“Didn’t I say so?” shouted the old boy.
But this time, though his jolly red jowl turned all round to demand a confirmation, it was not generally considered that he had divined so correctly. Between a lady and an unfortunate young woman, there seemed to be a strong distinction, in the minds of the company.
The chairman was the most affected by the communication. His bushy eyebrows frowned at Evan, and he began tugging at the brass buttons of his coat, like one preparing to arm for a conflict.
“Speak out, sir, if you please,” he said. “Above board—no asides—no taking advantages. You want me to give up my bed-room for the use of your young woman, sir?”
Evan replied quietly: “She is a stranger to me; and if you could see her, sir, and know her situation, I think she would move your pity.”
“I don’t doubt it, sir—I don’t doubt it,” returned the chairman. “They all move our pity. That’s how they get over us. She has diddled you, and she would diddle me, and diddle us all—diddle the devil, I dare say, when her time comes. I don’t doubt it, sir.”
To confront a vehement old gentleman, sitting as president in an assembly of satellites, requires some command of countenance, and Evan was not browbeaten: he held him, and the whole room, from where he stood, under a serene and serious eye, for his feelings were too deeply stirred on behalf of the girl to let him think of himself. That question of hers, “What are you going to do with me?” implying such helplessness and trust, was still sharp on his nerves.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I humbly beg your pardon for disturbing you as I do.”
But with a sudden idea that a general address on behalf of a particular demand must necessarily fail, he let his eyes rest on one there, whose face was neither stupid nor repellent, and who, though he did not look up, had an attentive, thoughtful cast about the mouth.
“May I entreat a word apart with you, sir?”
Evan was not mistaken in the index he had perused. The gentleman seemed to feel that he was selected from the company, and, slightly raising his head, carelessly replied: “My bed is entirely at your disposal,” resuming his contemplative pose.
On the point of thanking him, Evan advanced a step, when up started the irascible chairman.
“I don’t permit it! I won’t allow it!” And before Evan could ask his reasons, he had rung the bell, muttering: “They follow us to our inns, now, the baggages! They must harry us at our inns! We can’t have peace and quiet at our inns!”
In a state of combustion, he cried out to the waiter: “Here, Mark, this gentleman has brought in a dirty wench: pack her up to my bed-room, and lock her in: lock her in, and bring down the key.”
Agreeably deceived in the old gentleman’s intentions, Evan could not refrain from joining the murmured hilarity created by the conclusion of his order. The latter glared at him, and added: “Now, sir, you’ve done your worst. Sit down, and be merry.”
Replying that he had a friend outside, and would not fail to accept the invitation, Evan retired. He was met by the hostess with the reproachful declaration on her lips, that she was a widow woman, wise in appearances, and that he had brought into her house that night work she did not expect, or bargain for. Rather (since I must speak truth of my gentleman) to silence her on the subject, and save his ears, than to propitiate her favour towards the girl, Evan drew out his constitutionally lean purse, and dropped it in her hand, praying her to put every expense incurred to his charge. She exclaimed: “If Dr. Pillie has his full sleep this night, I shall be astonished;” and Evan hastily led Jack into the passage to impart to him, that the extent of his resources was reduced to three shillings and a few pence. Jack made a wry face, but regained his equanimity, saying: “Well, we can’t be knights of chivalry and aldermen too. The thing was never known. Let me see. I’ve almost forgotten how to reckon. Beds, a shilling a piece—the rest for provender. To-morrow we die. That’s a consolation to the stumped! Come along, Harrington; let us look like men who have had pounds in their pockets!”
Mr. Raikes assumed the braver features of this representation, and marched into the room without taking off his hat, which was a part of his confidence in company. He took his seat at a small table, and began to whistle. His demeanour signified: “I am equal to any of you.” His thoughts were: “How shall I prove it upon three shillings?”
“I see you’re in mourning as well as myself. Jack,” said Evan, calling attention to his hat.
Mr. Raikes did not displace it, as he replied, “Yes,” with the pre-occupied air of a man who would be weeping the past had he not to study the present.
Eyes were on him, he could feel. It appeared to him that the company awaited his proceedings; why they should he did not consider; but the sense of it led him to stalk with affected gravity to the bell, which he rang consequentially; and, telling Evan to leave the ordering to him, sat erect, and scanned the measure and quality of the stuff in the glasses.
“Mind you never mention about my applying to old Cudford,” he whispered to Evan, hurriedly. “Shouldn’t like it known, you know—one’s family!—Here, waiter!”
Mark, the waiter, scudded past, and stopped before the chairman to say: “If you please, sir, the gentlemen up-stairs send their compliments, and will be happy to accept.”
“Ha!” was the answer. “Thought better of it, have they! Lay for three more, then. Pretty nearly ready?”
“It will be another twenty minutes, sir.”
“Oh, attend to that gentleman, then.”
Mark presented himself to the service of Mr. Raikes.
“R-r-r-r—a—” commenced Jack, “what have you got-a-that you can give a gentleman for supper, waiter?”
