"Ha!" said the Viscount nodding, "and talking of him, brings me back to my Honored Roman—thus, Bev. Chancing to find myself in—ha—hum—a little difficulty, a—let us say—financial tightness, Bev. I immediately thought of my father, which,—under the circumstances was, I think, very natural—and filial, my dear fellow. I said to myself, here is a man, the author of my being, who, though confoundedly Roman, is still my father, and, as such, owes certain duties to his son, sacred duties, Bev, not to be lightly esteemed, blinked, or set aside,—eh, Bev?"

"Undoubtedly!" said Barnabas.

"I, therefore, ventured to send him a letter, post-haste, gently reminding him of those same duties, and acquainting him with my—ah—needy situation,—which was also very natural, I think."

"Certainly!" said Barnabas, smiling.

"But—would you believe it, my dear fellow, he wrote, or rather, indited me an epistle, or, I should say, indictment, in his most Roman manner which—but egad! I'll read it to you, I have it here somewhere." And the Viscount began to rummage among the bedclothes, to feel and fumble under pillow and bolster, and eventually dragged forth a woefully crumpled document which he smoothed out upon his knees, and from which he began to read as follows:

MY DEAR HORATIO.

"As soon as I saw that' t—i—o,' Bev, I knew it was no go. Had it been merely a—c—e I should have nourished hopes, but the 't—i—o' slew 'em—killed 'em stone dead and prepared me for a screed in my Honored Roman's best style, bristling with the Divine Right of Fathers, and, Bev—I got it. Listen:"

  Upon reading your long and very eloquent letter, I was surprised

  to learn, firstly, that you required money, and secondly to observe

  that you committed only four solecisms in spelling,

("Gives me one at the very beginning, you'll notice,

Bev.")

  As regards the money, you will, I am sure, be amazed, nay astounded,

  to learn that you have already exceeded your allowance by some five

  hundred pounds—

("So I was, Bev, begad—I thought it was eight.")

As regards your spelling—

("Ah! here he leads again with his left, and gets one in,—low,

Bev, low!")

  As regards your spelling, as you know, I admire originality in

  all things; but it has, hitherto, been universally conceded that the

  word "eliminate" shall not and cannot begin with the letters i-l-l!

  "Vanquish" does not need a k. "Apathy" is spelled with but one p—

  while never before have I beheld "anguish" with a w.

("Now, Bev, that's what I call coming it a bit too strong!" sighed the Viscount, shaking his head; "'anguish' is anguish however you spell it! And, as for the others, let me tell you when a fellow has a one-eyed being with bristles hanging about his place, he isn't likely to be over particular as to his p's and q's, no, damme! Let's see, where were we? ah! here it is,—'anguish' with a 'w'!")

  I quite agree with your remarks, viz. that a father's duties to

  his son are sacred and holy—

("This is where I counter, Bev, very neatly,—listen! He quite agrees that,—")

—a father's duties to his son are sacred and holy, and not to be lightly esteemed, blinked, or set aside—

("Aha! had him there, Bev,—inside his guard, eh?")

I also appreciate, and heartily endorse your statement that it is to his father that a son should naturally turn for help—

("Had him again—a leveller that time, egad!")

  naturally turn for help, but, when the son is constantly turning,

  then, surely, the father may occasionally turn too, like the worm.

  The simile, though unpleasant, is yet strikingly apt.

("Hum! there he counters me and gets one back, I suppose, Bev? Oh, I'll admit the old boy is as neat and quick with his pen as he used to be with his hands. He ends like this:")

I rejoice to hear that you are well in health, and pray that, despite the forthcoming steeplechase, dangerous as I hear it is, you may so continue. Upon this head I am naturally somewhat anxious, since I possess only one son. And I further pray that, wilfully reckless though he is, he may yet be spared to be worthy of the name that will be his when I shall have risen beyond it.

BAMBOROUGH AND REVELSDEN.

The Viscount sighed, and folded up his father's letter rather carefully.

"He's a deuced old Roman, of course," said he, "and yet—!" Here the Viscount turned, and slipped the letter back under his pillow with a hand grown suddenly gentle. "But there you are, Bev! Not a word about money,—so downstairs Bristles must continue to sit until—"

"If," said Barnabas diffidently, "if you would allow me to lend—"

"No, no, Bev—though I swear it's uncommon good of you. But really I couldn't allow it. Besides, Jerningham owes me something, I believe, at least, if he doesn't he did, and it's all one anyway. I sent the Imp over to him an hour ago; he'll let me have it, I know. Though I thank you none the less, my dear fellow, on my soul I do! But—oh deuce take me—you've nothing to drink! what will you take—?"

"Nothing, thanks, Dick. As a matter of fact, I came to ask you a favor—"

"Granted, my dear fellow!"

"I want you to ask Captain Slingsby to introduce me to Jasper Gaunt."

"Ah?" said the Viscount, coming to his elbow, "you mean on behalf of that—"

"Of Barrymaine, yes."

"It's—it's utterly preposterous!" fumed the Viscount.

"So you said before, Dick."

"You mean to—go on with it?"