A Rent In A Cloud

“That is speaking like a man of sense. It is what I intend to do; but can’t we sleep over it first? I want what the old ladies call my ‘natural rest.’”

“There’s no time for that. The old governor is always pottering about by six o’clock, and it’s just as likely, as the landlord talks English, he’ll be down by way of gossiping with him, and ask if the bill is settled.”

“What an old beast he must be. I wonder you could have married into such a vulgar set.”

“If you have nothing to say but abuse of my connections, I am not going to waste any more time here.”

“There, that’s a dear fellow; go to bed now, and call me somewhere towards four in the afternoon.”

“This is rather more than a joke.”

“To be sure it is, man; it is dead sleepiness. Goodnight.”

“I see you have found your purse – how much had you in it?”

“Count it, if you’re curious,” said Calvert, drowsily.

“Fifty-four Napoleons and a half,” said the other, slowly. “Look ye, Calvert, I’m going to impound this. It’s a sorry instalment, but, as far as it goes – ”

“Take it, old fellow, and leave me quiet.”

“One word more, Calvert,” said Barnard, seriously. “I cannot muster courage to meet old Rep this morning, and if you like to start at once and settle this affair you have in Switzerland, I’m ready, but it must be done instanter.”

“All right; I shall be ready within an hour. Tell the porter to send my bath up at once, and order coffee by the time you’ll be dressed.”

There was very little trace of sleep about Calvert’s face now, as, springing from his bed, he prepared for the road. With such despatch, indeed, did he proceed, that he was already in the coffee-room before his friend had descended.

“Shall we say anything to the landlord before we start, Calvert?” whispered he.

“Of course; send Signor Angelo, or Antonio, or whatever his name, here. The padrone, I mean,” said he to the waiter.

“He is called Luigi Filippo, Sir,” said the man indignantly.

“A capital name for a rogue. Let us have him here.”

A very burly consequential sort of man, marvellously got up as to beard, moustaches, and watch-chain, entered and bowed.

“Signor Luigi Filippo,” said Calvert, “my friend here – the son of that immensely wealthy mi Lordo up stairs – is in a bit of scrape; he had an altercation last night with a fellow we take to be an Austrian spy.”

The host spat out, and frowned ferociously.

“Just so; a dog of a Croat, I suspect,” went on Culvert; “at all events, he must put a bullet in him, and to do so, must get over the frontier beyond Como; we want therefore a little money from you, and your secrecy, till this blows over.”

The host bowed, and pursed up his lips like one who would like a little time for reflection, and at last said, “How much money, Signor?”

“What do you say, Bob? will a hundred Naps do, or eighty?”

“Fifty; fifty are quite enough,” cried Barnard.

“On a circular note, of course, Signor?” asked the host.

“No, a draft at six days on my friend’s father; mi Lordo means to pass a month here.”

“I don’t think I’ll do that, Calvert,” whispered Barnard; but the other stopped him at once with, “Be quiet; leave this to me.”

“Though payable at sight, Signor Luigi, we shall ask you to hold it over for five or six days, because we hope possibly to be back here before Saturday, and if so, we’ll settle this ourselves.”

“It shall be done, gentlemen,” said the host “I’ll go and draw out the bills, and you shall have the money immediately.”

“How I touched the fellow’s patriotism, Bob. It was the Austrian dodge stood us in stead, there. I know that I have jeopardised your esteem for me by the loss of that money last night; but do confess that this was a clever hit of mine.”

“It’s a bad business from beginning to end!” was however all that he could obtain from Barnard.

“Narrow-minded dog! he won’t see any genius in a man that owes him five shillings.”

“I wish it was only five shillings.”

“What an ignoble confession! It means this that your friendship depends on the rate of exchanges, and that when gold rises – But here comes Luigi Fillipo.

“Now, no squeamishness, but write your name firmly. ‘Cut boldly,’ said the auger, ‘and he cut it through.’ Don’t you remember that classic anecdote in your Roman history?”

It is a strange fact that the spirit of raillery, which to a dull man is, at first, but a source of irritation and fretfulness, will, when persevered in, become at last one of the most complete despotisms. He dreads it as a weapon which he cannot defend himself against; and he comes to regard it as an evidence of superiority and power. Barnard saw the dominion that the other exercised over him, but could not resist it.

“Where to now?” asked he, as they whirled rapidly along the road towards Monza.

“First of all, to Orta. There is an English family I want to see. Two prettier girls you can’t imagine – not that the news has any interest for you, poor caged mouse that you are – but I am in love with one of them. I forget which, but I believe it’s the one that won’t have me.”

“She’s right,” said Barnard, with a half smile.

“Well, I half suspect she is. I could be a charming lover, but I fear I’d make only a sorry husband. My qualities are too brilliant for every-day use. It is your dreary fellows, with a tiresome monotony of nature, do best in that melancholy mill they call marriage. You, for instance, ought to be a model ‘mari.’”

“You are not disposed to give me the chance, I think,” said Barnard, peevishly.

“On the contrary, I am preparing you most carefully for your career. Conjugal life is a reformatory. You must come to it as a penitent Now I’ll teach you the first part of your lesson; your wife shall supply the second.”

“I’d relish this much better if – ”

“I had not lost that money, you were going to say. Out with it, man. When a fellow chances upon a witty thing, he has a right to repeat it; besides, you have reason on your side. A loser is always wrong. But after all, Bob, whether the game be war, or marriage, or a horse-race, one’s skill has very little to say to it Make the wisest combinations that ever were fashioned, and you’ll lose sometimes. Draw your card at hazard, and you’ll win. If you only saw the fellow that beat me t’other day in a girl’s affections – as dreary a dog as ever you met in your life, without manliness, without ‘go’ in him – and yet he wasn’t a curate. I know you suspect he was a curate.”

“If you come through this affair all right, what do you intend to turn to, Calvert?” said the other, who really felt a sort of interest in his fortunes.

“I have thought of several things: the Church – the Colonies – Patent Fuel – Marriage – Turkish Baths, and a Sympathy Society for Suffering Nationalities, with a limited liability to all who subscribe fifty pounds and upwards.”

“But, seriously, have you any plans?”

“Ten thousand plans! I have plans enough to ruin all Threadneedle Street; but what use are plans? What’s the good of an architect in a land were there are no bricks, no mortar, and no timber? When I’ve shot Graham, I’ve a plan how to make my escape out of Switzerland; but, beyond that, nothing; not one step, I promise you. See, yonder is Monte Rosa; how grand he looks in the still calm air of the morning. What a gentleman a mountain is! how independent of the changeful fortunes of the plains, where grass succeeds tillage, and what is barley to-day, may be a brick-field to-morrow; but the mountain is ever the same – proud and cold if you will, but standing above all the accidents of condition, and asserting itself by qualities which are not money-getting. I’d like to live in a land of mountains, if it were not for the snobs that come to climb them.”

“But why should they be snobs?”