The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER III.

  THE BEARGARDEN.

  Lady Carbury's house in Welbeck Street was a modest houseenough,--with no pretensions to be a mansion, hardly assuming evento be a residence; but, having some money in her hands when shefirst took it, she had made it pretty and pleasant, and was stillproud to feel that in spite of the hardness of her position she hadcomfortable belongings around her when her literary friends came tosee her on her Tuesday evenings. Here she was now living with her sonand daughter. The back drawing-room was divided from the front bydoors that were permanently closed, and in this she carried on hergreat work. Here she wrote her books and contrived her system for theinveigling of editors and critics. Here she was rarely disturbed byher daughter, and admitted no visitors except editors and critics.But her son was controlled by no household laws, and would breakin upon her privacy without remorse. She had hardly finished twogalloping notes after completing her letter to Mr. Ferdinand Alf,when Felix entered the room with a cigar in his mouth and threwhimself upon the sofa.

  "My dear boy," she said, "pray leave your tobacco below when you comein here."

  "What affectation it is, mother," he said, throwing, however, thehalf-smoked cigar into the fire-place. "Some women swear they likesmoke, others say they hate it like the devil. It depends altogetheron whether they wish to flatter or snub a fellow."

  "You don't suppose that I wish to snub you?"

  "Upon my word I don't know. I wonder whether you can let me havetwenty pounds?"

  "My dear Felix!"

  "Just so, mother;--but how about the twenty pounds?"

  "Just so, mother;--but how about the twentypounds?"]

  "What is it for, Felix?"

  "Well;--to tell the truth, to carry on the game for the nonce tillsomething is settled. A fellow can't live without some money in hispocket. I do with as little as most fellows. I pay for nothing thatI can help. I even get my hair cut on credit, and as long as it waspossible I had a brougham, to save cabs."

  "What is to be the end of it, Felix?"

  "I never could see the end of anything, mother. I never could nursea horse when the hounds were going well in order to be in at thefinish. I never could pass a dish that I liked in favour of thosethat were to follow. What's the use?" The young man did not say"carpe diem," but that was the philosophy which he intended topreach.

  "Have you been at the Melmottes' to-day?" It was now five o'clock ona winter afternoon, the hour at which ladies are drinking tea, andidle men playing whist at the clubs,--at which young idle men aresometimes allowed to flirt, and at which, as Lady Carbury thought,her son might have been paying his court to Marie Melmotte the greatheiress.

  "I have just come away."

  "And what do you think of her?"

  "To tell the truth, mother, I have thought very little about her.She is not pretty, she is not plain; she is not clever, she is notstupid; she is neither saint nor sinner."

  "The more likely to make a good wife."

  "Perhaps so. I am at any rate quite willing to believe that as wifeshe would be 'good enough for me.'"

  "What does the mother say?"

  "The mother is a caution. I cannot help speculating whether, if Imarry the daughter, I shall ever find out where the mother came from.Dolly Longestaffe says that somebody says that she was a BohemianJewess; but I think she's too fat for that."

  "What does it matter, Felix?"

  "Not in the least."

  "Is she civil to you?"

  "Yes, civil enough."

  "And the father?"

  "Well, he does not turn me out, or anything of that sort. Of coursethere are half-a-dozen after her, and I think the old fellow isbewildered among them all. He's thinking more of getting dukes todine with him than of his daughter's lovers. Any fellow might pickher up who happened to hit her fancy."

  "And why not you?"

  "Why not, mother? I am doing my best, and it's no good flogging awilling horse. Can you let me have the money?"

  "Oh, Felix, I think you hardly know how poor we are. You have stillgot your hunters down at the place!"

  "I have got two horses, if you mean that; and I haven't paid ashilling for their keep since the season began. Look here, mother;this is a risky sort of game, I grant, but I am playing it by youradvice. If I can marry Miss Melmotte, I suppose all will be right.But I don't think the way to get her would be to throw up everythingand let all the world know that I haven't got a copper. To do thatkind of thing a man must live a little up to the mark. I've broughtmy hunting down to a minimum, but if I gave it up altogether therewould be lots of fellows to tell them in Grosvenor Square why I haddone so."

  There was an apparent truth in this argument which the poor woman wasunable to answer. Before the interview was over the money demandedwas forthcoming, though at the time it could be but ill afforded, andthe youth went away apparently with a light heart, hardly listeningto his mother's entreaties that the affair with Marie Melmotte might,if possible, be brought to a speedy conclusion.

  Felix, when he left his mother, went down to the only club to whichhe now belonged. Clubs are pleasant resorts in all respects but one.They require ready money, or even worse than that in respect toannual payments,--money in advance; and the young baronet had beenabsolutely forced to restrict himself. He, as a matter of course, outof those to which he had possessed the right of entrance, chose theworst. It was called the Beargarden, and had been lately opened withthe express view of combining parsimony with profligacy. Clubs wereruined, so said certain young parsimonious profligates, by providingcomforts for old fogies who paid little or nothing but theirsubscriptions, and took out by their mere presence three times asmuch as they gave. This club was not to be opened till three o'clockin the afternoon, before which hour the promoters of the Beargardenthought it improbable that they and their fellows would want aclub. There were to be no morning papers taken, no library, nomorning-room. Dining-rooms, billiard-rooms, and card-rooms wouldsuffice for the Beargarden. Everything was to be provided by apurveyor, so that the club should be cheated only by one man.Everything was to be luxurious, but the luxuries were to be achievedat first cost. It had been a happy thought, and the club was said toprosper. Herr Vossner, the purveyor, was a jewel, and so carried onaffairs that there was no trouble about anything. He would assisteven in smoothing little difficulties as to the settling of cardaccounts, and had behaved with the greatest tenderness to the drawersof cheques whose bankers had harshly declared them to have "noeffects." Herr Vossner was a jewel, and the Beargarden was asuccess. Perhaps no young man about town enjoyed the Beargarden morethoroughly than did Sir Felix Carbury. The club was in the closevicinity of other clubs, in a small street turning out of St. James'sStreet, and piqued itself on its outward quietness and sobriety. Whypay for stone-work for other people to look at;--why lay out moneyin marble pillars and cornices, seeing that you can neither eat suchthings, nor drink them, nor gamble with them? But the Beargarden hadthe best wines,--or thought that it had,--and the easiest chairs, andtwo billiard-tables than which nothing more perfect had ever beenmade to stand upon legs. Hither Sir Felix wended on that Januaryafternoon as soon as he had his mother's cheque for L20 in hispocket.

  He found his special friend, Dolly Longestaffe, standing on the stepswith a cigar in his mouth, and gazing vacantly at the dull brickhouse opposite. "Going to dine here, Dolly?" said Sir Felix.

  "I suppose I shall, because it's such a lot of trouble to go anywhereelse. I'm engaged somewhere, I know; but I'm not up to getting homeand dressing. By George! I don't know how fellows do that kind ofthing. I can't."

  "Going to hunt to-morrow?"

  "Well, yes; but I don't suppose I shall. I was going to hunt everyday last week, but my fellow never would get me up in time. I can'ttell why it is that things are done in such a beastly way. Whyshouldn't fellows begin to hunt at two or three, so that a fellowneedn't get up in the middle of the night?"

  "Because one can't ride by moonlight, Dolly."

  "It isn't moonl
ight at three. At any rate I can't get myself toEuston Square by nine. I don't think that fellow of mine likesgetting up himself. He says he comes in and wakes me, but I neverremember it."

  "How many horses have you got at Leighton, Dolly?"

  "How many? There were five, but I think that fellow down there soldone; but then I think he bought another. I know he did something."

  "Who rides them?"

  "He does, I suppose. That is, of course, I ride them myself, only Iso seldom get down. Somebody told me that Grasslough was riding twoof them last week. I don't think I ever told him he might. I think hetipped that fellow of mine; and I call that a low kind of thing todo. I'd ask him, only I know he'd say that I had lent them. PerhapsI did when I was tight, you know."

  "You and Grasslough were never pals."

  "I don't like him a bit. He gives himself airs because he is a lord,and is devilish ill-natured. I don't know why he should want to ridemy horses."

  "To save his own."

  "He isn't hard up. Why doesn't he have his own horses? I'll tell youwhat, Carbury, I've made up my mind to one thing, and, by Jove, I'llstick to it. I never will lend a horse again to anybody. If fellowswant horses let them buy them."

  "But some fellows haven't got any money, Dolly."

  "Then they ought to go tick. I don't think I've paid for any of mineI've bought this season. There was somebody here yesterday--"

  "What! here at the club?"

  "Yes; followed me here to say he wanted to be paid for something! Itwas horses, I think, because of the fellow's trousers."

  "What did you say?"

  "Me! Oh, I didn't say anything."

  "And how did it end?"

  "When he'd done talking I offered him a cigar, and while he wasbiting off the end I went up-stairs. I suppose he went away when hewas tired of waiting."

  "I'll tell you what, Dolly; I wish you'd let me ride two of yoursfor a couple of days,--that is, of course, if you don't want themyourself. You ain't tight now, at any rate."

  "No; I ain't tight," said Dolly, with melancholy acquiescence.

  "I mean that I wouldn't like to borrow your horses without yourremembering all about it. Nobody knows as well as you do how awfullydone up I am. I shall pull through at last, but it's an awful squeezein the meantime. There's nobody I'd ask such a favour of except you."

  "Well, you may have them;--that is, for two days. I don't knowwhether that fellow of mine will believe you. He wouldn't believeGrasslough, and told him so. But Grasslough took them out of thestables. That's what somebody told me."

  "You could write a line to your groom."

  "Oh, my dear fellow, that is such a bore; I don't think I could dothat. My fellow will believe you, because you and I have been pals.I think I'll have a little drop of curacoa before dinner. Come alongand try it. It'll give us an appetite."

  It was then nearly seven o'clock. Nine hours afterwards the sametwo men, with two others,--of whom young Lord Grasslough, DollyLongestaffe's peculiar aversion, was one,--were just rising from acard-table in one of the up-stairs rooms of the club. For it wasunderstood that, though the Beargarden was not to be open beforethree o'clock in the afternoon, the accommodation denied duringthe day was to be given freely during the night. No man could geta breakfast at the Beargarden, but suppers at three o'clock inthe morning were quite within the rule. Such a supper, or rathersuccession of suppering, there had been to-night, various devils andbroils and hot toasts having been brought up from time to time firstfor one and then for another. But there had been no cessation ofgambling since the cards had first been opened about ten o'clock. Atfour in the morning Dolly Longestaffe was certainly in a conditionto lend his horses and to remember nothing about it. He was quiteaffectionate with Lord Grasslough, as he was also with his othercompanions,--affection being the normal state of his mind whenin that condition. He was by no means helplessly drunk, and was,perhaps, hardly more silly than when he was sober; but he was willingto play at any game whether he understood it or not, and for anystakes. When Sir Felix got up and said he would play no more, Dollyalso got up, apparently quite contented. When Lord Grasslough, witha dark scowl on his face, expressed his opinion that it was notjust the thing for men to break up like that when so much money hadbeen lost, Dolly as willingly sat down again. But Dolly's sittingdown was not sufficient. "I'm going to hunt to-morrow," said SirFelix,--meaning that day,--"and I shall play no more. A man must goto bed at some time."

  "I don't see it at all," said Lord Grasslough. "It's an understoodthing that when a man has won as much as you have he should stay."

  "Stay how long?" said Sir Felix, with an angry look. "That'snonsense; there must be an end of everything, and there's an end ofthis for me to-night."

  "Oh, if you choose," said his lordship.

  "I do choose. Good night, Dolly; we'll settle this next time we meet.I've got it all entered."

  The night had been one very serious in its results to Sir Felix. Hehad sat down to the card-table with the proceeds of his mother'scheque, a poor L20, and now he had,--he didn't at all know how muchin his pockets. He also had drunk, but not so as to obscure his mind.He knew that Longestaffe owed him over L800, and he knew also thathe had received more than that in ready money and cheques from LordGrasslough and the other player. Dolly Longestaffe's money, too,would certainly be paid, though Dolly did complain of the importunityof his tradesmen. As he walked up St. James's Street, looking for acab, he presumed himself to be worth over L700. When begging for asmall sum from Lady Carbury, he had said that he could not carryon the game without some ready money, and had considered himselffortunate in fleecing his mother as he had done. Now he was inthe possession of wealth,--of wealth that might, at any rate, besufficient to aid him materially in the object he had in hand. Henever for a moment thought of paying his bills. Even the large sum ofwhich he had become so unexpectedly possessed would not have gone farwith him in such a quixotic object as that; but he could now lookbright, and buy presents, and be seen with money in his hands. It ishard even to make love in these days without something in your purse.

  He found no cab, but in his present frame of mind was indifferent tothe trouble of walking home. There was something so joyous in thefeeling of the possession of all this money that it made the nightair pleasant to him. Then, of a sudden, he remembered the low wailwith which his mother had spoken of her poverty when he demandedassistance from her. Now he could give her back the L20. But itoccurred to him sharply, with an amount of carefulness quite new tohim, that it would be foolish to do so. How soon might he want itagain? And, moreover, he could not repay the money without explainingto her how he had gotten it. It would be preferable to say nothingabout his money. As he let himself into the house and went up to hisroom he resolved that he would not say anything about it.

  On that morning he was at the station at nine, and hunted down inBuckinghamshire, riding two of Dolly Longestaffe's horses,--for theuse of which he paid Dolly Longestaffe's "fellow" thirty shillings.