Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

“Does he pretend to have discovered anything new with respect to that claim?”

“He says there’s just enough to frighten them, and that your help – the two of ye together – could work it well.”

“He has not, then, found out the claimant?”

“He has his name, and the regiment he’s in, but that’s all. He was talking of writing to him.”

“If he’s wise, he’ll let it alone. What chance would a poor soldier in the ranks have against a great lord, if he had all the right in the world on his side?”

“So I told him; but he said we could make a fine thing out of it, for all that; and, somehow, Davy, he’s mighty seldom mistaken.”

“If he be, sir, it is because he has hitherto only meddled with what lay within his power. He can scheme and plot and track out a clew in the little world he has lived in; but let him be careful how he venture upon that wider ocean of life where his craft would be only a cock-boat.”

“He hasn’t your stuff in him, Davy,” cried the old man, in ecstasy; and a very slight flush rose to the other’s cheek at the words, but whether of pride, or shame, or pleasure, it were hard to say. “I ‘ve nothing to offer you, Davy, except a cut of cold pork; could you eat it?” said the old man.

“I’m not hungry, father; I’m tired somewhat, but not hungry.”

“I’m tired, too,” said the old man, sighing; “but, to be sure, it’s time for me, – I ‘ll be eighty-nine if I live till the fourth of next month. That’s a long life, Davy.”

“And it has been an active one, sir.”

“I ‘ve seen great changes in my time, Davy,” continued he, following out his own thoughts. “I was in the Volunteers when we bullied the English, and they ‘ve paid us off for it since, that they have! I was one of the jury when Jackson died in the dock, and if he was alive now, maybe it’s a lord of the Treasury he ‘d be. Everything is changed, and everybody too. Do you remember Kellett, of Kellett’s Court, that used to drive on the Circular Road with six horses?”

Dunn nodded an assent.

“His liveries were light-blue and silver, and Lord Castletown’s was the same; and Kellett said to him one day, ‘My Lord,’ says he, ‘we’re always mistaken for each other; could n’t we hit on a way to prevent it?’ ‘I’m willing,’ says my Lord, ‘if I only knew how.’ ‘Then I ‘ll tell you,’ says Kellett; ‘make your people follow your own example and turn their coats, – that’ll do it,’ says he.” And the old man laughed till his eyes swam. “What’s become of them Kelletts?” added he, sharply.

“Ruined, – sold out”

“To be sure, I remember all about it; and the young fellow, – Paul was his name, – where’s he?”

“He’s not so very young now,” said Dunn, smiling; “he has a clerkship in the Customs, – a poor place it is.”

“I’m glad of it,” said he, fiercely; “there was an old score between us, – that’s his father and me, – and I knew I would n’t die till it was settled.”

“These are not kindly feelings, father,” said Dunn, mildly.

“No; but they ‘re natural ones, and that’s as good,” said the old man, with an energy that seemed to defy his age. “Where would I be now, where would you, if it was only kindness we thought of? There wasn’t a man in all Ireland I wanted to be quite with so much as old Kellett of Kellett’s Court; and you’d not wonder if you knew why; but I won’t tell.”

Davenport Dunn’s cheek grew crimson and then deadly pale, but he never uttered a word.

“And what’s more,” continued the old man, energetically, “I’d pay the debt off to his children and his children’s children with interest, if I could.”

Still was the other silent; and the old man looked angry that he had not succeeded in stimulating the curiosity he had declared he would not gratify.

“Fate has done the work already, sir,” said Dunn, gravely. “Look where we are, and where they!”

“That ‘s true, – that’s true; we have a receipt in full for it all; but I ‘d like to show it to him. I ‘d like to say to him, ‘Mr. Kellett, once upon a time, when my son there was a child – ‘”

“Father, father, these memories can neither make us wiser nor happier,” broke in Dunn, in a voice of deep emotion. “Had I taken upon me to carry through life the burden of resentments, my back had been broken long ago; and from your own prudent counsels I learned that this could never lead to success. The men whom destiny has crushed are like bankrupt debtors, and to pursue them is but to squander your own resources.”

The old man sat moodily, muttering indistinctly to himself, and evidently little moved by the words he had listened to.

“Are you going away already?” cried he, suddenly, as Dunn rose from his chair.

“Yes, sir; I have a busy day before me to-morrow, and need some sleep to prepare for it.”

“What will you be doing to-morrow, Davy?” asked the old man, while a bright gleam of pride lighted up his eyes and illuminated his whole face.

“I have deputations to receive, – half a dozen, at least. The Drainage Commission, too, will want me, and I must contrive to have half an hour for the Inland Navigation people; then the Attorney-General will call about these prosecutions, and I have not made up my mind about them; and the Castle folk will need some clew to my intentions about the new Secretary; there are some twenty provincial editors, besides, waiting for directions, not to speak of private and personal requests, some of which I must not refuse to hear. As to letters, three days won’t get through them; so that you see, father, I do need a little rest beforehand.”

“God bless you, my boy, – God bless you, Davy,” cried the old man, tenderly, grasping his hand in both his own. “Keep the head clear, and trust nobody; that’s the secret, – trust nobody; the only mistakes I ever made in life was when I forgot that rule.” And affectionately kissing him, the father dismissed his son, muttering blessings on him as he went.

CHAPTER XVI. DAVIS VERSUS DUNN

Davenport Dunn had not exaggerated when he spoke of a busy day for the morrow. As early as eight o’clock was he at breakfast, and before nine the long back parlor, with its deep bay-window, was crowded like the waiting-room of a fashionable physician. Indeed, in the faces of anxiety, eagerness, and impatience of those assembled there, there was a resemblance. With a tact which natural shrewdness and long habit could alone confer, Mr. Clowes, the butler, knew exactly where each arrival should be introduced; and while railway directors, bank governors, and great contractors indiscriminately crowded the large dining-room, peers and right honorables filled the front drawing-room, the back one being reserved for law officers of the Crown, and such secret emissaries as came on special mission from the Castle. From the hall, crammed with frieze-coated countryfolk, to the little conservatory on the stairs, where a few ladies were grouped, every space was occupied. Either from previous acquaintance, or guided by the name of the visitor, Mr. Clowes had little difficulty in assigning him his fitting place, dropping, as he accompanied him, some few words, as the rank and station of the individual might warrant his addressing to him. “I ‘ll let Mr. Dunn know your Lordship is here this instant; he is now just engaged with the Chief Baron.” – “He ‘ll see you, Sir Samuel, next.” – “Mr. Wilcox, you have no chance for two hours; the Foyle deputation is just gone in.” – “You need scarcely wait to-day, Mr. Tobin; there are eighteen before you.” – “Colonel Craddock, you are to come on Saturday, and bring the plans with you.” – “Too late, Mr. Dean; his Grace the Archbishop waited till a quarter to eleven, the appointment is now for to-morrow at one.” – “No use in staying, my honest fellow, your own landlord could n’t see Mr. Dunn to-day.” In the midst of such brief phrases as these, while he scattered hopes and disappointments about him, he suddenly paused to read a card, stealing a quick glance at the individual who presented it “‘Mr. Annesley Beecher.’ By appointment, sir?”

“Well, I suppose I might say yes,” muttered the visitor, while he turned to a short and very overdressed person at his side for counsel in the difficulty.

“To be sure – by appointment,” said the other, confidently, while he bestowed on the butler a look of unmistakable defiance.

“And this – gentleman – is with you, sir?” asked the butler, pausing ere he pronounced the designation. “Might I request to have his name?”

“Captain Davis,” said the short man, interposing. “Write it under your own, Beecher.”

While Mr. Annesley Beecher was thus occupied, – and, sooth to say, it was an office he did not discharge with much despatch, – Clowes had ample time to scan the appearance and style of the strangers.

“If you ‘ll step this way, sir,” said Clowes, addressing Beecher only, “I’ll send in your card at once.” And he ushered them as he spoke into the thronged dinner-room, whose crowded company sat silent and moody, each man regarding his neighbor with a kind of reproachful expression, as though the especial cause of the long delay he was undergoing.

“You ought to ‘tip’ that flunkey, Beecher,” said Davis, as soon as they were alone in a window.

“Haven’t the tin, Master Grog!” said the other, laughing; while he added, in a lower voice, “Do you know, Grog, I don’t feel quite comfortable here. Rather mixed company, ain’t it, for a fellow who only goes out of a Sunday?”

“All safe,” muttered Davis. “These all are bank directors or railway swells. I wish we had the robbing of them!”

“Good deal of humbug about all this, ain’t there?” whispered Beecher, as he threw his eyes over the crowded room.

“Of course there is,” replied the other. “While he’s keeping us all kicking our shins here, he’s reading the ‘Times,’ or gossiping with a friend, or weighing a double letter for the post. It was the dentists took up the dodge first, and the nobs followed them.”

“I ‘m not going to stand it much longer, Grog. I tell you I don’t feel comfortable.”

“Stuff and nonsense! You don’t fancy any of these chaps has a writ in his pocket, do you? Why, I can tell you every man in the room. That little fellow, with the punch-colored shorts, is chairman of the Royal Canal Company. I know him, and he knows me. He had me ‘up’ about a roulette-table on board of one of the boats, and if it had n’t been for a trifling incident that occurred to his wife at Boulogne, where she went for the bathing, and which I broke to him in confidence – But stay, he’s coming over to speak to me.”

“How d’ye do, Captain Davis?” said the stranger, with the air of a man resolved to brave a difficulty, while he threw into the manner a tone of haughty patronage.

“Pretty bobbish, Mr. Hailes; and you, the same I hope.”

“Well, thank you. You never paid me that little visit you promised at Leixlip.”