"Is it your 'ead, sir?" he inquired suddenly.

"Head?" repeated Barnabas.

"Not troubling you, is it, sir?"

"No,—oh no, thank you," answered Barnabas, and stretched out his hand. "Good-by, Corporal, I'm glad to have met you, and the One and Only was excellent."

"Thankee, sir. I hope as you'll do me and my comrade the honor to try it again—frequent. Good-by, sir." But standing to watch Barnabas as he went, the Corporal shook his head and muttered to himself, for Barnabas walked with a dragging step, and his chin upon his breast.

Holborn was still full of the stir and bustle, the rush and roar of thronging humanity, but now Barnabas was blind and deaf to it all, for wherever he looked he seemed to see the page of Mr. Shrig's little book with its list of carefully written names,—those names beginning with B.—thus:

  _________________________________________________________

  |Name. |When |Date |Sentence.|Date of |

  | |spotted.|of Murder. | |Execution.|

  |_____________|________|___________|_________|__________|

  |Sir Richard | | | | |

  |Brock (Bart.)|April 5 | May 3 | Hanged | May 30 |

  |_____________|________|___________|_________|__________|

  |Thomas Beal | | | | |

  |(Tinker) |March 23| April 15 | Hanged | May 30 |

  |_____________|________|___________|_________|__________|

  |Ronald | | | | |

  |Barrymaine | May 12 | Waiting | Waiting | Waiting |

  |_____________|________|___________|_________|__________|

CHAPTER XXXIII

CONCERNING THE DUTY OF FATHERS; MORE ESPECIALLY THE VISCOUNT'S "ROMAN"

It was about two o'clock in the afternoon that Barnabas knocked at the door of the Viscount's chambers in Half-moon Street and was duly admitted by a dignified, albeit somewhat mournful gentleman in blue and silver, who, after a moment of sighing hesitancy, ushered him into a small reception room where sat a bullet-headed man with one eye and a remarkably bristly chin, a sinister looking person who stared very hard with his one eye, and sucked very hard, with much apparent relish and gusto, at the knob of the stick he carried. At sight of this man the mournful gentleman averted his head, and vented a sound which, despite his impressive dignity, greatly resembled a sniff, and, bowing to Barnabas, betook himself upstairs to announce the visitor. Hereupon the one-eyed man having surveyed Barnabas from head to foot with his solitary orb, drew the knob of his stick from his mouth, dried it upon his sleeve, looked at it, gave it a final rub, and spoke.

"Sir," said he in a jovial voice that belied his sinister aspect, "did you 'ear that rainbow sniff?"

"Rainbow?" said Barnabas.

"Well,—wallet, then,—footman—the ornamental cove as jest popped you in 'ere. Makes one 'undred and eleven of 'em!"

"One hundred and eleven what?"

"Sniffs, sir,—s-n-i-double-f-s! I've took the trouble to count 'em, —nothing else to do. I ain't got a word out of 'im yet, an' I've been sittin' 'ere ever since eight o'clock s'mornin'. I'm a conwivial cock, I am,—a sociable cove, yes, sir, a s-o-s-h-able cove as ever wore a pair o' boots. Wot I sez is,—though a bum, why not a sociable bum, and try to make things nice and pleasant, and I does my best, give you my word! But Lord! all my efforts is wasted on that 'ere rainbow—nothing but sniffs!"

"Why then—who—what are you?"

"I'm Perks and Condy, wines and sperrits,—eighty-five pound, eighteen, three—that's me, sir."

"Do you mean that you are—in possession—here?"

"Just that, sir,—ever since eight o'clock s'morning—and nothing but sniffs—so fur." Here the bullet-headed man nodded and eyed the knob of his stick hungrily. But at this moment the door opened, and the dignified (though mournful) gentleman appeared, and informed Barnabas (with a sigh) that "his Lordship begged Mr. Beverley would walk upstairs."

Upstairs accordingly Barnabas stepped, and guided by a merry whistling, pushed open a certain door, and so found the Viscount busily engaged in the manufacture of a paper dart, composed of a sheet of the Gazette, in the midst of which occupation he paused to grip Barnabas by the hand.

"Delighted to see you, Bev," said he heartily, "pray sit down, my dear fellow—sit anywhere—no, not there—that's the toast, deuce take it! Oh, never mind a chair, bed'll do, eh? Yes, I'm rather late this morning, Bev,—but then I was so late last night that I was devilish early, and I'm making up for it,—must have steady nerves for the fifteenth, you know. Ah, and that reminds me!" Here the Viscount took up his unfinished dart and sighed over it. "I'm suffering from a rather sharp attack of Romanism, my dear fellow, my Honored Parent has been at it again, Bev, and then, I dropped two hundred pounds in Jermyn Street last night."

"Dropped it! Do you mean you lost it, or were you robbed?" inquired Barnabas the Simple. Now when he said this, the Viscount stared at him incredulously, but, meeting the clear gaze of the candid gray eyes, he smiled all at once and shook his head.

"Gad!" he exclaimed, "what a strange fellow you are, Bev. And yet I wouldn't have you altered, no, damme! you're too refreshing. You ask me 'did I lose it, or was I robbed?' I answer you,—both, my dear fellow. It was a case of sharps and flats, and—I was the flat."

"Ah,—you mean gambling, Dick?"

"Gambling, Bev,—at a hell in Jermyn Street."

"Two hundred pounds is a great deal of money to lose at cards," said

Barnabas, shaking his head gravely.

"Humph!" murmured the Viscount, busied upon his paper dart again, "you should congratulate me, I think, that it was no more,—might just as easily have been two thousand, you see, indeed I wonder it wasn't. Egad! the more I think of it, the more fortunate I consider myself. Yes, I certainly think you should congratulate me. Now—watch me hit Sling!" and the Viscount poised his completed dart.

"Captain Slingsby—here?" exclaimed Barnabas, glancing about.

"Under the settee, yonder," nodded the Viscount, "wrapped up in the table-cloth."

"Table-cloth!" repeated Barnabas.

"By way of military cloak," explained the Viscount. "You see—Sling was rather—mellow, last night, and—at such times he always imagines he's campaigning again—insists upon sleeping on the floor."

Now, looking where the Viscount pointed, Barnabas espied the touzled head of Captain Slingsby of the Guards protruding from beneath the settee, and reposing upon a cushion. The Captain's features were serene, and his breathing soft and regular, albeit deepening, ever and anon, into a gentle snore.

"Poor old Sling!" said the Viscount, leaning forward the better to aim his missile, "in two hours' time he must go and face the Ogre, —poor old Sling! Now watch me hit him!" So saying Viscount Devenham launched his paper dart which, gliding gracefully through the air, buried its point in the Captain's whisker, whereupon that warrior, murmuring plaintively, turned over and fell once more gently a-snoring.

"Talking about the Ogre—" began the Viscount.

"You mean—Jasper Gaunt?" Barnabas inquired.

"Precisely, dear fellow, and, talking of him, did you happen to notice a—fellow, hanging about downstairs,—a bristly being with one eye, Bev?"

"Yes, Dick."