Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

“And how did he take that?”

“Said something about two of the same name, and changed the subject.”

Davis drew near the table, and taking up the cards began to shuffle them slowly, like one seeking some excuse for a moment of uninterrupted reflection. “I’ve found out the way that Yankee fellow does the king,” said he, at last. “It’s not the common bridge that everybody knows. It’s a Mississippi touch, and a very neat one. Cut them now wherever you like.”

Beecher cut the cards with all due care, and leaned eagerly over the table.

“King of diamonds!” cried Grog, slapping the card on the board.

“Do it again,” said Beecher, admiringly; and once more Davis performed the dexterous feat.

“It’s a nick!” cried Beecher, examining the edge of the card minutely.

“It ain’t no such thing!” said Davis, angrily. “I’d give you ten years to find it out, and twenty to do it, and-you ‘d fail in both.”

“Let’s see the dodge, Grog,” said Beecher, half-coaxingly.

“You don’t see my hand till you put yours on the table,” said Davis, fiercely. Then crossing his arms before him, and fixing his red fiery eyes on Beecher’s face, he went on, “What do you mean by this fencing – just tell me what you mean by it?”

“I don’t understand you,” said Beecher, whose features were now of ashy paleness.

“Then you shall understand me!” cried Davis, with an oath. “Do you want me to believe that Dunn had you to dine with him all alone, just to talk about politics, of which you know nothing, or books, of which you know less; that he ‘d give you four precious hours of a Sunday evening to bear your opinions about men or women or things in general? Do you ask me to swallow that, sir?”

“I ask you to swallow nothing,” stammered out Beecher, in whose heart pride and fear were struggling for the mastery. “I have told you what we spoke of. If anything else passed between us, perhaps it was of a private and personal nature; perhaps it referred to family topics; perhaps I might have given a solemn assurance not to reveal the subject of it to any one.”

“You did, – did you?” said Davis, with a sneer.

“I said, perhaps I might have done so. I did n’t say I had.”

“And so you think – you fancy – that you ‘re a going to double on me,” said Davis, rising, and advancing towards him with a sort of insulting menace. “Now, look here, my name ain’t Davis but if ever you try it – try it, I say, because, as to doing it, I dare you to your face – but if you just try it, twelve hours won’t pass over till the dock of a police court is graced by the Honorable Annesley Beecher on a charge of forgery.”

“Oh, Davis!” cried Beecher, as he placed his hands over the other’s lips, and glanced in terror through the room. “There never was anything I did n’t tell you, – you ‘re the only man breathing that knows me.”

“And I do know you, by Heaven, I do!” cried the other, savagely; “and I know you’d sneak out of my hands to-morrow, if you dared; but this I tell you, when you leave mine it will be to exchange into the turnkey’s. You fancy that because I see you are a fool that I don’t suspect you to be a crafty one. Ah! what a mistake you make there!”

“But listen to me, Grog, – just hear me.”

“My name ‘s Davis, sir, – Captain Davis, – let me hear you call me anything else!”

“Well, Davis, old fellow, – the best and truest friend ever fellow had in the world, – now what’s all this about? I ‘ll tell you every syllable that passed between Dunn and myself. I’ll give you my oath, as solemnly as you can dictate it to me, not to conceal one word. He made me swear never to mention it. It was he that imposed the condition on me. What he said was this: ‘It’s a case where you need no counsel, and where any counsel would be dangerous. He who once knows your secret will be in a position to dictate to you. Lord Lackington must be your only adviser, since his peril is the same as your own.’”

“Go on,” said Davis, sternly, as the other seemed to pause too long.

Beecher drew a long breath, and, in a voice faint and broken, continued: “It’s a claimant to the title, – a fellow who pretends he derives from the elder branch, – the Conway Beechers. All stuff and nonsense, – they were extinct two hundred years ago, – but no matter, the claim is there, and so circumstantially got up, and so backed by documents and the rest of it, that Lackington is frightened, – frightened out of his wits. The mere exposure, the very rumor of the thing, would distract him. He’s proud as Lucifer, – and then he’s hard up; besides, he wants a loan, and Dunn tells him there’s no getting it till this affair is disposed of, and that he has hit on the way to do it.”

“As how?” said Davis, dryly.

“Well,” resumed Beecher, whose utterance grew weaker and less audible at every word, “Lackington, you know, has no children. It ‘s very unlikely he ever will now; and Dunn’s advice is that for a life interest in the title and estates I should bind myself not to marry. That fellow then, if he can make good his claim, comes in as next of kin after me; and as to who or what comes after me,” cried he, with more energy, “it matters devilish little. Once ‘toes up’ and Annesley Beecher won’t fret over the next match that comes off, – eh, Grog, old fellow?” And he endeavored by a forced jocularity to encourage his own sinking heart.

“Here’s a shindy!” said Grog, as he mixed himself a fresh tumbler and laid his arms crosswise on the table; “and so it’s no less than the whole stakes is on this match?”

“Title and all,” chimed in Beecher.

“I was n’t thinking of the title,” said Grog, gruffly, as he relapsed into a moody silence. “Now, what does my Lord say to it all?” asked he, after a long pause.

“Lackington? – Lackington says nothing, or next to nothing. You read the passage in his letter where he says, ‘Call on Dunn,’ or ‘Speak to Dunn,’ or something like that, – he did n’t even explain about what; and then you may remember the foolish figure we cut on that morning we waited on Dunn ourselves, not being able to say why or how we were there.”

“I remember nothing about cutting a foolish figure anywhere or any time. It’s not very much my habit. It ain’t my way of business.”

“Well, I can’t say as much,” said Beecher, laughing; “and I own frankly I never felt less at ease in my life.”

“That’s your way of business,” said Grog, nodding gravely at him.

“Every fellow is n’t born as sharp as you, Davis. Samson was a wise man – no, Solomon was a wise man – ”

“Leave Samson and Solomon where they are,” said Grog, puffing his cigar. “What we have to look to here is whether there be a claim at all, and then what it’s worth. The whole affair may be just a cross between this fellow Dunn and one of his own pals. Now, it’s my Lord’s business to see to that. You are only the second horse all this while. If my Lord knows that he can be disqualified, he’s wide awake enough to square the match, he is. But it maybe that Dunn hasn’t put the thing fairly before him. Well, then, you must compare your book with my Lord’s. You’ll have to go over to him, Beecher.” And the last words were uttered with a solemnity that showed they were the result of a deep deliberation.

“It’s all very well, Master Davis, to talk of going over to Italy; but where’s the tin to come from?”

“It must be had somehow,” said Davis, sententiously. “Ain’t there any fellows about would give you a name to a bit of stiff, at thirty-one days’ date?”

“Pumped them all dry long ago!” said Beecher, laughing. “There’s not a man in the garrison would join me to spoil a stamp; and, as to the civilians, I scarcely know one who isn’t a creditor already.”

“You are always talking to me of a fellow called Kellett, – why not have a shy at him?”

“Poor Paul!” cried Beecher, with a hearty laugh. “Why, Paul Kellett’s ruined – cleaned out – sold in the Encumbered what d’ye-call-’ems, and has n’t a cross in the world!”

“I ought to have guessed as much,” growled out Grog, “or he’d not have been on such friendly terms with you.”

“A polite speech that, Grog,” said Beecher, smiling.

“It’s true, and that’s better,” said Davis. “The only fellows that stick close to a man in his poverty are those a little poorer than himself.”

“Not but, if he had it,” said Beecher, following up his own thoughts, – “not but, if he had it, he’s just the fellow to do a right good-natured thing.”

“Well, I suppose he’s got his name, – they have n’t sold that, have they?”

“No, but it’s very much like the estate,” said Beecher. “It’s far too heavily charged ever to pay off the encumbrances.”

“Who minds that, nowadays? A bad bill is a very useful thing sometimes. It’s like a gun warranted to burst, and you can always manage to have it in the right man’s hands when it comes the time for the explosion.”

“You are a rum un, Davis, – you are, indeed,” said Beecher, admiringly; for it was in the delivery of such wise maxims that Davis appeared to him truly great.

“Get him down for fifty, – that ain’t much, – fifty at three months. My Lord says he ‘ll stand fifty himself, in that letter I read. It was to help you to a match, to be sure; but that don’t matter. There can be no question of marrying now. Let me see how this affair is going to turn. Well, I’ll see if I can’t do something myself. I’ve a precious lot of stamped paper there,” – and he pointed to an old secretary, – “if I could hit upon a sharp fellow to work it.”

“You are a trump, Grog!” cried Beecher, delightedly.

“If we had a clear two hundred, we could start to-morrow,” said Grog, laying down his cigar, and staring steadfastly at him.