good as gold."
"I don't know so much about that," muttered Barclay.
"And now, Jo-si-ah, just you be careful with that Major Rockley. Heowes you a lot now."
"Yes, but I've got him tight enough."
"And if you let him have more you get him tighter. He's a bold, badman, always gambling and drinking, and doing worse."
"Oh, I'm very fond of him, old lady," said Barclay, chuckling. "I lovehim like a son, and--there he is again. I must go now."
It was only into the next room, but there were double doors, and asBarclay entered the Major's countenance did not look at all handsome,but very black and forbidding.
"Come, Barclay," he cried, with a smile; "I thought you were going toput me off. Here, I've been hard hit again. I'm as poor as Job, and Imust have a hundred."
For answer Barclay shrugged his shoulders, took out a fat pocket-book,and began to draw out the tuck.
"Put that away," cried the Major impatiently; and he gave the book aflick with his riding-whip, but not without cutting right acrossBarclay's fingers, and making a red mark.
The money-lender did not even wince, but he mentally made a mark againsthis client's name, intimating that the cut would have to be paid forsome day or another.
"I know all about that. I've had five hundred of you during the pasttwo months. Never mind that; the luck must turn sometime. Cards havebeen dead against me lately. That Mellersh has the most extraordinaryluck; but I shall have him yet, and we'll soon be square again. Come, Iwant a hundred."
"When?"
"Now, man, now."
"Can't be done, Major, really."
"Don't talk nonsense, man. I tell you I must have it."
"Your paper's getting bad, Major. Too much of it in the market."
"Look here, Barclay; do you want to insult me?"
"Not I, sir; never thought of such a thing."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I mean? Only that you've had five hundred pounds of my money duringthese last three months."
"For which you hold bills for seven hundred and fifty."
"You put down five hundred pounds now in Bank of England notes, MajorRockley, and you shall have the lot."
"Then you do mean to insult me, sir?"
"No, Major."
"What do you mean, then?"
"Only that I won't part with another five-pound note till I get some ofthat money back."
Major Rockley's dark brows came down over his eyes as he glared atBarclay with a peculiarly vindictive expression, while the money-lenderthrust his hands deep down into his drab breeches' pockets, and whistledsoftly.
"I shall not forget this, Barclay," he said slowly, and, turning uponhis heels, he walked out of the place beating his boot viciously withhis whip.
"Oh, the monster!" cried Mrs Barclay, entering the room.
"Why, you've been listening."
"Well, didn't you leave the door open on purpose for me to listen,Jo-si-ah? Oh, what a bad, evil-looking man, Jo-si-ah. I believe hewouldn't stop at anything to get money from you now."
"Black mask and a pair of pistols, on a dark night in a country road,eh, old lady? Stand and deliver; money or your life, eh?"
"Well, you may laugh, Jo-si-ah; but he looks just the sort of man whowouldn't stop at anything. I am glad you wouldn't let him have anymoney, for I'm sure you'd never get it back."
"I don't know so much about that, old lady, but whether or no, I wasn'tgoing to let him have any this morning. He has been short lately, andno mistake. Some one I know's making a nice thing out of them at themess."
"Colonel Mellersh?"
"Mum!"
"Oh, there's no one to hear us now. But, I say, Jo-si-ah, why is he sofriendly with Miss Clode?"
"Because she sells packs of cards, old girl."
"Ah, but there's something more than that. I went in there one day, andhe had hold of her hand across the counter; and I could see, though sheturned it off, that she had been crying."
"Asking her to wed, and let him succeed to the business," said Barclay,with a chuckle.
"Don't talk nonsense, Jo-si-ah. I wish I had a good, clear head likeyou, and was as clever, and then perhaps I could make this out."
"What?"
"About Miss Clode. I'm sure she has seen better days."
"That she has," said Barclay, chuckling. "She looks pretty shabby now,a newsy, gossiping old hag!"
"I don't dislike Miss Clode," said Mrs Barclay thoughtfully. "There'smuch worse in Saltinville."
"I dare say," he said, laughing. "I've only one thing against her."
"What's that?"
"She hates poor Claire Denville like poison."
Volume One, Chapter XXVII.
FISHERMAN DICK STARES.
Major Rockley had counted upon getting a hundred pounds from Barclay,and the refusal annoyed him to so great an extent that he determinedupon having a sharp walk to calm himself. So setting off at a good ratetowards the main cliff to reach the downs beyond the town, he had notgone far before he saw a graceful figure, in a white dress, with blackscarf and plain straw bonnet going in the same direction.
"Claire Denville as I'm a sinner!" he cried, his pale cheeks flushing,and a curious light shining in his dark eyes.
"Yes, without doubt," he muttered. "Off for a walk to the downs. Luckyaccident. At last!"
He checked himself, walking slowly, so as not to overtake her until shewas well out of the town, and thinking that perhaps it would be as wellto keep back until she turned, and then meet her face to face.
"The jade! How she has kept me at a distance. Refused my notes, andcoquetted with me to make me more eager for the pursuit. The old man'slessons have not been thrown away. I'm to approach in due form, Isuppose. Well, we shall see."
Claire went straight on, walking pretty quickly, and without turning herhead to right or left. The streets were left behind; the row of housesfacing the sea had come to an end; and she was getting amongst thefishermen's cottages, while below the cliff the fishing boats were drawnhigh up on the shingle, and long, brown filmy nets spread out to dry,looking like square shadows cast by invisible sails, and mingled withpiles of tarred barrels, lobster baskets, and brown ropes, bladders andcorks.
Every here and there, on the railing at the cliff edge, hung oilskins tosoften in the sunshine, and in one place a giant appeared to be sittingastride the rail, with nothing to be seen of him but a huge pair ofboots. Farther on fish were drying in the air, and farther still therecame up a filmy cloud of grey smoke from the shingle, along with apleasant smell of Stockholm tar, for Fisherman Dick was busy paying thebottom of a boat turned upside down below the cliff.
These matters did not interest Major Rockley any more than the greygulls that wheeled overhead and descended, to drop with a querulous cryupon a low spit of shingle where the sea was retiring fast.
For the fluttering white dress took up all his attention, and now thatthey were well beyond the promenaders, he was about to hasten hissteps--too impatient to wait until she turned--when he uttered animpatient oath, for Claire suddenly stopped by a cottage where a womanwas sitting knitting a coarse blue garment and nursing a little child.
It was all so sudden that it took the officer by surprise. The womanjumped up hastily on being spoken to, and curtseyed, and they went in atonce, leaving the Major by the rails.
"Well, I can wait," he said, smiling and taking out his cigar-case. "Ican study the tarring of boats till her ladyship appears."
He slowly chose and lit a cigar, and then, going close to the edge ofthe cliff, leaned upon the rails and gazed down at Fisherman Dick, whowas working away busily, dipping his brush in a little three-legged ironpot, and carefully spreading the dark-brown odorous tar.
He was about forty feet below the Major, and for some time he went onsteadily with his work, but all at once he stopped short, and turned hisface upwards as if he felt that he was being watched; and as he did sohis straw hat fell off and he stood
fixed by the Major's eyes as ifunable to move.
The sensation was mutual, for Major Rockley felt attracted by the dark,Spanish-looking face, and the keen eyes so intently fixed upon his.
"Confound the fellow! how he stares," said the Major, at last, as heseemed to wrench himself away, and turned his back.
As he did so, leaning against the rail, Dick Miggles drew a long breath,stared now at his iron tar-kettle, and carried it to the fire of oldwreck-wood to re-heat it, as he stood by and thoughtfully scratched hishead.
He looked up for a moment, and
The Master of the Ceremonies Page 33
