One Of Them

“Of coarse I will, my dear Mrs. Morris, but not now, – not to-day. You really are not equal to it at this moment.”

“True, I am not!” said she, drying her eyes; “but it is a promise, and you ‘ll not forget it.”

“You only do me honor in the confidence,” said he, kissing her hand.

“A thousand pardons!” cried a rich brogue. And at the same moment the library door was closed, and the sound of retreating steps was heard along the corridor.

“That insufferable O’Shea!” exclaimed she. “What will he not say of us?”

CHAPTER XIV. THE BILLIARD-ROOM

Mr. O’Shea had a very happy knack at billiards. It was an accomplishment which had stood him more in stead in life than even his eloquence in the House, his plausibility in the world, or his rose-amethyst ring. That adventurous category of mankind, who have, as Curran phrased it, “the title-deeds of their estates under the crown of their hats,” must, out of sheer necessity, cultivate their natural gifts to a higher perfection than that well-to-do, easy-living class for whom Fortune has provided “land and beeves,” and are obliged to educate hand, eye, and hearing to an amount of artistic excellence of which others can form no conception. Now, just as the well-trained singer can modulate his tones, suiting them to the space around him, or as the orator so pitches his voice as to meet the ears of his auditory, without any exaggerated effort, so did the Member for Inch measure out his skill, meting it to the ability of his adversary with a graduated nicety as delicate as that of a chemist in apportioning the drops of a precious medicament.

It was something to see him play. There was a sort of lounging elegance, – a half purpose-like energy, dashed with indolence, – a sense of power, blended with indifference, – a something that bespoke the caprice of genius, mingled with a spirit that seemed to whisper that, after all, “cannons” were only vanity, and “hazards” themselves but vexation of spirit. He was, though a little past his best years, a good-looking fellow, – a thought too pluffy, perhaps, and more than a thought too swaggering and pretentious; but somehow these same attributes did not detract from the display of certain athletic graces of which the game admits, for, after all, it was only Antinous fallen a little into flesh, and seen in his waistcoat.

It was mainly to this accomplishment he owed the invitations he received to the villa. Charles Heathcote, fully convinced of his own superiority at the game, was piqued and irritated at the other’s success; while Sir William was, perhaps, not sorry that his son should receive a slight lesson on the score of his self-esteem, particularly where the price should not be too costly. The billiard-room thus became each evening the resort of all in the villa. Thither May Leslie fetched her work, and Mrs. Morris her crochet needles, and Clara her book; while around the table itself were met young Heathcote, Lord Agincourt, O’Shea, and Layton. Of course the stake they played for was a mere trifle, – a mere nominal prize, rather intended to record victory than reward the victors, – just as certain taxes are maintained more for statistics than revenue, – and half-crowns changed hands without costing the loser an afterthought; so at least the spectators understood, and all but one believed. Her quiet and practised eye, however, detected in Charles Heathcote’s manner something more significant than the hurt pride of a beaten player, and saw under all the external show of O’Shea’s indifference a purpose-like energy, little likely to be evoked for a trifling stake. Under the pretext of marking the game, a duty for which she had offered her services, she was enabled to watch what went forward without attracting peculiar notice, and she could perceive how, from time to time, Charles and O’Shea would exchange a brief word as they passed, – sometimes a monosyllable, sometimes a nod, – and at such times the expression of Heathcote’s face would denote an increased anxiety and irritation. It was while thus watching one evening, a chance phrase she overheard confirmed all her suspicions, – it was while bending down her head to show some peculiar stitch to May Leslie that she brought her ear to catch what passed.

“This makes three hundred,” whispered Charles.

“And fifty,” rejoined O’Shea, as cautiously.

“Nothing of the kind,” answered Charles, angrily.

“You ‘ll find I ‘m right,” said the other, knocking the balls about to drown the words. “Are you for another game?” asked he, aloud.

“No; I ‘ve bad enough of it,” said Charles, impatiently, as he drew out his cigar-case, – trying to cover his irritation by searching for a cigar to his liking.

“I ‘m your man, Inch-o’-brogue,” broke in Agincourt; for it was by this impertinent travesty of the name of his borough he usually called him.

“What, isn’t the pocket-money all gone yet?” said the other, contemptuously.

“Not a bit of it, man. Look at that,” cried he, drawing forth a long silk purse, plumply filled. “There’s enough to pay off the mortgage on an Irish estate, I ‘m sure!”

While these freedoms were being interchanged, Charles Heathcote had left the room, and strolled out into the garden. Mrs. Morris, affecting to go in search of something for her work, took occasion also to go; but no sooner had she escaped from the room than she followed him.

Why was it, can any one say, that May Leslie bestowed more than ordinary attention on the game at this moment, evincing an interest in it she had never shown before? Mr. O’Shea had given the young Marquis immense odds; but he went further, he played off a hundred little absurdities to increase the other’s chances, – he turned his back to the table, – he played with his left hand, – he poked the balls without resting his cue, – he displayed the most marvellous dexterity, accomplishing hazards that seemed altogether beyond all calculation; for all crafty and subtle as he was, vanity had got the mastery over him, and his self-conceit rose higher and higher with every astonished expression of the pretty girl who watched him. While May could not restrain her astonishment at his skill, O’Shea’s efforts to win her praise redoubled.

“I’ll yield to no man in a game of address,” said he, boastfully: “to ride across country, to pull a boat, to shoot, fish, fence, or swim – There, my noble Marquis, drop your tin into that pocket and begin another game. I ‘ll give you eighty-five out of a hundred.”

“Is n’t he what Quackinboss would call a ‘ternal swaggerer, May?” cried Agincourt.

“He is a most brilliant billiard-player,” said May, smiling courteously, with a glance towards the recess of the window, where Layton was leaning over Clara’s chair and reading out of the book she held in her hand. “How I wish you would give me some lessons!” added she, still slyly stealing a look at the window.

“Charmed, – only too happy. You overwhelm me with the honor, Miss Leslie, and my name is not O’Shea if I do not make you an admirable player, for I’ve remarked already you have great correctness of eye.”

“Indeed!”

“Astonishing; and with that, a wonderfully steady hand.”

“How you flatter me!”

“Flatter? Ah, you little know me, Miss Leslie!” said he, as he passed before her.

May blushed, for at that moment Layton had lifted his eyes from the book and turned them full upon her. So steadfastly did he continue to look, that her cheek grew hotter and redder, and a something like resentment seemed to possess her; while he, as though suddenly conscious of having in some degree committed himself, held down his head in deep confusion.

May Leslie arose from her seat, and, with a haughty toss of her head, drew nigh the table.

“Are you going to join us, May?” cried the boy, merrily.

“I ‘m going to take my first lesson, if Mr. O’Shea will permit me,” said she; but the tone of her voice vibrated less with pleasure than resentment.

“I ‘m at my lessons, too, May,” cried Clara, from the window. “Is it not kind of him to help me?”

“Most kind, – most considerate!” said May, abruptly; and then, throwing down the cue on the table, she said, “I fancy I have a headache. I hope you ‘ll excuse me for the present.” And almost ere Mr. O’Shea could answer, she had left the room. Clara speedily followed her, and for a minute or two not a word was uttered by the others.

“I move that the house be counted,” cried the Member for Inch. “What has come over them all this evening? Do you know, Layton?”

“Do I know? Know what?” cried Alfred, trying to arouse himself out of a revery.

“Do you know that Inch-o’-brogue has not left me five shillings out of my last quarter’s allowance?” said the boy.

“You must pay for your education, my lad,” said O’Shea. “I did n’t get mine for nothing. Layton there can teach you longs and shorts, to scribble nonsense-verses, and the like; but for the real science of life, ‘how to do them as has done you,’ you must come to fellows like me.”

“Yes, there is much truth in that,” said Layton, who, not having heard one word the other had spoken, corroborated all of it, out of pure distraction of mind.

The absurdity was too strong for Agincourt and O’Shea, and they both laughed out. “Come,” said O’Shea, slapping Layton on the shoulder, “wake up, and roll the balls about. I ‘ll play you your own game, and give you five-and-twenty odds. There’s a sporting offer!”

“Make it to me,” broke in Agincourt.

“So I would, if you weren’t pumped out, my noble Marquis.”

“And could you really bring yourself to win a boy’s pocket-money, – a mere boy?” said Layton, now suddenly aroused to full consciousness, and coming so close to O’Shea as to be inaudible to the other.

“Smallest contributions thankfully received, is my motto,” said O’Shea. “Not but, as a matter of education, the youth has gained a deuced sight more from me than you!”

“The reproach is just,” said Layton, bitterly. “I have neglected my trust, – grossly neglected it, – and in nothing more than suffering him to keep your company.”

“Oh! is that your tone?” whispered the other, still lower. “Thank your stars for it, you never met a man more ready to humor your whim.”

“What’s the ‘Member’ plotting?” said Agincourt, coming up between them. “Do let me into the plan.”

“It is something he wishes to speak to me about tomorrow at eleven o’clock,” said Layton, with a significant look at O’Shea, “and which is a matter strictly between ourselves.”

“All right,” said Agincourt, turning back to the table again, while O’Shea, with a nod of assent, left the room.

“We must set to work vigorously to-morrow, Henry,” said Layton, laying his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have fallen into idle ways, and the fault is all my own. For both our sakes, then, let us amend it.”

“Whatever you like, Alfred,” said the boy, turning on him a look of real affection; “only never blame yourself if you don’t make a genius of me. I was always a stupid dog!”