CHAPTER XXXIX.
SIR ANDREW AND PHILLIP HIS SON-IN-LAW MAKE FRIENDS AND ENEMIES.
The marriage of Charley and Miss Clara was duly announced in the newspapers, and the style in which it was said to have been conducted so astonished the clerks and employés of the India House and other circles in which he was formerly known, that every one unanimously considered that Charles must have had “a windfall,” or “a very sudden rise” in the world.
Sir Andrew, in the retirement of his little country house heard of it.
Mr. Phillip Redgill in the smoky, dingy, card and gambling rooms, also heard of it, and both were very much surprised.
The latter thought he would lose no time in congratulating young Warbeck.
“For he’s well up now,” said Phillip, “and will be a sure card for a hundred or two, if I ask him.”
Other persons besides these two notable individuals had heard of the marriage.
Miss Josephine Smith was present during the ceremony, and, in giving an account of the affair, said that the bridegroom looked happy and handsome.
But “as to the bride—ugh! good gracious! she was a perfect fright! All curls, as usual, my dear, and looking like a frost-bitten turnip!”
Augustus Fumbleton, Esq., was also aware of the awful event, and confessed that he had now lost every earthly hope, and was fast falling away in flesh and figure.
But as he seemed to be enjoying himself as usual with an evening drive in the occasional company of a fast-dressing woman, who was said to be already married, his most intimate friends could see butlittle diminution in the rotundity of his form or the proverbial magnitude of his general appetite.
The “lady,” with whom Augustus Fumbleton, Esq., occasionally drove out, was said to bear the name ofRedgill!
Phillip had gradually fallen in the social scale.
He was not attired so sumptuously or neatly as of yore.
He was said to be extremely “seedy” in habits and appearance, and frequently very short of cash.
He seldom visited his wife, and seemed to care little what she did or with whom she might choose to associate.
He had introduced her to all kinds of persons, and she had formed, perhaps, exceptionable acquaintance.
But of this he cared nothing, so that she troubled him little for money, he was indifferent as to her associates and hours of leaving or returning home.
His wife, it must be confessed, was equally indifferent in her feelings towards her liege lord.
He had inaugurated habits of card and wine parties and very late hours and scenes of debauchery at her home, and as she was thrown into indifferent company—as she was expected and almost compelled to do the honours of the house and table to whomsoever visited her husband—it cannot be expected that the gaily-inclined Fanny was proof against the many temptations to which she was almost continually exposed.
She was, in truth, the gay, gambling wife of a gay, gambling, debauched and conscienceless husband.
No matter what others might think, it is recorded in the interesting “Chronicle,” that Charley and his young wife were extremely happy, nay, supremely so, and often confessed to each other, when sitting in the portico of their new and elegant house, that Providence had been very good and kind to them, and that their cup of happiness was full to the brim.
With a chip sun-bonnet in her hand, and leaning on Charles’s arm, Clara would go forth, all happiness, for an evening walk, and as they strolled in the green fields, or gazed upon the numerous snow-white sails moving to and fro on the bright splashing waters of the Thames, Clara would often laughingly recount how she first felt a partiality for the husband she then so highly prized and almost adored.
While Charley, full of humour and nonsense, would joke so wittingly and merrily until Clara become crimson in face, and shook her mass of raven curls with bewitching innocence and coquetry.
When it began to be noised abroad that the newly-married couple were well circumstanced in life, and backed by influential moneyed interests, public opinion began to grow very rapidly favourable in regard to Mr. Charley Warbeck.
So that, when he occasionally promenaded with his pretty, curly-headed bride, there were not a few of his former acquaintance who very suddenly recollected his existence and former footing, and did not fail, indeed, to recognise him in fashionable thoroughfares and places of public business.
Many, both young and old, who but a few months before had passed him in the streets, without a word or look of recognition, now bravely advanced to meet him with—
“Ah, Charley, my boy, how do you do? Allow me to congratulate you.” Or,
“Hullo, Charley! how are you?”
Many merchants and very respectable men of trade were not backward in offering him shares in their business.
Tradesmen’s cards poured in upon him by the hundred.
And he suddenly found himself surrounded by many who literally bored him with their civilities, and proffered to grant him any favour he desired, even to credit, as they said, “for any amount.”
The lesson he had received was not lost upon him.
It had given him a greater insight into human nature than he had ever before possessed.
So that he smiled at this sudden “change in the wind,” as he called it, and despised these sycophantic leeches with an honest indignation well-nigh amounting to loathing.
He seemed in no hurry to enter into business.
As the times were even yet unsettled from the recent financial panic, he contented himself, therefore, with looking out for some favorable opening for investing his capital to the best advantage.
And, instead of accepting any of the numberless invitations to balls and parties of which his wife was in constant receipt, the fond young couple contented themselves with boat excursions on the river, or frequent evening visits to good old Dame Worthington, with whom, and the stately Mistress Haylark, they passed many happy hours, and never seemed weary of their company.
Dame Worthington, in truth, was fast failing in health.
Yet, despite all her infirmities, she bustled about as busily and loquacious as of yore.
Nor did the mother-in-law lose an iota of that stateliness and solemnity of behaviour which was supposed to be hereditary with “the Haylarks,” and upon which, next to her reputation for “firmness,” she greatly prided herself.
In truth, Clara’s marriage only seemed to expand the mother’s importance.
She patronised flaming colours and the “latest styles” more recklessly than ever.
And in her frequent visits to Clara’s house, she was the terror of the servants, from the amount of fuss and bother of which she was always the occasion.
Her lectures on housekeeping were long and frequent, during the delivery of which Charley always wisely lit a cigar, and took a stroll in the garden.
The “best bed” and “the best room” were always reserved for “dear mama,” and from her increasing volubility on all topics connected with married life, and from the number of times she left her daughter in tears from scoldings regarding household affairs, Mr. Charley Warbeck thanked his lucky stars that she had not proposed to live with them altogether.
For “if such braggadocio and endless lectures are characteristic of ‘the Haylarks’” he thought, “I am very glad little Clara has not inherited any of the hereditary virtues of that illustrious family.”
If “mama’s” semi-weekly visits always ended in Clara crying, Dame Worthington’s had the contrary effect.
For the little wife was supremely happy, and always laughing at the old lady’s stories about “dear Charley.”
In truth, Dame Worthington seemed to know so much about him, and her memory reached so far back, that Clara thought her husband must have been a very young, and a very small child indeed, when the old lady had first made his acquaintance.
At all events, Clara thought,
“She is very loving, and thoughtful, and kind. She lovesmevery much, and, as for ‘dear Charles,’ she idolizeshim, and a mother could not manifestmore care and anxiety for his welfare and happiness thanshedoes.”
Sir Richard frequently visited Dame Worthington as usual, and had a long chat with her in her snug back parlour.
And, upon some occasions, the robust, short-breathing, imposing Mistress Haylark would join the party, and monopolize all the conversation.
And it mattered little what topic was broached, Mistress H. always had a very long oration ready at her finger-tips for the occasion, and backed up all arguments or assertions with an everlasting appeal to “the Haylarks,” whether living or defunct.
Sir Richard became used to her loquacity, but frequently dozed in his arm-chair, and, falling fast asleep, ignominiously left the field of debate to herself, or to any one courageous enough to take up the cudgel and defy “the Haylarks,” constant and only authority on all subjects.
Dame Worthington’s house never flourished so much as it had since the wedding; and the old lady, it must be confessed, was “saving money.”
She had always contrived to dothat, however.
So that now, although “times were hard,” and “money very tight,” as it alwaysis, the old gentlewoman was laying by a considerable sum, and seemed to take much delight in saving or accumulating every spare penny.
But if prosperity had attended all the industrious efforts of the good old lady, and her newly-married “children,” as she affectionately termed them, there were other persons who figure in our story who had little of which to boast of in that particular.
Sir Andrew’s farming operations in the country were productive of little profit.
And he foresaw that ere long he must seek some other sphere than that of agriculture in which to make sufficient to satisfy his wants and daily growing greed.
One would have imagined that such misfortunes as he had experienced might have allayed his ruling passion for money; yet it did not.
The older he grew the more avaricious he became.
And to such an extent that he stinted his farm-servants so much that every one left him, and his immediate household affairs were conducted on such miserly principles that he even begrudged his wife the common necessaries of life!
His sole and absorbing ambition seemed to be mere “accumulation.”
“I am not more dishonest than the rest of people,” he would mutter, as he walked along the country roads and lanes. “There are hundreds who have failed beside myself, and are now in a flourishing business. Why cannotIbe the same?”
Christianity, its virtues, and its responsibilities, hung very lightly on the shoulders of this old man.
He went to church, it is true, and sang and prayed as loudly and lustily as any member of it.
It was a “respectable thing” to belong to the church.
But it must be confessed that his most fervent prayer was in supplication for the framing of some law which prohibited all imprisonment for debt!
Sir Andrew, in his arm-chair, comfortably seated before the fire of his little farm-house, spent hours every evening in devising plans for recommencing business.
He was not particular as towhatit might be, so that money should result from it.
He thought of the banks, and sighed devoutly at the fearful amounts which some were said to possess.
He ran through his personal reminiscences, and past life, and could point to persons in high stations, and of “unimpeachable respectability” whom he had known in years past, and often thought,
“If so-and-so had his due, he would be half-starving, or in prison, instead of rolling about so grandly with his carriage and greys.”
Such thoughts arose, not from honest indignation but from envy and gall.
Old Sir Andrew was thoroughly disgusted with himself and the world.
He was determined, however, to make another attempt at success.
But his son-in-law was like a heavy chain bound to his legs, and he could not move in any direction but he encountered either Fanny or Phillip.
And what a change had come over Fanny, his daughter!
She had separated from her husband.
But why?
The cause was this.
One night Phillip Redgill had a card party at his house.
Among those present, and who lost heavily at play, was Augustus Fumbleton, Esq.
Phillip was maddened with wine.
The memory of his wickedness and crime came over him.
Which ever way he looked he seemed to behold the apparition of his murdered father.
The terrible legs seemed to haunt him wherever he went.
While cards and dice were at their height, and all were merry, some one loudly knocked at the door.
The servant went and opened it.
Again the knocks were repeated.
And again did the servants go to the door.
They opened it, and looked out into the street.
But no one was there.
“This seems strange,” said one to another, in a whisper.
“I have seen and heard stranger things than that in this house,” was the answer. “I believe the place is haunted.”
While thus they conversed together with open door,
The heavy sounds of footsteps were heard entering the hall.
The two servants turned their heads.
It was the gory legs of Farmer Bertrand they saw.
With a loud shout, and looks of horror on their faces, the terrified domestics rushed upstairs in dread alarm.
“What means this?” growled Phillip, as he seized one of them by the throat, and drew his sword. “What means this, knave, eh? Go forth into the passage again, and return with better news, or take the consequences.”
The servant did as he was bidden, but had scarcely got into the passage when he rushed back again in increased terror, and upset a card table, money, and all upon the floor.
Every one present were now alarmed.
They heard the distant solemn tramp of heavy footsteps.
When, lo! there entered the room, with horrible stride, the gory limbs.
Phillip Redgill turned deadly pale.
His eyes darted almost from their sockets.
He gasped with terror, and his drawn sword trembled in his nerveless hand.
“Phillip Redgill——” the spectre voice began.
“No, no, no; mercy! ’twas not I!” gasped Phillip. “No, no! I see also the ghost of myfather; but I did not do it! Away! away! Avaunt! gory, ghostly, damnable spectacle, avaunt!”
“Phillip Redgill, my footsteps will follow you for ever!” said the voice, which died away in the distance.
“Never! never!” said Phillip, staggering from horror.
“Ever! ever!” repeated the spectre voice.
With his heart bursting in fury Phillip tore his neck-cloth into ribbons.
His breast heaved with remorse and passion.
“Wine wine,” he said, with a fiendish laugh; “wine, wine, I say!”
His wife handed him a goblet brim full.
He gulped it down.
He threw the goblet into a corner of the room, and in fury struck Fanny to the ground.
The gallants present immediately stepped forward to protect the fallen woman.
With bitter curses on their lips for his brutality they drew their swords.
“Ha! ha! my braves!” said Phillip, pale as a ghost, and looking half idiotic and wild; “ha! ha! my braves! I see, my wife hath many ready to defend her. Come on, then, one and all.”
“So be it,” said Augustus Fumbleton, drawing his “toasting fork,” and assailing Phillip.
“The man who lays his hand upon a woman except in kindness, is a scoundrel,” he added.
Phillip was more like a maniac than a man.
But just as the husband and the lover were about to engage, Fanny threw herself in between the combatants.
“Hold!” she cried, in a voice of pain, and with blood streaming down her features.
“Hold!” she cried, “Phillip Redgill! husband! murderer! if youwillspill blood, shed mine!”
“Murderer!” muttered Phillip, with chattering teeth! “murderer?”
“Yes,murderer!” gasped Fanny, with a firm, defiant tone; “spirits of the dead haunt you both night and day.”
“Liar! witch! sorceress!” exclaimed Phillip; “die with that lie in your throat.”
He made a desperate pass at his injured wife.
His sword was knocked up.
Next moment he was the centre of a fierce and deadly conflict.
The clash of swords, the sound of smashed mirrors, vases, windows, and the like, was heard on every hand.
When Phillip woke next morning he found his house deserted.
No one was nigh.
He lay upon the floor, with a sword cut across his brow, amid the ruins of chairs, tables, glasses, and a thousand fragments of ornaments and furniture.
“Where am I?” he said.
And he looked round with amazement on the wreck.
All things were in a wild state of confusion.
His brain was all on fire with drink, excitement, and pain.
“Oh, now I remember all,” he gasped.
The memory of all which had happened that night flashed before his mind.
While he lay in a state of stupor his eye caught light of a small dagger sticking in the card table.
It pinned down a note.
It was in Fanny’s handwriting.
He tore it open and read—
“Farewell and for ever for the rest of her days.“Your worst enemy,“Fanny.”
“Farewell and for ever for the rest of her days.
“Your worst enemy,“Fanny.”
“My wife absconded! the house ransacked! the servants gone! How is this? What can it mean? Am I dreaming?”
“Dreaming? No, man; you were never more wide awake in all your life,” said a distant voice, with a coarse laugh.
Phillip Redgill recognized the voice.
It was that of Captain Jack.
“Youhere,” said Phillip, astonished.
“Yes; and why not? Where wouldyouhave been if I hadn’t?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t suppose you do. A man that was dead drunk and half crazy last night, mixed up with tilt and point among a dozen or more desperate gallants is not supposed to have very clear brains the morning after. ’Twas lucky we came to your assistance or you wouldn’t be sprawling on the floor as you now are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, the thing is soon explained. I heard that a party of gambling youngsters were gathered at your house last night, and, knowing them to have more money than brains, I, Faulkner, and several others made up our minds to give you a call, so as to relieve them of a little of their spare cash. As we approached the house we heard you all high in oath.
“I rushed in at the doorway, but was fiercely beaten back by several gallants.
“I gave the word to my men to fall on the enemy without mercy.
“Just at that moment I perceived your wife hurrying downstairs, the way being led by one of her many lovers.”
“Many lovers?” said Redgill; “surely you do not mean to insinuate that my wife is a strumpet and——”
“Never mind about wasting more breath about her, Redgill,” said Captain Jack; “because if you don’t know her character, I do, and have done so long ago.”
“What!”
“Nay, nay; get not so hot, but let me continue with my story. Directly I gave the word to my men they each singled out a customer, and we fought desperately with our knives in the entrance-hall; the place was too small for the proper use of our swords, so I am sorry to say,” said Captain Jack, with a laugh, “that we had to cut the throats of one or two in the entrance hall (see Cut in No. 10), but it was all fair play. They didn’t know us, you see, so it don’t much matter. We quickly threw their bodies into the river, and they are food for the fish.”
“But my wife?” said Phillip surprised.
“Your wife, eh? she seems to give you much trouble all at once.”
“Well, what of her?”
“Why, she has run off with the man who gave you that nasty cut across the forehead.”
“And who was he?”
“Why, that elegant young man Fumbleton.”
A terrible oath escaped from Phillip, and he rose to his feet, looking like a blood-stained demon.
“I will be revenged,” said he, “if it costs me my life!”
“And so you shall,” said Captain Jack, “if you only let the matter remain quietly for a short time. Fumbleton is rich, and can bear plucking.”
“He has been plucked many times, I hear,” said Phillip, “and on one occasion to the tune of £2,000.”
“I know he has.Iwas the one to do it,” said Captain Jack.
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
“How?”
“Well, that I will tell you as we go along. You must leave this house at once.”
“But the furniture—I am not going to leave that behind?”
“You might as well, it ain’t worth anything.”
“Worth nothing—what do you mean?”
“Mean this, my boy; I have sold the house, furniture and all.”
“You? why it all belongs to me.”
“Perhaps so,” said Captain Jack, “but then you see why Fanny ran away with Fumbleton. I knew you would not remain here long, so while you were snoring I bundled off the servants, and sold everything.”
“Very polite of you, certainly.”
“Oh, don’t mention it—a friend of mine gave me a tempting price for the whole lot, so I took it, of course, being short of money, and as you deserve a trifle on our old account, why of course it’s all right.”
“But it’s all wrong. Where’s the money?”
“In my pocket,” said Captain Jack, very coolly, “where it is likely to remain until I want it.”
“And what do you want with me so early in the morning?” asked Phillip.
“Wash yourself, and get out of the house as soon as possible, and then I’ll tell you. There, that will do; don’t take overmuch pains with yourself—you ain’t going far,” said Captain Jack, with a sinister smile.
“But where to?”
“You’ll soon see; but as I was about to say, regarding Fumbleton; he’s been after your wife a long time, and you are the one to blame, for if youwouldintroduce her to all the worst sparks in town, why of course you can’t expect her to respect you much.”
“You are very kind with your advice this morning,” said Phillip; “one would almost imagine you had turned parson.”
“So I have, when there’s been a hanging going on, and no one near to read the service. But as I was saying about Fumbleton; he fancies he can play billiards, and so unknown to him I disguised my friend Alick Faulkner, some months ago, and they agreed to make a match for £500 a side. Now, Faulkner and I played a good deal together, but I always beat him, and as Fumbleton always beat me, because I let him, Alick was thought to be a good “mark” for the elegant young swell. The number of points in the game was to be 1,000.”
Gentlemen amateurs who were supposed to have had ‘the straight tip’ were freely staking any odds on Fumbleton, which the “knowing ones,” with Alick as their champion, were eagerly accepting.
“When play commenced in the evening, there was much interest displayed by professionals to watch the game, and from the superior manner in which the young swell was playing, it was evident he would beat Faulkner his antagonist, with the greatest imaginable ease.
In truth it must be confessed that he threw away many chances where he could have easily “counted.”
But Fumbleton had so much of a lead, that he frequently amused himself with making “fancy shots” for his own, and the amusement of professional adepts, who loudly applauded him.
Towards ten o’clock the game was half over, and the miserable style in which Alick played, brought down very stinging remarks from bystanders, so that leaving him more than one hundred points in the rear, out of seven hundred then played, it was agreed to adjourn for the sake of supper and to finish the game afterwards.
Fumbleton partook freely of wine, and was all impatience to recommence the game.
Alick did not seem at all inclined for more humiliation at the swell’s hands, and to all appearance returned to the table very reluctantly.
The state of the game was apparent to all.
Fumbleton was considered to be much too far ahead to be overtaken by Alick, and any odds were freely offered on him and taken.
But the game suddenly changed in its character.
Instead of playing in his former slow and undecided style, Mr. Alick hit rapidly, scientifically, and so often, that he materially altered his score, and was soon close at the heels of Fumbleton, who opened his eyes widely at this sudden exhibition of his opponent’s skill.
“Never mind,” said he to his friends, “he can’t do itagain, you know; it was all luck that time, I shall now go in and win with a rush.”
Alick had similar ideas also, and gained on Fumbleton so far, that when but fifty points remained to be played Alick was but five behind.
The chances row began to fluctuate, and Fumbleton’s friends, being still confident, freely laid odds, which were now eagerly taken.
In truth the silly swell had made such fine play that but five remained to complete his score, and make him the winner.
The other had twenty-five to get; but these were gotten with so much rapidity that Alick, in enthusiasm, overran that number, amid the applause of those in the “secret,” but apparently to his own dissatisfaction, for he seemed surprised and annoyed, whispering confidentially, as he pitched his cue and the bridge into the corner,
“I’ve won, but, upon my soul, Mr. Fumbleton, I wasn’t aware of it; I intended to lose!”
This was exceedingly poor consolation to the swell, who sat vacantly looking at the billiard board as one in a trance or dream.
It seemed that he considered itimpossibleto be beaten by such an opponent as Alick!
He was mistaken, however, and the best proof of it was that the money was handed over to Alick that same night, and the swell discovered himself to be minus ofnotless than five hundred pounds out of the six hundred pounds which he had brought to the billiard room with him.
“Who’d a thought,” mused Fumbleton, “that I should have lost in so unaccountable a manner; I am out of luck to-night,that’sit! I can beattwosuch players as he is atanytime; but youcan’tplay againstluck!”
To console the young swell, the winning parties declared that he was the paragon of players, and hoped he would soon haveanothergame, and for alargerstake.
This latter remark seemed to contain a little more irony than Mr. Fumbleton could bear, so that he flamed into a passion on the instant, and high words arose.
Excited with wine, and infuriated to find he had been so egregiously duped, the swell gave vent to his feelings in unmeasured terms, calling Alick and his friends a parcel of scheming “black-legs,” until finding words would avail but little, they handled him roughly.
A general fight ensued among the partisans, and the last thing Augustus remembered in his cups was a general row, in which certain persons’ boot-toescame in sudden and violent concussion with certain parts of his person, and ejected him into the street, where he found himself on the following morning, without money, jewellery, and all high and dry in the mud.
Captain Jack laughed boisterously over what he had said. It was a capital joke, and served young Fumbleton right, for he had not been long from college, and was brimful of conceit and nonsense.
“I always make it a rule to look out for young collegians, when they are running wild ‘about town,’ as it is called, because they think they know everything. That £500, Alick Faulkner and I won, was the making of us.”
“The making of you! How?”
“Why, we were so hard-up, we should have had to go to house-breaking or something of that kind.”
“Well?”
“I knew a seedy ‘enemy’ of mine who had gone to house-breaking about that time. He wanted me to join him in the venture. But he little dreamed how much I hated him. I’ll tell you all about it one of these days; but as time is now short, I shall only say that I ‘split’ on him, and my respectable appearance in the witness-box got him transported for life. That’s how I generally pay off old scores with ‘lads’ who don’t act always on the square. After that I was appointed one of the Crown officers, and have been so ever since. I knew the chap at school, and hated him, and always swore to have him hung if I could; but let us go in here—here is a wine shop, let’s have a bottle together,” said Captain Jack, with a wicked smile.
“That reminds me of something that happened to me at school. It was the first ‘clever’ thing I ever did,” said Phillip, drinking a long draught of good wine.
“Indeed,” said Captain Jack, laughing. “I didn’t think you ever had done anything clever except that affair of old Bertram.”
“Hus—s—sh!” said Phillip, turning pale; “don’t mention that.”
“You’d have been in a gibbet only for me,” said Captain Jack.
“Perhaps; but I bought your silence.”
“Yes, so that’s all square. Let’s hear your story. I’ve got half-an-hour to pass in idleness; but all our gang have to muster to-night; we’ve got ‘a great thing’ on hand. Will you join us?”
“That depends.”
“Depends? But you must.”
“Must, eh! Well then, if you say so, then must it shall be.”
“Go on with your story then.”
“You won’t blow on me.”
“Me? You must be dreaming.”
“But you’d never expect to hear what I’m going to tell.”
“Perhaps not, but whatever it is, out with it.”
So encouraged, and even now half drunk with wine, Phillip began his story; his first step in crime, as he called it.
And as he went on, Captain Jack eyed him like a hawk, and his eyes glistened with deadly malice towards Phillip, as Redgill began:—
“Tom Templeton was generally admitted to be the greatest Greek scholar in college.
“Plato, Demosthenes and Xenophon were eternally in his hands, and his favourite amusement seemed to be to have a ‘quiet half-hour’ with Homer or Sophocles.
“How he could muster sufficient patience to pore over those tantalizing authors, seemed a great mystery to all the Juniors, but the ‘Nobs,’ ‘Dons,’ and ‘Big-wigs’ of the university would complacently smile, take a pinch of snuff, and nod to Tom, who, squatted at his ease upon the grass, would loll for hours under the trees of our extensive grounds and park, and smoke with impunity, in open defiance of every rule and regulation.
“He could leap, run, walk, fence, and, in fact, excel at anything to which he seemed, inclined to pay attention, except swim, which he never did.
“And he was such a favourite with all, that none seemed to take notice, or be at all surprised at anything he might attempt or accomplish.
“He had been known to kick a foot-ball over the college buildings, three stories high, and had soundly thrashed three or four town bullies, who were said to ‘travel on their muscle’ for a living.
“He never appeared to study very hard.
“A pipe was always in his mouth, and, strange to say, he had fascinated all the university officials so effectually, that he went in and out of places considered sacred to every one but the president, or his high and mighty assistants.
“The private gardens, even, were open to him, with all their much-envied riches of plums and fruits of various kinds.
“And Tompkins had more than once sworn that, when climbing the wall one day to get at some pears, he saw him lying full length on a bench smoking in the vineyards.
“Tom seems to have mesmerized the gardeners, or heavily bribed them, for he was never at a loss for the gate keys.
“And should they be out of the way, he would simply scale the wall, and commence his evening promenade with the inevitable meerschaum in his mouth.
“One evening, two Dons caught him.
“They entered the garden, walked along the avenues of vines, and there stood Mr. Tom, smoking as usual, as large as life, with a novel in his hand!
“‘I imagined I smelt something,’ one of the old professors said. ‘How comes it, sir, that—don’t you know——’
“Before he could add another word, Tom opened upon him with a fine passage from Virgil, which being apropos as to time and place, and well recited withal, disarmed the anger of the first doctor, who took a pinch of snuff and passed on.
“The second was red with anger.
“And as he totally eschewed ‘the use of the abominable weed in any form,’ was ready to explode with rage and indignation.
“For being a great epicure, he felt certain that most of the grapes would fall tohisshare at table, and didn’t wish their early growth in any way retarded.
“‘Mr. Templeton! I am astounded at you, sir. How dare you imagine that——’
“Tom did not appear to notice his remark, but casting a look of surprise upon the pompous old gentleman in cap and gown, burst forth into a Greek oration from the Iliad.
“And before the astonished professor could recover his surprise at the action and voice of Templeton, who was personating Achilles among his ‘black ships banked up on shore,’ left the vine walks in a state of triumph.
“Tom had been several years at college, and was deservedly reputed to be the best man ever on the rolls.
“He was light-hearted, gay, generous, a good musician, splendid classic, and passionately fond of dancing.
“He was courted and petted by all the mothers in town—anxious to provide for their daughters,
“The young ladies themselves were oftentimes at loggerheads to see who should advance fastest in his good graces.
“As there were several female seminaries within a few miles of town, intercourse was frequent at the houses of mutual friends or relatives.
“Many young men attending the University had sisters at a magnificent seminary but two miles from town.
“And as the yearly gymnastic exercises of our college were about to commence, evening drill was often patronized by the fair, so that the University grounds presented a gay and animating appearance during the beautiful evenings of May and June.
“Templeton had been elected chief of the gymnasts this year, and in his blue uniform, faced with red and gold, presented a fine appearance; so that there was more than one pair of eyes among the ladies who watched his movements with interest.
“At the end of gymnastic drill, which had been witnessed and much applauded by the fair, an old gentleman advanced to Templeton, and presented a bouquet.
“This was nothing unusual, for the ladies seemed to take delight in pelting flowers at us as we filed past them. But, as he took the nosegay from the old man, Templeton perceived a young girl laughing and blushing among a knot of her schoolmates, who were apparently joking her.
“‘I never saw her before; she is very pretty. I will make her acquaintance if I break my neck over it,’ thought Tom.
“Templeton went into town that evening, and returned to his rooms very late.
“He was musing in his chair at the window, gazing at the moon, and puffing out volumes of cigar smoke.
“In a week the gay fellow seemed to have changed his nature.
“He was thoughtful, absent in manner, and seldom touched his books.
“Instead of trespassing upon the privacy of the president’s gardens at evening, he was often found strumming a guitar, and singing snatches from various operas.
“Months passed away, and none could account for his change of manner.
“He was thin, pale, thoughtful, soft in voice and manner, and juniors whispered one to another that he was ‘heavily in debt;’ ‘the uncle refused to come up.’
“Others, rather lazy students themselves, would sigh, and say, ‘Just as I told you;nowyou see the effect of “Nights with Homer and Demosthenes!” he is in a galloping consumption!’”
“The lodge-keeper, that terrible portly official with the clanking keys, who frowned on little boys, and slammed the gates with a triumphant bang of self-importance; that awful, lace-trimmed gentleman, and bottomless depository of college secrets, said nothing, but sighed heavily, stroked his red nose ominously, and remarked—
“‘Some folks is wise, and some isn’t. I hasn’t been here a matter of more nor forty year without knowing that much; and if you’re well up in your Greek you’ll know better nor I can tell yer,werbum sap., as Homer very nicely remarks.’
“And with that, went into his lodge, closed the door, and smoked his pipe.
“It must be confessedI didwish to know what the matter was with Tom.
“He had always befriended me since entering college, and usually informed me of all his affairs.
“But during the past few months his conduct had been so much unlike his former self that I felt offended and annoyed.
“‘If you are hard pushed, Tom,’ said I, ‘and your uncle refuses, why not tell me? I can settle all that without so much melancholy and solitude.’
“I could glean nothing.
“‘Phil, my boy,’ said he, laying his hand on my shoulder, ‘you are gold—true gold, but—there is nothing the matter with me, I can assure you; I am only studying hard for my degree—examinations come off in another month, and then I leave these old walls for ever.’
“‘Templeton has passed!’ said all the juniors, as Tom solemnly strode through the crowd towards his rooms.
“‘How much for your parchment, Templeton?’
“‘Did they bother you, my boy?’
“‘I hope you floored Old Snuffy,’ said one or another of the students.
“But Tom, the subject of all these remarks, congratulations, and the like, bowed politely to his schoolmates, and went up to his rooms.
“‘I leave to-morrow, Phil,’ said he, as I shook him by the hand; ‘my books are all at your service, my boy; you’ll have to pass through the same unpleasant ordeal yourself next year. If you find any use for them, I give them with much pleasure. There are no “crammers” or “coaches” among them; I despise all that sort of thing as much as you do.’
“‘But why look so sad, Tom? Confound it, man! cheer up! there are scores within the walls this moment, who would willingly give thousands for your prizes and parchments. How delighted your uncle will be!’ said I.
“There was no response.
“He relapsed into his customary silence and thoughtfulness, and although we both drank heavily that night, not a word escaped him in his cups.
“Next day, towards evening, we drove together towards the coaching station, and when on the top of a hill about a mile from the University buildings, he stopped the vehicle and looked towards them in silence and with evident emotion.
“‘How beautifully the sun sets in the west, and how charming the old grounds look bathed in sunlight. See how the steeple casts its shadows across the grand walks, and how the clock-tower and weather-vane glow again with changing light! I never loved but once, Phil, and that was once too often for my own peace through life, yet the memories of Alma Mater, with its dingy walls, old towers, and chiming bells, unmans me more than all things else in the world!’
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