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?"
"Of course!"
"You are still determined to befriend a—"
"More than ever, Dick."
"For—Her sake?"
"For Her sake. Yes, Dick," said Barnabas, beginning to frown a little. "I mean to free him from Gaunt, and rescue him from Chichester—if I can."
"But Chichester is about the only friend he has left, Bev."
"On the contrary, I think Chichester is his worst enemy."
"But—my dear fellow! Chichester is the only one who has stood by him in his disgrace, though why, I can't imagine."
"I think I can tell you the reason, and in one word," said Barnabas, his face growing blacker.
"Well, Bev,—what is it?"
