a betting-book. Had openly acknowledged, in English society, that
he didn't think the barking of a pack of hounds the finest music
in the world. Could go to foreign parts, and see a mountain which
nobody had ever got to the top of yet--and didn't instantly feel
his honor as an Englishman involved in getting to the top of it
himself. Such people may, and do, exist among the inferior races
of the Continent. Let us thank Heaven, Sir, that England never
has been, and never will be, the right place for them!
Arrived at Nagle's Hotel, and finding nobody to inquire of in the
hall, Julius applied to the young lady who sat behind the window
of "the bar." The young lady was reading something so deeply
interesting in the evening newspaper that she never even heard
him. Julius went into the coffee-room.
The waiter, in his corner, was absorbed over a second newspaper.
Three gentlemen, at three different tables, were absorbed in a
third, fourth, and fifth newspaper. They all alike went on with
their reading without noticing the entrance of the stranger.
Julius ventured on disturbing the waiter by asking for Mr.
Geoffrey Delamayn. At the sound of that illustrious name the
waiter looked up with a start. "Are you Mr. Delamayn's brother,
Sir?"
"Yes."
The three gentlemen at the tables looked up with a start. The
light of Geoffrey's celebrity fell, reflected, on Geoffrey's
brother, and made a public character of him.
"You'll find Mr. Geoffrey, Sir," said the waiter, in a flurried,
excited manner, "at the Cock and Bottle, Putney."
"I expected to find him here. I had an appointment with him at
this hotel."
The wait er opened his eyes on Julius with an expression of blank
astonishment. "Haven't you heard the news, Sir?"
"No!"
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the waiter--and offered the
newspaper.
"God bless my soul!" exclaimed the three gentlemen--and offered
the three newspapers.
"What is it?" asked Julius.
"What is it?" repeated the waiter, in a hollow voice. "The most
dreadful thing that's happened in my time. It's all up, Sir, with
the great Foot-Race at Fulham. Tinkler has gone stale."
The three gentlemen dropped solemnly back into their three
chairs, and repeated the dreadful intelligence, in
chorus--"Tinkler has gone stale."
A man who stands face to face with a great national disaster, and
who doesn't understand it, is a man who will do wisely to hold
his tongue and enlighten his mind without asking other people to
help him. Julius accepted the waiter's newspaper, and sat down to
make (if possible) two discoveries: First, as to whether
"Tinkler" did, or did not, mean a man. Second, as to what
particular form of human affliction you implied when you
described that man as "gone stale."
There was no difficulty in finding the news. It was printed in
the largest type, and was followed by a personal statement of the
facts, taken one way--which was followed, in its turn, by another
personal statement of the facts, taken in another way. More
particulars, and further personal statements, were promised in
later editions. The royal salute of British journalism thundered
the announcement of Tinkler's staleness before a people prostrate
on the national betting book.
Divested of exaggeration, the facts were few enough and simple
enough. A famous Athletic Association of the North had challenged
a famous Athletic Association of the South. The usual "Sports"
were to take place--such as running, jumping, "putting" the
hammer, throwing cricket-balls, and the like--and the whole was
to wind up with a Foot-Race of unexampled length and difficulty
in the annals of human achievement between the two best men on
either side. "Tinkler" was the best man on the side of the South.
"Tinkler" was backed in innumerable betting-books to win. And
Tinkler's lungs had suddenly given way under stress of training!
A prospect of witnessing a prodigious achievement in foot-racing,
and (more important still) a prospect of winning and losing large
sums of money, was suddenly withdrawn from the eyes of the
British people. The "South" could produce no second opponent
worthy of the North out of its own associated resources.
Surveying the athletic world in general, but one man existed who
might possibly replace "Tinkler"--and it was doubtful, in the
last degree, whether he would consent to come forward under the
circumstances. The name of that man--Julius read it with
horror--was Geoffrey Delamayn.
Profound silence reigned in the coffee-room. Julius laid down the
newspaper, and looked about him. The waiter was busy, in his
corner, with a pencil and a betting-book. The three gentlemen
were busy, at the three tables, with pencils and betting-books.
"Try and persuade him!" said the waiter, piteously, as Delamayn's
brother rose to leave the room.
"Try and persuade him!" echoed the three gentlemen, as Delamayn's
brother opened the door and went out.
Julius called a cab. and told the driver (busy with a pencil and
a betting-book) to go to the Cock and Bottle, Putney. The man
brightened into a new being at the prospect. No need to hurry
him; he drove, unasked, at the top of his horse's speed.
As the cab drew near to its destination the signs of a great
national excitement appeared, and multiplied. The lips of a
people pronounced, with a grand unanimity, the name of "Tinkler."
The heart of a people hung suspended (mostly in the public
houses) on the chances for and against the possibility of
replacing "Tinkler" by another man. The scene in front of the inn
was impressive in the highest degree. Even the London blackguard
stood awed and quiet in the presence of the national calamity.
Even the irrepressible man with the apron, who always turns up to
sell nuts and sweetmeats in a crowd, plied his trade in silence,
and found few indeed (to the credit of the nation be it spoken)
who had the heart to crack a nut at such a time as this. The
police were on the spot, in large numbers, and in mute sympathy
with the people, touching to see. Julius, on being stopped at the
door, mentioned his name--and received an ovation. His brother!
oh, heavens, his brother! The people closed round him, the people
shook hands with him, the people invoked blessings on his head.
Julius was half suffocated, when the police rescued him, and
landed him safe in the privileged haven on the inner side of the
public house door. A deafening tumult broke out, as he entered,
from the regions above stairs. A distant voice screamed, "Mind
yourselves!" A hatless shouting man tore down through the people
congregated on the stairs. "Hooray! Hooray! He's promised to do
it! He's entered for the race!" Hundreds on hundreds of voices
took up the cry. A roar of cheering burst from the people
outside. Reporters for the newspapers raced, in frantic
procession, out of th
e inn, and rushed into cabs to put the news
in print. The hand of the landlord, leading Julius carefully up
stairs by the arm, trembled with excitement. "His brother,
gentlemen! his brother!" At those magic words a lane was made
through the throng. At those magic words the closed door of the
council-chamber flew open; and Julius found himself among the
Athletes of his native country, in full parliament assembled. Is
any description of them needed? The description of Geoffrey
applies to them all. The manhood and muscle of England resemble
the wool and mutton of England, in this respect, that there is
about as much variety in a flock of athletes as in a flock of
sheep. Julius looked about him, and saw the same man in the same
dress, with the same health, strength, tone, tastes, habits,
conversation, and pursuits, repeated infinitely in every part of
the room. The din was deafening; the enthusiasm (to an
uninitiated stranger) something at once hideous and terrifying to
behold. Geoffrey had been lifted bodily on to the table, in his
chair, so as to be visible to the whole room. They sang round
him, they danced round him, they cheered round him, they swore
round him. He was hailed, in mandlin terms of endearment, by
grateful giants with tears in their eyes. "Dear old man!"
"Glorious, noble, splendid, beautiful fellow!" They hugged him.
They patted him on the back. They wrung his hands. They prodded
and punched his muscles. They embraced the noble legs that were
going to run the unexampled race. At the opposite end of the
room, where it was physically impossible to get near the hero,
the enthusiasm vented itself in feats of strength and acts of
destruction. Hercules I. cleared a space with his elbows, and
laid down--and Hercules II. took him up in his teeth. Hercules
III. seized the poker from the fireplace, and broke it on his
arm. Hercules IV. followed with the tongs, and shattered them on
his neck. The smashing of the furniture and the pulling down of
the house seemed likely to succeed--when Geoffrey's eye lighted
by accident on Julius, and Geoffrey's voice, calling fiercely for
his brother, hushed the wild assembly into sudden attention, and
turned the fiery enthusiasm into a new course. Hooray for his
brother! One, two, three--and up with his brother on our
shoulders! Four five, six--and on with his brother, over our
heads, to the other end of the room! See, boys--see! the hero has
got him by the collar! the hero has lifted him on the table! The
hero heated red-hot with his own triumph, welcomes the poor
little snob cheerfully, with a volley of oaths. "Thunder and
lightning! Explosion and blood! What's up now, Julius? What's up
now?"
Julius recovered his breath, and arranged his coat. The quiet
little man, who had just muscle enough to lift a dictionary from
the shelf, and just training enough to play the fiddle, so far
from being daunted by the rough reception accorded to him,
appeared to feel no other sentiment in relation to it than a
sentiment of unmitigated conte mpt.
"You're not frightened, are you?" said Geoffrey. "Our fellows are
a roughish lot, but they mean well."
"I am not frightened," answered Julius. "I am only
wondering--when the Schools and Universities of England turn out
such a set of ruffians as these--how long the Schools and
Universities of England will last."
"Mind what you are about, Julius! They'll cart you out of window
if they hear you."
"They will only confirm my opinion of them, Geoffrey, if they
do."
Here the assembly, seeing but not hearing the colloquy between
the two brothers, became uneasy on the subject of the coming
race. A roar of voices summoned Geoffrey to announce it, if there
was any thing wrong. Having pacified the meeting, Geoffrey turned
again to his brother, and asked him, in no amiable mood, what the
devil he wanted there?
"I want to tell you something, before I go back to Scotland,"
answered Julius. "My father is willing to give you a last chance.
If you don't take it, _my_ doors are closed against you as well
as _his._"
Nothing is more remarkable, in its way, than the sound
common-sense and admirable self-restraint exhibited by the youth
of the present time when confronted by an emergency in which
their own interests are concerned. Instead of resenting the tone
which his brother had taken with him, Geoffrey instantly
descended from the pedestal of glory on which he stood, and
placed himself without a struggle in the hands which vicariously
held his destiny--otherwise, the hands which vicariously held the
purse. In five minutes more the meeting had been dismissed, with
all needful assurances relating to Geoffrey's share in the coming
Sports--and the two brothers were closeted together in one of the
private rooms of the inn.
"Out with it!" said Geoffrey. "And don't be long about it."
"I won't be five minutes," replied Julius. "I go back to-night by
the mail-train; and I have a great deal to do in the mean time.
Here it is, in plain words: My father consents to see you again,
if you choose to settle in life--with his approval. And my mother
has discovered where you may find a wife. Birth, beauty, and
money are all offered to you. Take them--and you recover your
position as Lord Holchester's son. Refuse them--and you go to
ruin your own way."
Geoffrey's reception of the news from home was not of the most
reassuring kind. Instead of answering he struck his fist
furiously on the table, and cursed with all his heart some absent
woman unnamed.
"I have nothing to do with any degrading connection which you may
have formed," Julius went on. "I have only to put the matter
before you exactly as it stands, and to leave you to decide for
yourself. The lady in question was formerly Miss Newenden--a
descendant of one of the oldest families in England. She is now
Mrs. Glenarm--the young widow (and the childless widow) of the
great iron-master of that name. Birth and fortune--she unites
both. Her income is a clear ten thousand a year. My father can
and will, make it fifteen thousand, if you are lucky enough to
persuade her to marry you. My mother answers for her personal
qualities. And my wife has met her at our house in London. She is
now, as I hear, staying with some friends in Scotland; and when I
get back I will take care that an invitation is sent to her to
pay her next visit at my house. It remains, of course, to be seen
whether you are fortunate enough to produce a favorable
impression on her. In the mean time you will be doing every thing
that my father can ask of you, if you make the attempt."
Geoffrey impatiently dismissed that part of the question from all
consideration.
"If she don't cotton to a man who's going to run in the Great
Race at Fulham," he said, "there are plenty as good as she is who
will! That's not the difficulty. Bo
ther _that!_"
"I tell you again, I have nothing to do with your difficulties,"
Julius resumed. "Take the rest of the day to consider what I have
said to you. If you decide to accept the proposal, I shall expect
you to prove you are in earnest by meeting me at the station
to-night. We will travel back to Scotland together. You will
complete your interrupted visit at Lady Lundie's (it is
important, in my interests, that you should treat a person of her
position in the county with all due respect); and my wife will
make the necessary arrangements with Mrs. Glenarm, in
anticipation of your return to our house. There is nothing more
to be said, and no further necessity of my staying here. If you
join me at the station to-night, your sister-in-law and I will do
all we can to help you. If I travel back to Scotland alone, don't
trouble yourself to follow--I have done with you." He shook hands
with his brother, and went out.
Left alone, Geoffrey lit his pipe and sent for the landlord.
"Get me a boat. I shall scull myself up the river for an hour or
two. And put in some towels. I may take a swim."
The landlord received the order--with a caution addressed to his
illustrious guest.
"Don't show yourself in front of the house, Sir! If you let the
people see you, they're in such a state of excitement, the police
won't answer for keeping them in order."
"All right. I'll go out by the back way."
He took a turn up and down the room. What were the difficulties
to be overcome before he could profit by the golden prospect
which his brother had offered to him? The Sports? No! The
committee had promised to defer the day, if he wished it--and a
month's training, in his physical condition, would be amply
enough for him. Had he any personal objection to trying his luck
with Mrs. Glenarm? Not he! Any woman would do--provided his
father was satisfied, and the money was all right. The obstacle
which was really in his way was the obstacle of the woman whom he
had ruined. Anne! The one insuperable difficulty was the
difficulty of dealing with Anne.
"We'll see how it looks," he said to himself, "after a pull up
the river!"
The landlord and the police inspector smugled him out by the back
way unknown to the expectant populace in front The two men stood
on the river-bank admiring him, as he pulled away from them, with
his long, powerful, easy, beautiful stroke.
"That's what I call the pride and flower of England!" said the
inspector. "Has the betting on him begun?"
"Six to four," said the landlord, "and no takers."
Julius went early to the station that night. His mother was very
anxious. "Don't let Geoffrey find an excuse in your example," she
said, "if he is late."
The first person whom Julius saw on getting out of the carriage
was Geoffrey--with his ticket taken, and his portmanteau in
charge of the guard.
FOURTH SCENE.--WINDYGATES.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
NEAR IT.
THE Library at Windygates was the largest and the handsomest room
in the house. The two grand divisions under which Literature is
usually arranged in these days occupied the customary places in
it. On the shelves which ran round the walls were the books which
humanity in general respects--and does not read. On the tables
distributed over the floor were the books which humanity in
general reads--and does not respect. In the first class, the
works of the wise ancients; and the Histories, Biographies, and
Essays of writers of more modern times--otherwise the Solid
Literature, which is universally respected, and occasionally
read. In the second class, the Novels of our own day--otherwise
the Light Literature, which is universally read, and occasionally
respected. At Windygates, as elsewhere, we believed History to be
high literature, because it assumed to be true to Authorities (of
which we knew little)--and Fiction to be low literature, because
it attempted to be true to Nature (of which we knew less). At
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