. Have you got a cigar?”

“Do you mean that you lost all your winnings?”

“Yes, and your five thousand francs besides, not to speak of a borrowed thousand from someone I have given my card to. A bore, isn’t it?”

“It’s more than a bore – it’s a bad business. I don’t know how I’ll settle it with the landlord.”

“Give him a bill, he’ll never be troublesome: and, as to your wife’s money, tell her frankly you lost it at play. Isn’t that the best way, Madame?” said he, addressing a young and pretty woman at his side. “I am advising my friend to be honest with his wife, and confess that he spent his money in very pleasant company. Come along out of this stuffy place. Let us have a walk in the fresh cool air, and a cigar, if you have one. I often wonder,” said he, as they gained the street, “how the fellows who write books and want to get up sensation scenes, don’t come and do something of this sort There’s a marvellous degree of stimulant in being cleaned out, not only of one’s own cash, but of one’s credit; and by credit I mean it in the French sense, which says, ‘Le crédit est l’argent des autres.’”

“I wish you had not lost that money,” muttered the other.

“So do I. I have combativeness very strong, and I hate being beaten by anyone in anything.”

“I’m thinking of the money!” said the other, doggedly.

“Naturally, for it was yours. ‘‘Twas mine, ‘tis his,’ as Hamlet has it Great fellow, Hamlet! I don’t suppose that anyone ever drew a character wherein Gentleman was so distinctly painted as Hamlet. He combined all the grandest ideas of his class with a certain ‘disinvoltura’ – a sort of high bred levity – that relieved his sternness, and made him much better company than such fellows as Laertes and Horatio.”

“When you saw luck turning, why didn’t you leave off?”

“Why not ask why the luck turned before I left off? That would be the really philosophic inquiry. Isn’t it chilly?”

“I’m not cold, but I’m greatly provoked.”

“So am I for you; for I haven’t got enough to repay you, but trust me to arrange the matter in the morning. The landlord will see the thing with the eyes of his calling: he’ll soon perceive that the son-in-law of a man who travels with two carriages, and can’t speak one word of French, is one to be trusted. I mean him to cash a bill for us before I leave. Old Rep’s white hat and brown spencer are guarantees for fifty thousand francs in any city of Europe. There is a solvent vulgarity in the very creak of his shoes.”

“Oh! he’s not a very distinguished-looking person, certainly,” said Barnard, who now resented the liberty he had himself led the way to.

“There I differ with you; I call him eminently distinguished, and I’d rather be able to ‘come’ that cravat tie, and have the pattern of the dark-green waistcoat with the red spots, than I’d have – what shall I say? – all the crisp bank paper I lost awhile ago. You are not going in, surely?” cried he, as the other rang violently at the hotel.

“Yes; I am very tired of this fooling. I wish you hadn’t lost that money.”

“Do you remember how it goes, Bob?

‘His weary song,
The whole day long,
Was still l’argent, l’argent, l’argent’

She is complaining that though the linnet is singing in the trees, and the trout leaping in the river, her tiresome husband could only liken them to the clink of the gold as it fell on the counter? Why, man, you’ll wake the dead if you ring in that fashion!”

“I want to get in.”

“Here comes the fellow at last; how disgusted he’ll be to find there’s not a five-franc piece between us.”

Scarcely was the door opened than Barnard passed in and left him without even a good-night.

CHAPTER IX. ON THE ROAD

CALVERT’S first care as he entered his room was to ascertain if his purse was there. It was all safe and untouched. He next lit a cigar, and opening his window, leaned out to smoke. It was a glorious autumn night, still, starry and cloudless. Had anyone from the street beneath seen him there, he might have said, “There is some wearied man of brain-labour, taking his hour of tranquil thought before he betakes himself to rest; or he is one of those contemplative natures who loves to be free to commune with his own heart in the silence of a calm night.” He looked like this, and perhaps – who knows if he were not nearer it than we wot of?

It was nigh daybreak before he lay down to sleep. Nor had he been fully an hour in slumber when he was awoke, and found Barnard, dressed in a morning gown and slippers, standing beside his bed.

“I say, Calvert, rub your eyes and listen to me. Are you awake?”

“Not very perfectly; but quite enough for anything you can have to say. What is it?”

“I am so fretted about that money.”

“Why you told me that last night,” said Calvert, addressing himself, as it were, again to sleep.

“Oh, its all very fine and very philosophic to be indifferent about another man’s ‘tin;’ but I tell you I don’t know what to do, what to say about it I’m not six weeks married, and it’s rather early to come to rows and altercations with a father-in-law.”

“Address him to me. Say ‘Go to Calvert – he’ll talk to you.’ Do that like a good fellow and go to bed. Good night.”

“I’ll not stand this sort of thing, Calvert. I’m no going to lose my money and be laughed at too!”

“You’ll not stand what?” cried Calvert, sitting up in bed, and looking now thoroughly awake.

“I mean,” said the other, doggedly, “you have got me into a confounded scrape, and you are bound to get me out of it.”