"To Major d'Arcy these:
We, the undersigned, do solicit the honour of your company this night, to sup with Bacchus, the Heavenly Nine, and
Yours to command:
B. TRIPP.ALVASTON.A. MARCHDALE.H. WEST, CAPT.ALTON.J. DENHOLM."
"I don't see Mr. Dalroyd's name here, Tom!" said the Major, thoughtfully, as he led the way into the house.
"Nay sir, I protest Dalroyd's a queer fish! But as to this cravat I was describing, 'tis a modification of the Steenkirk——" and the Viscount plunged into a long and particular account of the article, while in obedience to the Major's command, bottle and glasses made their appearance.
"But surely 'tis not a question of clothes hath kept you in London this week and more, Tom?"
"Nay sir, I've been on a quest. London, O pink me 'tis a very dog-hole, 'tis no place for a gentleman these days unless he chance to be a Whig or a damned Hanoverian——"
"Hold, Tom!" said the Major, his quick eyes roving from door to lattice. "Have a care, lad!"
"Nay sir, I know I'm safe to speak out here and to you, Whig though you be. Of late I've perforce kept such ward upon my tongue 'tis a joy to let it wag. Indeed, nunky, London's an ill place for some of us these times, party feeling high. 'Tis for this reason you find Alvaston and Ben and Alton and the rest of 'em rusticating here, not to mention—my lady Bet."
"Ah!" exclaimed the Major. "You don't mean that she—she is not——?"
"No sir! But there is her brother, poor Charles is bit deep, he crossed the Border with Derwentwater last year."
"I feared so!" sighed the Major, frowning at his half-emptied glass. "And you, Tom, you're not——?"
"Sir, my rascally father, as you'll mind, was a staunch Whig and Hanoverian, naturally and consequently I'm Tory and Jacobite——"
"Softly, Tom, softly!" said the Major, his keen eyes wandering again.
"Well, sir!" continued the Viscount, leaning across the table and lowering his voice, "When Charles and young Dick Eversleigh rode for the Border last year I had half a mind to ride with 'em. But Betty was in London and London's the devil of a way from Carlisle. Yesterday, sir, I walked under Temple Bar and there was poor Eversleigh's head grinning down at me.... Like as not mine would ha' been along with it but for Bet. As for Charles, 'twas thought he'd got safe away to France with Mar and the others, but now word comes he was wounded and lay hid. And sir, though I've sounded every source of news in London and out, not another word can I hear save that he's a proscribed rebel with a price on his head and the hue and cry hot after him. Sir, poor Charles is my childhood's friend—and lieth distressed, hiding for his life somewhere 'twixt London and the Border, the question is—where?"
"Here, Tom!" answered the Major softly, "Here in this village of Westerham!"
The Viscount half rose from his chair, fell back again and quite forgot his affectations.
"Sir—d'ye mean it? Here?"
"Three nights ago he was with my lady Betty—in her garden!"
"With Betty—good God!" exclaimed the Viscount and, springing from his chair, began to pace up and down. "'Twill never do, uncle, 'twill never do—he must be got away at all hazards. Charles hath been cried 'Traitor' and 'Rebel'—his property is already confiscate and himself outlaw—and 'none may give aid or shelter to the King's enemies' on pain of death. He must be got away—at once! Should he be found 'neath Betty's care she would be attainted too, imprisoned and belike—Sir, you'll perceive he must be got away at once!"
"True!" said the Major, fingering his wine-glass.
"There none knoweth of his presence here, I trust, uncle—none save you and Betty?"
"None! Stay!" The Major leaned back and began to drum his fingers softly on the arms of his chair. "Tom," he enquired at last, "who is Mr. Dalroyd?"
"Dalroyd is—Dalroyd, sir. Everyone knows him in town—at White's, Lockett's, the Coca Tree, O Dalroyd is known everywhere."
"What d'you know of him, personally?"
"That he's reputed to play devilish high and to be a redoubtable duellist with more than one death on his hands and—er—little beyond. But Ben knows him, 'twas Ben introduced him, ask Ben, sir. But what of him?"
"Just this, Tom, if there is another person in the world who knows of my Lord Medhurst's present hiding-place 'tis Mr. Dalroyd and if there is one man in the world I do not trust it is—Mr. Dalroyd."
The Viscount sat down, swallowed a glass of wine and stared blankly at the toe of his dusty riding-boot.
"Why then, sir," said he at last, "this makes it but the more imperative to have Charles away at once. I must get him over to my place in Sussex, 'tis quiet there, sir—God! I must contrive it one way or another and the sooner the better, but how sir, how?"
"'None may give aid or shelter to the King's enemies on pain of death,' Tom," quoted the Major, gently.
The Viscount flicked a patch of dust from the skirts of his coat.
"Sir," said he, "Charles is my friend!"
"And—my lady's brother, Tom!"
"Perfectly, sir! I shall endeavour to get him to my Sussex place and hide him there until I have arranged for him to cross safely into France."
"Precisely, Tom!"
"The question is—how? All the coast-roads are watched of course!" said the Viscount in deep perplexity. "Ben would help, so would Alton or Alvaston but 'twould be asking them to put their heads in a noose and I can't do it, sir!"
"Certainly not, Tom! 'Tis an awkward posture of affairs and—therefore you may—er—count upon my aid to the very uttermost, of course."
The Viscount took out his snuff-box, tapped it, opened it, and shut it up again.
"Uncle," said he at last, "nunky—sir—" suddenly he rose and caught the Major's hand, gripping it hard: "Gad prasper me sir, I think—yes I think, I'd better—step upstairs and rid me of some o' this Kentish dust."
As he spoke the Viscount turned and strode from the room leaving the Major deep in anxious thought.
My Lady Elizabeth Carlyon, seated upon a rickety chair among a pile of other lumber high under the eaves, kicked her pretty heels for very triumph as she watched the tatterdemalion eat and drink the dainty meal she had just set before him.
"O Charles—'tis all so vastly romantic!" she exclaimed.
My Lord of Medhurst, chancing to have his mouth rather full, spluttered and lifted handsome head indignantly; thus the likeness to his twin sister was manifest, the same delicate profile and regularity of features, bright, fearless eyes and firm set of mouth and chin, the same proud and lofty carriage of the head.
"Romantic be damned, Bet—saving your presence!" said he, "I've led a very dog's life——"
"My poor, poor boy!" she sighed, touching his thin cheek with gentle, loving fingers which he immediately kissed; thereafter he fell to upon the viands before him with renewed appetite and gusto.
"Egad, Bet," he mumbled, "this is better than a diet of raw turnips and blackberries or eggs sucked warm from the nest——"
"O Charles, hath it been so bad as that?"
"Aye—and worse! Lord, Bet—lass, I've begged and thieved my way hither from the Border. Heaven only knows how oft I've sat i' the stocks for a ravished hen, been kicked and cuffed and stoned out o' villages for a vagrant, consorted with rogues of all kinds, hidden in barns, slept in hayricks and hedges, been abused by man, and stormed at and buffeted by the elements and, on the whole—am the better for it. Nay, sweet lass, no tears!"
Down went knife and fork with a clatter and his ragged sleeve was about her. "No tears, Bet," said he consolingly, "damme, I'll not endure 'em!"
"But O my dear, to think what you have suffered and I—so careless, while you, Charles, you——"
"Learned the meaning of life, Bet! Learned to—to be a man, for I do protest the beggar is a better man than ever was his idle scatterbrain lordship. A year ago when I had all and more than I needed, I was a discontented fool a—a very ass, Bet. To-day, though I've lost all, I've found—I've learned—Egad, I don't know just how to put it but you—you get me, Bet?"
"I understand, dearest boy!"
"Y'see, Bet lass, hardship makes a man either a rogue or a—very man. And, though I'm a beggar, I'm no rogue. 'Twas a great adventure, Bet, a noble effort brought to red ruin by—ah well—'tis finished! I was wounded, as I told you, and had to lie hid for weary weeks. When I ventured abroad at last, 'twas to learn poor Derwentwater was executed and Eversleigh too—poor old Dick! And the rest either in prison with Nithsdale or scattered God knoweth where. So there was I, destitute and with none to turn to of all my friends—for, as you know, 'tis prison or death to shelter such as I, and so in my extremity I—I came to you, Betty——"
"Thank God!" she whispered fervently, giving him a little squeeze.
"But only to beg money enough to carry me beyond seas, dearest! To-night or to-morrow at latest I must be gone——"
"Pho—'tis preposterous, foolish boy! 'Twere madness, dear Charles! I say you shall remain here safe hid until you are fully recovered of your sufferings!"
"Nay Bet, I'll be curst if I do! How, skulk here 'neath your petticoat and let you run the risk of sheltering a 'rebel'? No, no, I'll be——"
"You'll be ruled by me, dear Charles, of course! As for danger, I am your sister and proud to share it with you——" Hereupon he kissed her heartily and sitting down on the floor beside her made great play with knife and fork again.
"In three or four days at most I should reach the sea, Betty. And I'm determined on making the attempt within a night or so. As for risk—bah! I'm become so adept at skulking and hiding I'd elude a whole regiment! And with money in my pocket and no need to thieve or poach—Egad! Talking of poaching, I should be on my way to the plantations at this minute but for a neighbour of yours——"
"Neighbour, Charles?"
"Aye—tall, keen-eyed, soft-spoken and dev'lish placid; true-blue 'spite his limp and infernal old coat——"
"Ah," said Betty softly, "you mean Major d'Arcy, of course!"
"That was the name, I believe, and 'tis thanks to him——"
"Tell me all about it, Charles."
"Well, I'd poached a rabbit, Bet. Keeper saw me, knocked keeper down and bolted. Other keepers headed me off but I ran like a hare and bursting through a hedge, came full tilt upon three be-ruffled exquisites lounging down that quiet bye-lane for all the world as it had been St. James's—and Bet, who should they be but Alton, Marchdale and Alvaston! Seeing me in my rags and the keepers in full cry, Alton yells a 'view hallo' and after me they came on the instant. And a dev'lish fine run I gave 'em, egad! O Betty, I mired 'em in bogs and tore 'em finely in brambles and things before they ran me to earth—even then I doubled up Alton with a leveller, thumped Alvaston on the ear and Marchdale on the nose. Finally the keepers dragged me before a little pompous fellow with a scratch wig and red face, called himself Rington. By this time a crowd had collected and though I was minded to get word to Alvaston 'twas too late, Rington's keepers and the yokels were all about me. So they marched me off in triumph to the Squire, Major d'Arcy, who, smiling mighty affable, threatened to shoot Rington, sent the crowd off with a flea in their ear, as you might say, and me to the kitchen to bathe my hurts and eat a meal, and so to the lock-up. Next morning he woke me very early, bestowed on me some useful advice, a couple o' guineas and my liberty and limped serenely off."
Here my Lord Medhurst proceeded to finish what remained of his supper while Betty sat, chin in hand, staring at the dormer window just now glowing with sunset.
"To-morrow there's no moon. I shall start to-morrow, Bet."
"Faith and you'll not, Charles!"
"Aye, but I will. Look'ee Bet, I'm determined——"
"See here, Charles—so am I!"
"Pish, girl!" said he, looking dignified.
"Tush, boy!" said she, kissing him.
"Nay but, dear Bet, I've your safety at heart and therefore——"
"But, dearest Charles, you've no money in your pocket—and therefore!"
"Egad and that's true enough!" said he ruefully.
"So you'll be ruled by me, boy, and stay here until I think you are fit for travel."
"What o' the servants?"
"This part of the house is empty and—I'll manage the servants!"
"There's Aunt Belinda, she's an infernal sharp nose, Bet."
"Nay, I'll manage Aunt Belinda."
"Why then, what of this Dalroyd?"
"O!" said my lady, knitting black brows, "I'll manage him also."
"Look'ee Bet, I'll allow you've a head, but this fellow's dangerous."
"How so, Charles?"
"Well, he's not afraid o' ghosts for one thing——"
"Ghosts?"
"Y'see Bet, when I reached Westerham my difficulty was to get word with you and for the first night and day or so I lay hid in the ruined mill. And having nought better to do, I started to haunt the place and by means of an old sack and a pair of ram's horns I contrived to be a sufficiently convincing ghost——" Here his lordship chuckled.
"'Twas madness, Charles."
"So 'twas and yet, I vow——" His lordship chuckled again.
"But what of Mr. Dalroyd, Charles?"
"Faith, he took such a plaguy interest in the haunted mill that I left it and took to haunting the churchyard instead—used to hide in a mouldy vault——"
"Charles!" cried Lady Betty and shuddered.
"Finally he and his fellow hunted me out o' that and here I am. Haunting hath its drawbacks and 'twould have saved me much of discomfort had you received the letter I writ you and sent by the little girl."
"Tell me again what was in it, Charles."
His lordship scratched his head and wrinkled youthful brow.
"So far as I remember, Bet, I writ you these words: 'Meet me at midnight in your garden with fifty guineas for your loving and misfortunate fugitive, Charles.'"
Lady Betty set her chin on white fist and stared at her brother so fixedly that he choked upon his last mouthful of supper and remonstrated:
"Gad, Bet, why d'ye fix a man so wi' such great eyes? What might ye be thinking this time?"
"That we are grown more like each other than ever, dear—'tis marvellous! Aye, 'tis marvellous," she continued absently, "though your voice will never do!"
"Voice, Bet? Egad, what's in your mind now?"
"Mr. Dalroyd, Charles, for one thing."
"Aye, and what of the fellow?"
"Would he were choked with a flap-dragon. But—meanwhile——"
"What, Betty?"
"Hark, there's aunt wailing for me, I must go. You are free of all the upper chambers of this wing, but mind, if I whistle you must get you into hiding at once."
So saying, she shook portentous finger at him, smiled and vanished.
Seldom or never, in all its length of days, had the great dining room of the ancient hostelry of the "George and Dragon" glowed with such sartorial splendour or known such an elegant posturing of silk-clad legs, such a flirting of ruffles, such a whirl of full-skirted coats; coats, these, of velvet, of worked satin and rich brocade, coats of various colours from Sir Benjamin's pink and gold to Lord Alvaston's purple and silver; the light of many candles scintillated in jewelled cravat and shoe-buckle, shone upon crested buttons and on the glossy curls of huge periwigs, black, brown and gold. In the midst of this gorgeous company stood a short, stoutish gentleman, his booted legs wide apart, his sun-burned face nearly as red as his weatherbeaten service coat, a little man with a truculent eye.
"Od's my life, my lord Colonel!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, wringing his hand, "I know not what propitious zephyr hath wafted George Cleeve into these Arcadian solitudes, but hem! being hither I do protest you shall this night sit the honoured guest of good-Fellowship, Bacchus and the Muses, shedding upon our poetical revels the—the effulgence of your hem! your glories, gracing our company with, I say with the——"
"Hold, Ben!" sighed my Lord Alvaston, making graceful play with his slender legs, "hold hard, Ben, an' get your wind while I 'splain. Sir, what poor Ben's been tryin' t' tell you 'n' can't tell you is—that we shall rejoice if you'll sup with us. And so say we all——"
"Strike me dumb if we don't!" added the Marquis.
"Haw!" muttered the Captain. "B'gad! So we do!"
"Gentlemen," said the Colonel, "I protest ya' do me too much honour, 'tis curst polite in ya' and I take it kindly, rot me, kindly!"
"Od's body, sir," cried Sir Benjamin, "the honour is completely ours, I vow, your exploits in Flanders and Brabant sir, your notable achievements on the stricken fields of Mars, the very name of Colonel Lord George Cleeve coruscates with hem! with glory, shines like—like—a——"
"Star," suggested the Captain. Hereupon Lord Cleeve bowed, the company bowed, shot their ruffles, fluttered their handkerchiefs and snuffed with one another.
"Hem!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin with an air of ponderous waggery, "as I was saying when my Lord Cleeve dropped upon us so happily, 'tis then agreed that Alton and I shall see the Major home at peep o' day!" Here Sir Benjamin grew so waggish that he very nearly laid plump finger to nose but checked himself in time and coughed instead. "I vow 'twill be an honour, for, foxed or no and despite his hem! his rusticity, Major d'Arcy is a gentleman, a——"
"Ha!" exclaimed the Colonel suddenly. "Do ya' mean Jack d'Arcy o' the Third, sir—d'Arcy of Churchill's regiment?" Sir Benjamin bowed and smiled:
"You know him, my lord? A simple, quiet, kindly soul——"
His lordship stared, laughed a short, hoarse bellow and, becoming immediately solemn, nodded:
"That's Jack to a hair, simple, quiet and dev'lish deadly! 'Twas so he looked, I mind, when he killed the greatest rogue and duellist in the three armies. Simple and quiet! Aye, 'twas so he seemed when he led us to the storming of the counterscarp at Namur in '95, as he was when he rallied our broken ranks at Blenheim and, after, when we turned the French right at Oudenarde. He was my senior in those days and where he went I followed and they called him 'Fighting d'Arcy' though a simple soul, sir, as ya' say. I was behind him when he led us against the French left at Ramillies and broke it too. I saw him dragged, all blood and dust, out o' the press at Malplaquet. 'Done for at last,' thought I—but Gad, sirs, they couldn't kill Fighting d'Arcy for all his quiet looks and simple ways! Aye, I know Jack, we were brothers, and like brothers we drank together, slept, quarrelled, and fought together—he seconded me in my first affair of honour!"
"Od's my life!" ejaculated Sir Benjamin. "Our rustic philosopher turns out a very Mars, a thundering Jove, a paladin——"
"True blue, damme!" added the Marquis.
"And yonder he comes," said Mr. Marchdale at the window, "and Merivale with him."
"Nunky," said the Viscount as they entered the hospitable portal of the "George and Dragon," "Ben and Alvaston are set on seeing you comfortably faxed to-night."
"Foxed? Ah, you mean drunk, Tom?"
"Perfectly sir, all in the way of friendship and good-fellowship of course, still I thought I'd let you know."
"For the which I am duly and humbly grateful, Tom," answered the Major as, opening the door, the Viscount bowed and stood aside to give him precedence.
The Major's appearance was hailed with loud cheers and cries of "Fighting d'Arcy," drowned all at once in a hoarse roar as, with a tramp and jingle of heavy, spurred boots, Colonel Lord George Cleeve ran at him, thumped him and clasped him in a bear's hug:
"'Tis the same Jack Grave-airs!" he cried, "the same sedate John! Ha, damme, man-Jack, be curst if I don't joy to see thee again!"
"Why George!" exclaimed the Major, patting the Colonel's back with one hand and gripping his fist with the other, "why Georgie, I do protest thou'rt growing fat!"
"Burn thee for a vile-tongued rogue to say so, Jack! Ha, Jack, do ya' mind that night in the trenches before Maastricht when we laid a trap for young Despard of Ogle's and caught the Colonel? 'Twas next day we stormed and ya' took a bayonet through your thigh——"
"And you brought me down from the breach George——"
"And cursed ya' heartily the while, I forget why but ya' deserved it!"
"Stay, George, supper is served I think, and let me introduce Viscount Merivale"; which done he saluted the company and they forthwith sat down to table.
And now corks squeaked and popped, servants and waiting-men bustled to and fro, glasses clinked, knives and forks rattled merrily to the hum of talk and ring of laughter.
"By the way, sir," said the Major, addressing his neighbour the Marquis, "I don't—er—see Mr. Dalroyd here to-night."
"No more you do sir, strike me dumb! And for the sufficient reason he ain't here. Dalroyd's a determined hunter o' feminine game sir, O dem! To-night he's in full cry, I take it—joys o' the chase, sir—some dainty bit o' rustic beauty—some shy doe——"
"I wonder who?" enquired the Viscount, stifling a yawn.
"Dalroyd's dev'lish close," answered Lord Alvaston, "close as 'n oyster 'sequently echo answers 'who?'"
"Gentlemen all," cried Sir Benjamin, "I rise to give you a name—to call the toast of toasts. I give you Betty—our bewitching, our incomparable, Our Admirable Betty!"
Up rose the company one and all and the long chamber echoed to the toast:
"Our Admirable Betty!"
Ensued a moment's pause and every empty glass shivered to fragments on the broad hearth. But now, as the clatter and hum and laughter broke out anew, the Major, frowning a little, glanced across at the Viscount and found him frowning also.
Courses came and went and ever the talk and laughter waxed louder and merrier, glasses brimmed and were emptied, bottles made the circuit of the table in unending procession; gentlemen pledged each other, toasts were called and duly honoured; in the midst of which the Major feeling a hand upon his shoulder glanced up into the face of the Viscount.
"Nunky," he murmured, "certain things considered, I'm minded for a walk!" and with a smiling nod he turned and vanished among the bustling throng of servants and waiting-men, as Sir Benjamin arose, portentous of brow and with laced handkerchief a-flutter:
"Gentlemen," said he, glancing round upon the brilliant assembly, "gentlemen, or should I rather say—fellow-martyrs of the rosy, roguish archer——"
"Haw!" exclaimed the Captain. "Prime, Ben!"
"Hear, hear!" nodded Alvaston. "Good, Ben—doocid delicate 'n' the bottle's with you, Jasper!"
"We are here, sirs," continued Sir Benjamin, bowing his acknowledgments, "to sit unitedly in hem! in judgment upon the individual compositions of the—the——"
"Field!" suggested the Marquis.
"Gang?" murmured Alvaston.
"Amorous brotherhood!" sighed Sir Jasper.
"Company, gentlemen, of the company. Versification affords a broad field for achievement poetic since we have such various forms as the rondel, ballade, pantoum—"
"O burn me, Ben," ejaculated Alvaston, "you're out there! What's verses t' do with phantoms——"
"I said 'pantoum,' sir—besides which, gentlemen, we have the triolet, the kyrielle, the virelai, the vilanelle——"
"O dem!" cried the Marquis, "sounds curst improper and villainous, too, Ben." Cries of "Order, Ben, order——"
"And likewise O!" added Lord Alvaston.
"Eh?" exclaimed Sir Benjamin, "I say what——"
"None o' your French villainies, Ben," continued the Marquis, "we want nothing smacking o' the tap-room, the stable or the kennel, Ben, 'twon't do! We must ha' nought to cause the blush o' shame——"
"No, Ben," added Alvaston, "nor yet t' 'ffend th' chastest ear——"
"Od sir, od's body—I protest——"
"So none o' your villainies Ben," sighed Alvaston, "no looseness, coarseness, ribaldry or bawdry——"
"Blood and fury!" roared the exasperated Sir Benjamin, "I hope I'm sufficiently a man of honour——"
"Quite, Ben, quite—the very pink!" nodded his lordship affably. "And talkin' o' pink, the bottle stands, Marchdale! Fill, gentlemen. I give you Ben, our blooming Benjamin and no heel-taps!"
The health was drunk with acclaim and Sir Benjamin, once more his jovial and pompous self, proceeded:
"In writing these odes and sonnets we have all, I take it, depended upon our mother—hem! our mother-wit and each followed his individual fancy. I now take joy to summon Denholm to read to us his—ah—effort."
Sir Jasper rose, drew a paper from his bosom, sighed, languished with his soulful eyes and read:
"Groan, groan my heart, yet in thy groaning joySince thou'rt deep-smit of Venus' blooming boy;Till Sorrow's flownAnd Joy's thine ownGroan!"
"Haw!" exclaimed the Captain, "very chaste! Doocid delicate!"
Sir Jasper bowed and continued:
"Pant, pant my heart, yet in thy panting ne'erLet Doubt steal in to slay thee with despair;But till Love grantAll heart doth wantPant!"
"Gad!" said the Marquis, "you're doing a dem'd lot o' panting, Jasper!"
"I vow 'tis quaintly mournful!" nodded Sir Benjamin. "'Tis polished and passionate!"
Again Sir Jasper bowed, and continued:
"Sob, sob my soul, sobs soul——"
"Hold hard, Denholm!" quoth Alvaston. "There's too many sobs f'r sense. I don't object t' you groaning, I pass y'r pants, but you're getting y'r soul damnably mixed wi' y'r sobs."
"Nay, 'tis a cry o' the soul, Alvaston," sighed Sir Jasper, "a very heart-throb, faith. Listen!"
"Sob, sob my soul sobs soulful night and dayTill she in mercy shall thy pain allayTill all she robAnd for thee throbSob!"
"Curst affecting!" said the Captain, applauding with thumping wine-glass.
"Od gentlemen," cried Sir Benjamin as Sir Jasper sank back in his chair, "I do protest 'tis very infinite tender! It hath delicacy, pathos and a rhythm entirely its own. Denholm, I felicitate you heartily! And now, Alvaston, we call upon you!"
His lordship arose, stuck out a slender leg, viewed it with lazy approval, and unfolding a paper, recited therefrom as follows:
"Let the bird sing on the boughTh' ploughboy sing an' sweatBut, while I can, I will avowTh' charms o' lovely Bet.Let——"
"Hold!" commanded Sir Benjamin.
"Stop!" cried the Marquis. "Strike me everlastingly blue but I've got 'sweat' demme!"
"'S'heart, so have I!" exclaimed Mr. Marchdale with youthful indignation.
"Burn me!" sighed Alvaston, "seems we're all sweating! 'S unfortunate, curst disquietin' I'll admit, though I only sweat i' the first verse. Le' me go on:"
"Let the parson——"
"Hold!" repeated Sir Benjamin. "Desist, Alvaston, I object to sweat, sir!"
"An' very natural too, Ben—Gad, I'll not forget you at th' churn! But to continue:"
"Let the parson pray——"
"Stay!" thundered Sir Benjamin. "Alvaston, sweat shall never do!"
"Why, Ben, why?"
"Because, first 'tis not a word poetic——"
"But I submit 'tis easy, Ben, an' very natural! Remember the churn Ben, the churn an' le' me get on. Faith! here we're keepin' my misfortunate parson on his knees whiles you boggle over a word! 'Sides if my 'sweat' 's disallowed you damn Alton and Marchdale unheard!"
Hereupon, while Sir Benjamin shook protesting head, his lordship smoothed out his manuscript, frowned at it, turned it this way, turned it that, and continued:
"Let the parson pray and screech——"
"No, demme, 'tisn't 'screech'—here's a blot! Now what th' dooce—ha, 'preach' t' be sure——"
"Let the parson pray and preachAnd fat preferments getBut, so long as I have speech—I'll sing the charms o' Bet.
"Let the——"
"By th' way I take liberty t' call 'tention t' the fact that I begin 'n' end each canto wi' the same words, 'let' 'n' 'Bet.'"
"Let th' world go—round an' roundThe day be fine or wet,Take all that 'neath th' sun is foundAn' I'll take lovely Bet."
"Bravo Bob! Bravo! Simple and pointed! Haw!" quoth the Captain, hammering plaudits with his wine-glass again.
"'Tis not—not utterly devoid o' merits!" admitted Sir Benjamin judicially.
"Thank'ee humbly, my Benjamin!"
"Nay, but it hath points, Alvaston, especially towards the finality, though 'tis somewhat reminiscent of Mr. Waller."
"How so, sweet Ben?"
"In its climacteric thus, sir:"
"Give me but what this ribband boundTake all the rest the sun goes round."
"Egad Ben, I've never read a word o' the fool stuff in my life, so you're out there, burn me! And the bottle roosts with you, Alton. Give it wings. Major d'Arcy sir—with you!"
"Marchdale," said Sir Benjamin, "our ears attend you!"
Mr. Marchdale rose, coughed, tossed back his love-locks, unfolded his manuscript and setting hand within gorgeous bosom read forth the following:
"Chaste hour, soft hour, O hour when first we metO blissful hour, my soul shall ne'er forgetHow, 'mid the rose and tender violet,Chaste, soft and sweet as rose, stood lovely Bet,Her wreath-ed hair like silky coronetO'er-wrought with wanton curls of blackest jetEach glistered curl a holy amulet;Her pearl-ed teeth her rosy lips did fretAs they'd sweet spices been or ambergret,While o'er me stole her beauty like a netWherein my heart was caught and pris'ner setA captive pent for love and not for debt,A captive that in prison pineth yet.A captive knowing nothing of regretNor uttering curse nor woeful epithet.I pled my love, my brow grew hot, grew wet,While sweetly she did sigh and I did sweat."
"Sweat, Tony?" exclaimed the Marquis. "O dem! What for?"
"Because 'twas the only rhyme I had left, for sure!"
"Od, od's my life!" cried Sir Benjamin, "here we have poesy o' the purest, in diction chaste, in expression delicate, in——"
"Nay, but Tony sweats too, Ben!" protested Alvaston.
"No matter, sir, no matter—'tis a very triumph! So elegant! Od's body Marchdale, 'tis excellent—sir, your health!"
"Burn me, Ben, but if Tony may sweat why th' dooce——"
"Major d'Arcy sir, I charge to you!" Hereupon Sir Benjamin filled and bowed, the Major did the same, and they drank together.
"But Ben," persisted Alvaston, "if Tony——"
"West, the floor and our attention are yours, sir!"
The Captain rose, shot his ruffles, squared his shoulders and read:
"Warble ye songsters of the grove—haw!Warble of her that is my loveWhere'er on pinions light ye roveHaw!Ye feathered songsters—warble.
"Warble ye heralds of the—haw!—the airWarble her charms beyond compareWarble here and warble thereHaw!Ye feathered songsters—warble.Warble, warble on the sprayWarble night and warble dayWarble, warble whiles ye mayHaw!Ye feathered songsters—warble."
"A pretty thing!" nodded Sir Benjamin, "'tis light, 'tis graceful—easy, flowing, and full of——"
"Warbles!" murmured Alvaston.
"'Tis a musical word, sir, and what is poesy but word-music? I commend 'warble' heartily—we all do, I think."
Here a chorus of approval whereupon the Captain bowed, shot his ruffles again, said 'Haw!' and sat down.
"Alton, 'tis now your turn!"
Up rose the Marquis, tossed off his glass, fished a somewhat crumpled paper from his pocket and incontinent gave tongue:
"A song I sing in praise of BetI sing a song o' she, sirsO let the ploughboy curse and sweatBut what is that to me, sirs?My bully boys, brave bully boysBut what is that to me, sirs?"
"Here's that misfortunate ploughboy sweating again!" sighed Alvaston, while Sir Benjamin choked with wine and indignant horror:
"Hold, od's my life—Alton, hold!" he gasped. "Heaven save us, what's all this? 'Twill never do——"
"Sink me, Ben—why not?"
"Because it sounds like nothing in the world but a low drinking catch, sir, mingled and confused with a vulgar hunting-snatch."
"Nay, you'll find it betters as it goes—heark'ee!"
"I love the pretty birds to hear;The horn upon the hillBut when my buxom Bet appearHer voice is sweeter stillBrave boys!Her voice is sweeter still!
"The fish that doth in water swimThough burnished bright he beDoth all his scaly splendours dimIf Bet he chance to see.Brave boys!If Bet he chance to see.
"There's joy——"
"Ha' you got much more, Harry?" enquired Alvaston mournfully.
"O demme yes, when I get my leg over Pegasus, Bob, 'tis hard to dismount me."
"There's joy in riding of a horseThat bottom hath and paceBut better still I love of courseBet's witching, handsome face.Brave boys!Bet's witching, handsome face!
"E'en as the——"
"Hold a minute, Harry! You're givin' us a treatise on natural hist'ry, sure?"
"How so, Bob?"
"Well, you've sung 'bout a bird, 'n' fish, 'n' beast—why ignore the humble reptile? If you've got any more you might give us a rhyme 'bout vermin——"
"Demme, Bob, so I have! Heark'ee:"
"E'en as the small but gamesome fleaOn her white neck might frisk, sirsCould I be there—then, e'en as heMy life, like him, I'd risk, sirs.My bully boys, brave bully boysMy life, like him, I'd risk, sirs!"
Pandemonium broke forth; bottles rolled, glasses fell unheeded and shivered upon the floor while the long room roared with Gargantuan laughter, rising waves of merriment wherein Sir Benjamin's indignant outburst was wholly drowned and his rapping was lost and all unheeded. Howbeit, having broken two glasses and a plate in his determined knocking, he seized upon a bottle and thundered with that until gradually the tempest subsided and a partial calm succeeded.
"Gentlemen!" he cried, his very peruke seeming to bristle with outraged decorum, "gentlemen, I move the total suppression of this verse—" Here his voice was lost in shouts of: "No, no! Let be, Ben! Order!" "I say," repeated Sir Benjamin, "it must and shall be suppressed!"
"O why, my Ben, why?" queried Alvaston, feeble with mirth.
"Because 'tis altogether too—too natural! Too—ah intensely, personally intimate——" Here the rafters rang again while drawers, ostlers and waiting-maids peeped in at slyly-opened doors. Silence being at last restored Sir Benjamin arose, snuffed daintily, flicked himself gracefully and bowed:
"Gentlemen," said he, "after the hem! brilliant flights o' fancy we have been privileged to hear, I allude particularly to Sir Jasper's soulful strophes and to—to——"
"Alton's gamesome flea?" suggested Alvaston, whereat was laughter with cries of "Order."
"And to Marchdale's delightful lyric," continued Sir Benjamin. "I do confess to no small diffidence in offering to your attention my own hem! I say my own poor compositions and do so in all humility. My first is a trifle I may describe as an alliterative acrostic, its matter as followeth."
"Bewitching Bet by bounteous Beauty blessedEach eager eye's enjoyment is expressedThat thus to thee doth turn then—thrilling thought;Thou, thou thyself that teach may too be taught,Yea, you yourself—to yearn as beauty ought."
"I' faith, gentlemen," said he, bowing to their loud applause, "I humbly venture to think it hath some small ingenuity. My next is a set of simple verselets pretending to no great depth of soul nor heart-stirring pathos, they are hem! they are—what they are——"
"Are ye sure o' that, Ben?" demanded Alvaston earnestly.
"Sure sir, yes sir—od's my life, I ought to be—I wrote 'em!"
"Then let's hear 'em and judge. But look'ee, Ben, if they ain't what they are they won't do—not if you were ten thousand Benjamen!"
Sir Benjamin stared, rubbed his chin, shook his head, sighed and read:
"Venus hath left her Grecian islesWith all her charms and witching wilesAnd now all rustic hearts beguilesIn bowery Westerham!
"Ye tender herds, ye listening deerForget your food, forget your fearOur glorious Betty reigneth hereIn happy Westerham!
"Ye little lambs that on the greenIn gambols innocent are seenIn gleeful chorus hail your queenSweet Bet of Westerham!
"Ye feathered——"