"Proud, eh?" cried Barrymaine, leaping up in sudden boyish passion, "well, am I not proud? Did you ever know me anything else—did you?"
"Never, my dear Ronald," cried Mr. Chichester, turning at last. "You are unfortunate, but you have always met disaster—so far, with the fortitude of a gentleman, scorning your detractors and—abominating charity."
"C-charity! damn you, Chichester, d' ye think I-I'd accept any man's c-charity? D' you think I'd ever drag Cleone to that depth—do you?"
"Never, Barrymaine, never, I swear."
"Why then—leave me alone, I can m-manage my own affairs—"
"Perfectly, my dear fellow, I am sure of it."
"Then sir," said Barnabas, rising, "seeing it really is no concern of yours, after all, suppose you cease to trouble yourself any further in the matter, and allow Mr. Barrymaine to choose for himself—"
"I—I have decided!" cried Barrymaine, "and I tell you—"
"Wait!" said Barnabas.
"Speak!" said Mr. Chichester.
"Wait!" repeated Barnabas, "Mr. Chichester is—going, I think. Let us wait until we are alone." Then, bowing to Mr. Chichester, Barnabas opened the door wide. "Sir," said he, "may I venture to suggest that your presence is—not at all necessary?"
"Ah!" said Mr. Chichester, "you will certainly compel me to kill you, some day."
"'Sufficient unto the day,' sir!" Barnabas retorted; "in the meantime I shall most certainly give myself the pleasure of kicking you downstairs unless you choose to walk—at once."
As he spoke, Barnabas took a stride towards Mr. Chichester's rigid figure, but, in that moment, Barrymaine snatched up the bottle and sprang between them.
"Ah!—would you?" he cried, "who are you to order my f-friends about—and in m-my own place too! Ha! did you think you could buy me, d-did you? Did you think I—I'd sacrifice my sister—did you? Ha! drunk, am I? Well, I'm sober enough to—to 'venge my honor and hers; by God I'll kill you! Ah—let go, Dig! Let go, I say! Didn't you hear? Tempt me with his cursed money, will he! Oh, let go my arm! Damn him, I say—I'll kill him!"
But, as he struck, Mr. Smivvle caught his wrist, the bottle crashed splintering to the floor, and they were locked in a fierce grapple.
"Beverley—my dear fellow—go!" panted Mr. Smivvle, "must forgive—poor Barry—not himself. Go—go,—I can—manage him. Now Barry, do be calm! Go, my dear fellow—leave him to me—go!" So, perforce, Barnabas turned away and went down the dingy stairs, and in his ears was the echo of the boy's drunken ravings and Mr. Chichester's soft laughter.
And presently, being come into the dingy street, Barnabas paused to look up at the dingy house, and looking, sighed.
"She said it would be 'difficult, and dangerous, perhaps,'" said he to himself, "and indeed I think she was right."
Then he turned and went upon his way, heavy-footed and chin on breast. On he went, plunged in gloomy abstraction, turning corners at random, lost to all but the problem he had set himself, which was this:
How he might save Ronald Barrymaine in spite of Ronald Barrymaine.
CHAPTER XXXI
WHICH DESCRIBES SOME OF THE EVILS OF VINDICTIVENESS
Barnabas stumbled suddenly, dropped his cane, saw his hat spin through the air and roll on before him; staggered sideways, was brought up by a wall, and turning, found three men about him, —evil-faced men whose every move and look held a menace. A darting hand snatched at his fob-seals, but Barnabas smote, swift and hard, and the three were reduced, for the moment, to two. Thus with his back to the wall stood Barnabas, fists clenched, grim of mouth, and with eyes quick and bright; wherefore, beholding him in this posture, his assailants hesitated. But the diamonds sparkled at them from his cravat, the bunch of seals gleamed at them from his fob, and the fallen man having risen, albeit unsteadily, they began to close in upon him. Then, all at once, even as he poised himself to meet their rush, a distant voice uttered a sharp, warning cry, whereat the three, spattering curses, incontinent took to their heels, and were gone with a thud of flying feet.
For a moment Barnabas stood dazed by the suddenness of it all, then, stooping to recover hat and cane, glanced about, and saw that he was in a dirty, narrow street, or rather alley. Now up this alley a man was approaching, very deliberately, for as he came, he appeared to be perusing a small book. He was a short, broad-shouldered man, a mild-faced man of a sober habit of dress, with a broad-brimmed hat upon his head—a hat higher in the crown than was the custom, and a remarkably nobbly stick beneath his arm; otherwise, and in all respects, he was a very ordinary-looking man indeed, and as he walked, book in hand, might have been some small tradesman busily casting up his profit and loss, albeit he had a bright and roving eye.
Being come up with Barnabas, he stopped, closed his book upon his finger, touched the broad rim of his hat, and looked at Barnabas, or to be exact, at the third left-hand button of his coat.
"Anything stole, sir?" he inquired hopefully.
"No," answered Barnabas, "no, I think not."
"Ah, then you won't be vantin' to mek a charge ag'in 'em, sir?"
"No,—besides, they've escaped."
"Escaped, Lord no, sir, they've only run avay, I can allus put my 'ooks on 'em,—I spotted 'em, d'ye see. And I know 'em, Lord love you! —like a feyther! They vas Bunty Fagan, Dancin' James, and Vistlin' Dick, two buzmen an' a prig."
"What do you mean?" inquired Barnabas, beginning to eye the man askance for all his obtrusive mildness.
"I means two pickpockets and a thief, sir. It vas Vistlin' Dick as you give such a 'leveller' to,—a rare pretty knock-down I vill say, sir,—never saw a cleaner—Oh! they're a bad lot, they are, 'specially Vistlin' Dick, an' it's lucky for you as I 'appened to come this vay."
"Why, do you mean to say," said Barnabas, staring at the mild-faced man, "do you want me to believe that it was the sight of you that sent them running?"
"Vell, there veren't nobody else to, as I could see, sir," said the man, with a gentle smile and shake of the head. "Volks ain't partial to me in these yere parts, and as to them three, they're a bad lot, they are, but Vistlin' Dick's the vorst—mark my vords, 'e'll come to be topped yet."
"What do you mean by 'topped'?"
"V'y, I means scragged, sir," answered the man, his roving eye glancing continually up and down the alley,
"I means 'anged, sir,—Lord love you, it's in 'is face—never see a more promising mug, consequent, I 've got Vistlin' Dick down in my little book 'ere, along vith a lot of other promising vuns."
"But why in your book?"
"Veil, d' ye see, I keeps a record of all the likely coves, Capital Coves as you might call 'em—" Here the mild man jerked his head convulsively to one side, rolled up his eyes, and protruded his tongue, all in hideous pantomime, and was immediately his placid self again.
