CHAPTER XXII.
ANOTHER CHANCE.
Sir Lucius Chesney remained for an hour to further discuss the affairof the two Rembrandts with Mr. Lamb, and the conversation became sointeresting that he almost forgot that he had arranged to leavePaddington for Oxford at eight o'clock; when he suddenly remembered thefact he hurried off, fearful of losing his dinner, and St. Martin's inthe Fields indicated a quarter to seven as he entered Morley's Hotel.
At that time a little party of three persons were sitting down to atable in one of the luxurious dining-rooms of the Trocadero. VictorNevill was the host, and his guests were Stephen Foster and hisdaughter; later they were all going to see the production of a newmusical comedy.
Madge, as lovely as a dream in her lustrous, shimmering evening gown,fell under the sway of the lights and the music, and was more like herold self than she had been for months; the papers had been kept out ofher way, and she did not know that Jack had returned from India. StephenFoster was absorbed in the _menu_ and the wine-card, and Nevill, in thehighest of spirits, laughed and chatted incessantly. He was ignorant ofsomething that had occurred that very day, else his evening's pleasurewould surely have been spoiled.
To understand the incident, the reader must go back to the previousnight, or rather an early hour of the morning. For the last of the WestEnd restaurants were putting out their lights and closing their doorswhen Jimmie Drexell, coming home from a "smoker" at the Langham SketchClub, ran across Bertie Raven in Piccadilly. It was a fortunate meeting.The Honorable Bertie was with a couple of questionable companions, andhe was intoxicated and very noisy; so much so that he had attracted theattention of a policeman, who was moving toward the group.
Jimmie, like a good Samaritan, promptly rescued his friend and tookhim to his own chambers in the Albany, as he was obviously unfit to goelsewhere. Bertie demurred at first, but his mood soon changed, and hebecame pliant and sullen. He roused a little when he found himselfindoors, and demanded a drink. That being firmly refused, he mutteredsome incoherent words, flung himself down on a big couch in Jimmie'ssitting-room, and lapsed into a drunken sleep.
Jimmie threw a rug over him, locked up the whisky, and went off to bed.His first thought, when he woke about nine the next morning, was ofhis guest. Hearing footsteps in the outer room, he hurriedly got intodressing-gown and slippers and opened the communicating door. He was notprepared for what he saw. Bertie stood by the window, with the dull graylight on his haggard face and disordered hair, his crushed shirt-frontand collar. A revolver, taken from a nearby cabinet, was in his hand. Hewas about to raise it to his forehead.
Jimmie was across the room at a bound, and, striking his friend's armdown, he sent the weapon clattering to the floor.
"Good God!" he cried. "What were you going to do?"
"End it all," gasped Bertie. He dropped into a chair and gave way to aburst of tears, which he tried hard to repress.
"What does it mean?" exclaimed Jimmie, breathing quick and deep. "Areyou mad?"
Bertie lifted a ghastly, distorted face.
"It means ruin, old chap," he replied. "That's the plain truth. I wishyou had let me alone."
"Come, this won't do, you know," said Jimmie. "You are not yourselfthis morning, and I don't wonder, after the condition I found you inlast night. Things always look black after a spree. You exaggerate, ofcourse, when you talk about ruin. You are all unstrung, Bertie. Tell meyour troubles, and I'll do what I can to help you out of them."
Bertie shuddered as his eyes fell on the pistol at his feet.
"It's awfully good of you, old fellow," he answered huskily, "but youcan't help me."
"How do you know that? Come, out with your story. Make a clean breast ofit!"
Moved by his friend's kind appeal, the wretched young man confessed histroubles, speaking in dull, hopeless tones. It was the old story--abrief career on the road to ruin, from start to finish. A woman was atthe bottom of it--when is it otherwise? Bertie had not reformed when hehad the chance; Flora, the chorus-girl of the Frivolity, had exercisedtoo strong an influence over him. His income would scarcely have kepther in flowers, and to supply her with jewels and dinners and a hundredother luxuries, as well as to repay money lost at cards, he had plungeddeeper into the books of Benjamin and Company, hoping each time that somewindfall would stave off disaster. Disregarding the advice of a fewsincere friends, he had continued his mad course of dissipation. Andnow the blow had fallen--sooner than he had reason to expect. A bill fora large amount was due that very day, and Benjamin and Company refusedto renew it; they demanded both interest and principal, and would giveno easier terms.
"You'd better let me have that," Bertie concluded, desperately, pointingto the pistol.
Jimmie kicked the weapon under the table, put his hands deep into thepockets of his dressing gown, and whistled thoughtfully.
"Yes, it's bad," he said. "So you've gone to the Jews! You ought to haveknown better--but that's the way with you chaps who are fed with silverspoons. I'm not a saint myself--"
"Are you going to preach?" put in Bertie, sullenly.
"No; my little lecture is over. Cheer up and face the music, my boy.It's not as bad as you think. Surely your father will get you out ofthe scrape."
"Do you suppose I would tell him?" Bertie cried, savagely. "That wouldbe worse than--well, you know what I was going to do. It's just becauseof the governor that I can't bear to face the thing. He has paid mydebts three times before, and he vowed that if I ran up any more billshe would ship me off to one of his ranches in Western America. He willkeep his word, too."
"Ranch life isn't bad," said Jimmie.
"Don't talk about it! I would rather kill myself than go out there, awayfrom England and all that one cares for. You know how it is, old man,don't you? London is the breath of life to me, with its clubs andtheaters, and suppers, and jolly good fellows, and--"
"And Flora!" Jimmie supplemented drily.
"D--n Flora! She threw up the Friv yesterday and slipped off to theContinent with Dozy Molyneaux. I'm done with _her_, anyway! But whatdoes it all matter? I'm ruined, and I must go under. Give me a drink,old chap--a stiff one."
"You can't have it, Bertie. Now, don't get riled--listen to me. Wherewas your father while you were going the pace so heavily?"
"In Scotland--at Runnymede Castle. He's there still, and knows nothingof what I've been doing. I dare say he thinks I've been livingcomfortably on my income--a beggarly five hundred a year!"
"What amount is the bill that falls due to-day?"
"Seven hundred and fifty pounds, with interest."
"And there are others?"
"Yes; three more--all renewals."
"And the total sum? Can you give it to me?"
"What's the use?" Bertie muttered. "But if you want to know--" He took abit of paper from his pocket. "I counted it up yesterday," he added. "Ican't get clear of the Jews for less than twenty-five hundred pounds."
"It's a heavy sum!"
"I can't raise a fraction of it. And the worst of it is that VictorNevill is on--By Jove, I shouldn't have let that out!"
"You mean that Nevill indorsed the paper--all of it?"
"Only the first bill, and the next one Benjamin and Company took withoutan indorsement, as they did with the later ones. Nevill warned me whatwould happen if I kept on. I wish I had listened to him!"
Jimmie looked very grave.
"So Nevill steered you to the Jews!" he said, in a troubled tone. "Itwas hardly the act of a friend. Have you spoken to him in regard to thismatter?"
"Yes, but he was short of money, and couldn't help me," Bertie replied."He was awfully cut up about it, and went to see the Jews. It was nogood--they refused to renew the bill on his indorsement."
"And heretofore they have accepted paper bearing your own signatureonly! Of course they knew that you had future expectations, or that yourfather would protect them from loss. It's the old game!"
"My expectations are not what they were," Bertie said sullen
ly, "andthat's about what has brought things to a crisis. I can see through amillstone when there is a hole in it. I have a bachelor uncle on mymother's side--a woman-hater--who always said that he would remainsingle and make me his heir. But he changed his mind a couple of monthsago, and married."
"Be assured that Benjamin and Company know that," Jimmie answered; "it'stheir reason for refusing to renew the bill."
"Yes; Nevill told me the same. He advised me to own up to the governor."
"How about your eldest brother--Lord Charters?"
"No good," the Honorable Bertie replied, gloomily; "we are on bad terms.And George is in New York."
"Then I must put you on your feet again."
"You!"
"Yes; I will lift your paper--the whole of it."
"Impossible! I can't accept money from a friend!"
"I'm more than that, my boy--or will be. Isn't your brother going tomarry my cousin? And, anyway, we'll call it a loan. I'll take your I O Ufor the amount, and you can have twenty years to repay it--a hundred ifyou like. I can easily spare the money."
"I tell you I won't--"
"Don't tell me anything. It's settled. I mean to do it."
Bertie broke down; his scruples yielded before his friend's persistence.
"I'll pay it back," he cried, half sobbingly. "I'll be able to some day.God bless you, Jimmie--you don't know what you've saved me from. Anotherchance! I will make the most of it! I'll cut the old life and runstraight--I mean it this time. I'm done with cards and evil companions,and all the rest of it!"
"Glad to hear it," said Jimmie. "I want your word of honor that youwon't exceed your income hereafter, and that you will leave London forsix months and go home."
"I will; I swear it!"
"And you will have nothing more to do with Flora and her kind?"
"Never again!"
"I believe you," said Jimmie, patting the young man on the shoulder."Cheer up now and we'll breakfast together presently, and meanwhile I'llsend a man round to your rooms for some morning togs. Then I'll leaveyou here while I go down to the city to see my bankers. I'll be backbefore noon, and bring a solicitor with me; I want the thing doneship-shape."
With that, Jimmie retired to the bedroom, where he was soon heardsplashing in his tub. An hour later, when breakfast was over, he hurriedaway. He returned at half-past twelve, accompanied by an elderlygentleman of legal aspect, Mr. Grimsby by name. Bertie was ready,dressed in a suit of brown tweeds, and the three went on foot to Dukestreet, St. James'. They passed through the narrow court, and, withoutknocking, entered the office of Benjamin and Company. No one was there,but two persons were talking in a rear apartment, the door of whichstood open an inch or so. And one of the voices sounded strangelyfamiliar to Jimmie.
"Listen!" he whispered to Bertie. "Do you hear that?"
In Friendship's Guise Page 22