Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

“Why, would you come, too?” muttered Beecher, who had never so much as imagined the possibility of this companionship on the Continent.

“I expect I would,” said Davis, with a very peculiar grin. “It ain’t likely you’d manage an affair like this without advice.”

“Very true, – very true,” said Beecher, hurriedly. “But remember, Lackington is my brother, – we ‘re both in the same boat.”

“But not with the same skulls,” said Grog. And he grinned a savage grin at the success of his pun.

Beecher, however, so far from appreciating the wit, only understood the remark as a sneer at his intelligence, and half sulkily said, —

“Oh! I’m quite accustomed to that, now, – I don’t mind it.”

“That’s right, – keep your temper,” said Grog, calmly; “that’s the best thing in your book. You ‘re what they call good-tempered. And,” added he, in the moralizing tone, “though the world does take liberties with the good-tempered fellows, it shies them many a stray favor, – many a sly five-pun’-note into the bargain. I’ve known fellows go through life – and make a rare good thing of it, too – with no other stock-in-trade than this same good temper.”

Beecher did not pay his habitual attention to Grog’s words, but sat pondering over all the possible and impossible objections to a tour in such company. There were times and places where men might be seen talking to such a man as Davis. The betting-ring and the weighing-stand have their privileges, just like the green-room or the “flats,” but in neither case are the intimacies of such localities exactly of a kind for parade before the world. Of all the perils of such a course none knew better than Beecher. What society would think, – what clubs would say of it, – he could picture to his mind at once.

Now, there were very few of life’s casualties of which the Honorable Annesley Beecher had not tasted. He knew what it was to have his bills protested, his chattels seized, his person arrested; he had been browbeaten by Bankruptcy Commissioners, and bullied by sheriffs’ officers; tradesmen had refused him credit; tailors abjured his custom; he had “burned his fingers” in one or two not very creditable transactions; but still, with all this, there was yet one depth to which he had not descended, – he was never seen in public with a “wrong man.” He had a jerk of the head, a wink, or a glance for the leg who met him in Piccadilly, as every one else had. If he saw him in the garden of the Star and Garter, or the park at Greenwich, he might even condescend to banter him on “looking jolly,” and ask what new “robbery” he was in for; but as to descending to intimacy or companionship openly before the gaze of the world, he ‘d as soon have thought of playing cad to a ‘bus, or sweep at a crossing.

It was true the Continent was not Hyde Park, – the most strait-laced and well-conducted did fifty things there they had never ventured on at home. Foreign travel had its license, and a passport was a sort of plenary indulgence for many a social transgression; but, with all this, there were a few names – about half a dozen in all Europe – that no man could afford to link his own along with.

As for Grog, he was known everywhere. From Ostend to Odessa his fame extended, and there was scarcely a police prefect in the travelled districts of the Continent that had not a description of his person, and some secret instructions respecting him. From many of the smaller states, whose vigilance is in the ratio of their littleness, he was rigidly excluded; so that in his journeying through Europe, he was often reduced to a zigzag and erratic procedure, not unlike the game known to schoolboys as scotch-hop. In the ten minutes – it was not more – that Beecher passed in recalling these and like facts to his memory, his mind grew more and more perplexed; nor was the embarrassment unperceived by him who caused it. As Davis sipped and smoked, he stole frequent glances at his companion’s face, and strove to read what was passing in his mind. “It may be,” thought Grog, “he does n’t see his way to raising the money. It may be that his credit is lower in the market than I fancied; or” – and now his fiery eyes grew fiercer and his lip more tense – “or it may be that he doesn’t fancy my company. If I was only sure it was that,” muttered he between his teeth; and had Annesley Beecher only chanced to look at him as he said it, the expression of that face would have left a legacy of fear behind it for many a day.

“Help yourself,” said Grog, passing the bottle across the table, – “help yourself, and the gin will help you, for I see you are ‘pounded.’”

“Pounded? No, not a bit; nothing of the kind,” said Beecher, blushing. “I was thinking how Lackington would take all this; what my Lady would say to it; whether they ‘d regard it seriously, or whether they ‘d laugh at my coming out so far about nothing.”

“They’ll not laugh, depend on’t; take my word for it, they won’t laugh,” said Davis, dryly.

“Well, but if it all comes to nothing, – if it be only a plant to extort money?”

“Even that ain’t anything to laugh at,” said Davis. “I ‘ve done a little that way myself, and yet I never saw the fellow who was amused by it.”

“So that you really think I ought to go out and see my brother?”

“I’m sure and certain that we must go,” said Davis, just giving the very faintest emphasis to the “we.”

“But it will cost a pot of money, Grog, even though I should travel in the cheapest way, – I mean, the cheapest way possible for a fellow as well known as I am.”

This was a bold stroke; it was meant to imply far more than the mere words announced. It was intended to express a very complicated argument in a mere innuendo.

“That’s all gammon,” said Grog, rudely. “We don’t live in an age of couriers and extra-post; every man travels by rail nowadays, and nobody cares whether you take a coupé or a horse-box; and as to being known, so am I, and almost as well known as most fellows going.”

This was pretty plain speaking; and Beecher well knew that Davis’s frankness was always on the verge of the only one thing that was worse than frankness.

“After all,” said Beecher, after a pause, “let the journey be ever so necessary, I have n’t got the money.”

“I know you haven’t, neither have I; but we shall get it somehow. You ‘ll have to try Kellett; you ‘ll have to try Dunn himself, perhaps. I don’t see why you should n’t start with him. He knows that you ought to confer with my Lord; and he could scarce refuse your note at three months, if you made it – say fifty.”

“But, Grog,” said Beecher, laying down his cigar, and nerving himself for a great effort of cool courage, “what would suffice fairly enough for one, would be a very sorry allowance for two; and as the whole of my business will be with my own brother, – where of necessity I must be alone with him, – don’t you agree with me that a third person would only embarrass matters rather than advance them?”

“No!” said Grog, sternly, while he puffed his cigar in measured time.

“I ‘m speaking,” said Beecher, in a tone of apology, – “I’m speaking, remember, from my knowledge of Lackington. He’s very high and very proud, – one of those fellows who ‘take on,’ even with their equals; and with myself, he never forgets to let me feel I’m a younger brother.”

“He would n’t take any airs with me,” said Grog, insolently. And Beecher grew actually sick at the bare thought of such a meeting.

“I tell you frankly, Davis,” said he, with the daring of despair, “it wouldn’t do. It would spoil all. First and foremost, Lackington would never forgive me for having confided this secret to any one. He’d say, and not unfairly either, ‘What has Davis to do with this? It’s not the kind of case he is accustomed to deal with; his counsel could n’t possibly be essential here.’ He does n’t know,” added he, rapidly, “your consummate knowledge of the world; he hasn’t seen, as I have, how keenly you read every fellow that comes before you.”

“We start on Monday,” said Grog, abruptly, as he threw the end of his cigar into the fire; “so stir yourself, and see about the bills.”

Beecher arose and walked the room with hurried strides, his brow growing darker and his face more menacing at every moment.

“Look here, Davis,” cried he, turning suddenly round and facing the other, “you assume to treat me as if I was a – schoolboy;” and it was evident that he had intended a stronger word, but had not courage to utter it, for Davis’s wicked eyes were upon him, and a bitter grin of irony was already on Grog’s mouth as he said, —

“Did you ever try a round with me without getting the worst of it? Do you remember any time where you came well out of it? You ‘ve been mauled once or twice somewhat roughly, but with the gloves on, – always with the gloves on. Now, take my advice, and don’t drive me to take them off, – don’t! You never felt my knuckles yet, – and, by the Lord Harry, if you had, you’d not call out ‘Encore.’”

“You just want to bully me,” said Beecher, in a whimpering tone.

“Bully you, – bully you!” said Davis, and his features put on a look of the most intense scorn as he spoke. “Egad!” cried he, with an insolent laugh, “you know very little about either of us.”

“I’d rather you’d do your worst at once than keep threatening me in this fashion.”

“No, you would n’t; no – no – nothing of the kind,” said Davis, with a mockery of gentleness in his voice and manner.

“May I be hanged if I would not!” cried Beecher, passionately.

“It ain’t hanging now, – they ‘ve made it transportation,” said Davis, with a grin; “and them as has tried it says the old way was easiest.” And in the slang style of the last words there was a terrible significance, – it was as though a voice from the felons’ dock was uttering a word of warning. Such was the effect on Beecher that he sank slowly down into a seat, silent and powerless.

“If you had n’t been in this uncommon high style tonight,” said Grog, quietly, “I’d have told you some excellent reasons for what I was advising. I got a letter from Spicer this morning. He, and a foreign fellow he calls Count Lienstahl, – it sounds devilish like ‘lie and steal,’ don’t it? – have got a very pretty plant together, and if they could only chance upon a good second-rate horse, they reckon about eight or ten hundred in stakes alone this coming spring. They offer me a share if I could come out to them, and mean to open the campaign at Brussels. Now, there’s a thing to suit us all, – ‘picking for every one,’ as they say in the oakum-sheds.”

“Cochin China might be had for five hundred; or there’s Spotted Snake, they want to sell him for anything he’ll bring,” said Beecher, with animation.

“They could manage five hundred at least, Spicer says. We ‘re good for about twelve thousand francs, which ought to get us what we’re looking for.”

“There’s Anchovy Paste – ”

“Broke down before and behind.”

“Hop the Twig, own sister to Levanter; ran second for the Colchester Cup – ”

“Mares don’t answer abroad.”

“Well, what do you say to Mumps?”

“There’s the horse for the Continent. A great heavy-headed, thick-jawed beast, with lazy action, and capped hocks. He’s the animal to walk into a foreign jockey club. Oh, if we had him!”

“I know where he is!” exclaimed Beecher, in ecstasy. “There ‘s a Brummagem fellow driving him through Wales, – a bagman, – and he takes him a turn now and then for the county stakes that offer. I ‘ll lay my head on’t we get him for fifty pounds.”

“Come, old fellow,” said Grog, encouragingly, “you have your wits about you, after all. Breakfast here to-morrow, about twelve o’clock, and we ‘ll see if we can’t arrange the whole affair. It’s a sure five hundred apiece, as if we had it here;” and he slapped his pockets as he spoke.