"Or trust him!" persisted Barnabas, steadfast-eyed.
"Trust him, sir," his Lordship repeated, his gaze beginning to wander, "trust him!" Here, chancing to espy what yet remained of the bread and meat, he immediately took another bite, and when he spoke it was in a somewhat muffled tone in consequence. "Trust him? Egad, sir, the boot's on t'other leg, for 'twixt you and me, I owe him a cool thousand, as it is!"
"He is a great figure in the fashionable world, I understand," said
Barnabas.
"He is the most admired Buck in London, sir," nodded his Lordship, "the most dashing, the most sought after, a boon companion of Royalty itself, sir, the Corinthian of Corinthians."
"Do you mean," said Barnabas, with his eyes on the distance again, "that he is a personal friend of the Prince?"
"One of the favored few," nodded his Lordship, "and, talking of him, brings us back to my honored Roman."
"How so?" inquired Barnabas, his gaze on the distance once more.
"Because, sir, with that unreasonableness peculiar to fathers, he has taken a violent antipathy to my friend Carnaby, though, as far as I know, he has never met my friend Carnaby. This morning, sir, my father summoned me to the library. 'Horatio,' says he, in his most Roman manner,—he never calls me Horatio unless about to treat me to the divine right of fathers,—'Horatio,' says he, 'you're old enough to marry.' 'Indeed, I greatly fear so, sir,' says I. 'Then,' says he, solemn as an owl, 'why not settle down here and marry?' Here he named a certain lovely person whom, 'twixt you and me, sir, I have long ago determined to marry, but, in my own time, be it understood. 'Sir,' said I, 'believe me I would ride over and settle the matter with her this very morning, only that I am to race 'Moonraker' (a horse of mine, you'll understand, sir) against Sir Mortimer Carnaby's 'Clasher' and if I should happen to break my neck, it might disappoint the lady in question, or even break her heart.' 'Horatio,' says my Roman—more Roman than ever—'I strongly disapprove of your sporting propensities, and, more especially, the circle of acquaintances you have formed in London.' 'Blackguardedly Bucks and cursed Corinthians!' snarls my uncle, the Captain, flapping his empty sleeve at me. 'That, sirs, I deeply regret,' says I, preserving a polite serenity, 'but the match is made, and a man must needs form some circle of acquaintance when he lives in London.' 'Then,' says my honored Roman, with that lack of reasonableness peculiar to fathers, 'don't live in London, and as for the horse match give it up.' 'Quite impossible, sir,' says I, calmly determined, 'the match has been made and recorded duly at White's, and if you were as familiar with the fashionable sporting set as I, you would understand.' 'Pish, boy,' says my Roman—'t is a trick fathers have at such times of casting one's youth in one's teeth, you may probably have noticed this for yourself, sir—'Pish, boy,' says he, 'I know, I know, I've lived in London!' 'True, sir,' says I, 'but things have changed since your day, your customs went out with your tie-wigs, and are as antiquated as your wide-skirted coats and buckled shoes'—this was a sly dig at my worthy uncle, the Captain, sir. 'Ha!' cries he, flapping his empty sleeve at me again, 'and nice figure-heads you made of yourselves with your ridiculous stocks and skin-tight breeches,' and indeed," said his Lordship, stooping to catch a side-view of his imprisoned legs, "they are a most excellent fit, I think you'll agree."
"Marvellous!" sighed Barnabas, observing them with the eyes of envy.
"Well, sir," pursued his Lordship, "the long and short of it was—my honored Roman, having worked himself into a state of 'divine right' necessary to the occasion, vows that unless I give up the race and spend less time and money in London, he will clap me into the stocks. 'Then, sir,' says I, smiling and unruffled, 'pray clap me in as soon as you will'; and he being, as I told you, a man of his word,—well—here I am."
"Where I find you enduring your situation with a remarkable fortitude," said Barnabas.
"Egad, sir! how else should I endure it? I flatter myself I am something of a philosopher, and thus, enduring in the cause of freedom and free will, I scorn my bonds, and am consequently free. Though, I'll admit, 'twixt you and me, sir, the position cramps one's legs most damnably."
"Now in regard to Sir Mortimer Carnaby," persisted Barnabas, "your father, it would seem, neither likes nor trusts him."
"My father, sir, is—a father, consequently perverse. Sir Mortimer
Carnaby is my friend, therefore, though my father has never met Sir
Mortimer Carnaby, he takes a mortal antipathy to Sir Mortimer Carnaby,
Q.E.D., and all the rest of it."
"On the other hand," pursued Barnabas the steadfast-eyed, "you—admire, respect, and honor your friend Sir Mortimer Carnaby!"
"Admire him, sir, who wouldn't? There isn't such another all-round sportsman in London—no, nor England. Only last week he drove cross-country in his tilbury over hedges and ditches, fences and all, and never turned a hair. Beat the 'Fighting Tanner' at Islington in four rounds, and won over ten thousand pounds in a single night's play from Egalité d'Orléans himself. Oh, egad, sir! Carnaby's the most wonderful fellow in the world!"
"Though a very indifferent boxer!" added Barnabas.
"Indiff—!" His Lordship let fall the last fragments of his bread and meat, and stared at Barnabas in wide-eyed amazement. "Did you say—indifferent?"
"I did," nodded Barnabas, "he is much too passionate ever to make a good boxer."
"Why, deuce take me! I tell you there isn't a pugilist in England cares to stand up to him with the muffles, or bare knuckles!"
"Probably because there are no pugilists left in England, worth the name," said Barnabas.
"Gad, sir! we are all pugilists nowadays—the Manly Art is all the fashion—and, I think, a very excellent fashion. And permit me to tell you I know what I'm talking of, I have myself boxed with nearly all the best 'milling coves' in London, and am esteemed no novice at the sport. Indeed love of the 'Fancy' was born in me, for my father, sir—though occasionally Roman—was a great patron of the game, and witnessed the great battle between 'Glorious John Barty' and Nathaniel Bell—"
"At Dartford!" added Barnabas.
"And when Bell was knocked down, at the end of the fight—"
"After the ninety-seventh round!" nodded Barnabas.
"My father, sir, was the first to jump into the ring and clasp the
Champion's fist—and proud he is to tell of it!"
"Proud!" said Barnabas, staring.
"Proud, sir—yes, why not? so should I have been—so would any man have been. Why let me tell you, sir, at home, in the hall, between the ensign my uncle's ship bore through Trafalgar, and the small sword my grandfather carried at Blenheim, we have the belt John Barty wore that day."
"His belt!" exclaimed Barnabas, "my—John Barty's belt?"
"So you see I should know what I am talking about. Therefore, when you condemn such a justly celebrated man of his hands as my friend Carnaby, I naturally demand to know who you are to pronounce judgment?"
"I am one," answered Barnabas, "who has been taught the science by that very Nathaniel Bell and 'Glorious John' you mention."
"Hey—what?—what?" cried his Lordship.
"I have boxed with them regularly every day," Barnabas continued, "and I have learned that strength of arm, quickness of foot, and a true eye are all unavailing unless they be governed by a calm, unruffled temper, for passion clouds the judgment, and in fighting as in all else, it is judgment that tells in the long run."
"Now, by heaven!" exclaimed his Lordship, jerking his imprisoned legs pettishly, "if I didn't happen to be sitting trussed up here, and we had a couple of pair of muffles, why we might have had a friendly 'go' just to take each other's measures; as it is—"
But at this moment they heard a hoarse bellow, and, looking round, beheld the Bo'sun who, redder of face than ever and pitching and rolling in his course, bore rapidly down on them, and hauling his wind, took off the glazed hat.
