Dick Merriwell Abroad: or, The Ban of the Terrible Ten

“Then you have some guests?”

“I ha’ twa.”

“Two? How long have they been with you, madam?”

“They came three days gone, sir.”

“And is it long you expect them to remain?”

“As to that I canna tell. When they came they said it might be they wud stay three days or more; but it is now the third day an’ they have na spoke of leavin’.”

“I hope my curiosity you will pardon, but it seems strange any one should come here at this season to remain so long. Where are they from, if you don’t mind telling?”

“I ha’ na reason to know, for I didna ask them, but London I think ha seen them none sa lang ago.”

“They are English?”

The widow slowly shook her head.

“They are na like th’ English. I think they may be fra America.”

“I presume they are man and wife?”

“Na, na; they are brother an’ sister. A bonnie lassie is the girl, sir; but her brother seems na well.”

“Not well?”

“Na, sir. He keeps over close to his room. If they came to see Queen Mary’s prison they ha’ not yet accomplisht it.”

“It is not likely Americans would take so much trouble to get a look at Queen Mary’s prison, madam. It must be they are here for some other purpose.”

“Then what it can be heaven knows! Once I said to the lassie that her brother were fra too pale, an’ I thought a wee bit o’ whisky might be guide fa him; but she went white an’ trembly an’ begged me na to gi’ him one drop o’ it. She made me promise if he came and asked for it I wud say there was naething o’ th’ kind i’ th’ house. I ken she is feared to ha’ him drink it.”

The stranger smiled a little, and there seemed something a trifle sinister about his face in that moment.

“It is a man poor in command of himself that cannot drink when he likes and leave it alone when he chooses,” he declared.

“Many a guide man canna do it.”

“Well, I don’t understand them. What is the name of this unfortunate man, if you don’t mind telling?”

“It is Budthorne.”

“Rather odd name.”

“But I ha’ na asked your name, sir. You are na English yoursel’?”

“No.”

“Nor still American. I think you must be – ”

“French? Well, you are right, madam. I am Henri Clairvaux, of Paris. Think not I am curious or prying. These questions I have asked merely the time to pass. I am walking through Scotland, but the weather is getting too cold, and I soon shall depart for the south. In winter I much prefer Italy to your bleak north country here.”

At this the widow bridled a bit.

“Scotland alwa’ ha’ been guide enow fa me!” she exclaimed. “I ha’ took notice it is alwa’ th’ weak that prefer the warm countries i’ th’ winter. I ha’ been thinkin’ ma’hap it wud be well fa th’ young man upstair to go south fa th’ winter time.”

Outside the door there was rustling. The door was opened and a musical, feminine voice called to the widow.

The man in the cloak had his back toward the door, and he did not move.

Excusing herself, the landlady hurried from the room. The moment she was gone the stranger picked up his hat and gloves and hastily rose.

“It is well enough that she should not see me now,” he muttered. “I must get out at once.”

He clapped his hat on his head and pulled it hard down, taking pains to make the limber brim lap over his face. Then he swiftly crossed the room to the door, buttoning his cloak over his breast.

Pausing at the door, he listened.

“The coast is clear,” he whispered; after which he stepped briskly out to the front door.

Just as he was passing through that door the girl came from another room and saw his vanishing back. She clutched at the widow, who had followed her.

“That man?” she cried, in a trembling, frightened voice. “Who is he?”

“He ga’ his name as Henri Clairvaux, o’ Paris,” answered the Widow Myles.

“And lied!” panted the girl. After which she fled up the stairs to the room of her brother, her face ashen pale.

CHAPTER IV. – BUDTHORNE’S STRUGGLE

The working of alcohol on some constitutions is remarkable. It is a singular thing that some men seem to keep themselves steeped in the poison for years without breaking down, while others rapidly go to pieces and become physical wrecks before its vitality-destroying influence. The latter class is by far the larger.

Occasionally a man whose nerves are deep set, whose constitution is ironlike and whose coarser nature predominates, persists in drinking regularly and heavily for years and seems to remain in good health. To those who know him well, and meet him day after day, he presents no abnormal aspect; but almost certain it is that drink has taken such a hold on him that he cannot appear to be in his natural condition unless he constantly keeps in his stomach enough of the stuff to intoxicate an occasional drinker to the point of reeling. Take it away from him and he collapses like a pricked bladder.

Dunbar Budthorne was a man without the stamina to withstand the blighting effect of constant drinking. The rapidity with which the stuff fastened its clutch upon him was appalling. His relapse when, at the entreaty of his loving and faithful sister, he stopped drinking and let it wholly alone, was pitiful.

Ever since arriving at the Ben Cleuch, Budthorne had been in a state of mental distress and physical collapse. The desire for drink was with him constantly, and in his soul a fierce battle raged unceasingly. In the night he rose and paced the floor of his room, his hands clinched, his nerves taut, mumbling, mumbling, mumbling. Every night, at his request, Nadia locked him in that room, keeping the key with her.

“You must master the desire, Dunbar, my brother,” she said. “You can do it.”

“Yes, by Heaven!” he cried, setting his teeth. “For you, Nadia, I will do it!”

“Not for me alone, Dunbar; for yourself, as well. You can see what you have come to in less than a year. A year ago you were not the slave of drink.”

“I should say not! And had any one told me I’d get this way in twelve months I should have thought him a fool. I don’t understand it now. Nadia, why can other men drink when they choose, and let it alone when they choose?”

“Not all of them can, Dunbar, I am sure. I believe there are thousands just like you.”