Caught in a Trap

“Hullo! Markworth. How lucky! Why you are just the man I want; you’re ubiquitous, who’d have thought of seeing you in town?” said Tom Hartshorne, of the —th Dragoons, cheerily, as he sauntered late one summer afternoon into a private billiard-room in Oxford-street, where a tall, dark-complexioned, and strikingly-handsome man, was knocking the balls about in his shirt-sleeves, and trying all sorts of fancy shots against the cushions—The sole occupant of the room was he, with the exception of the marker, who was looking on in a desultory sort of way at the strokes of the player from his thronelike chair underneath the scoring board.
“Hullo! Tom, by all that’s holy! And what brings you to Babylon? I left Boulogne last week, and ran up to see what the ‘boys’ were after; so here I am, quite at your service. What can I do for you, Tom? Are you hard up, in a row, or run away with your neighbour’s wife? Unbosom yourself, caro mio .”
“No, I’m all right, old chap; but nothing could be better. By Jove! it’s the very thing!”
“Who? Why? What? Enlighten me, Tom.”
“Well, you see, Markworth, I’ve got to go down to-morrow for my annual week to my mother’s place in Sussex. It will be so awfully slow; just fancy, old chap, a whole week in that dreary old country house, with no company, no shooting, no fishing, no anything! Why, it’s enough to kill a fellow!”
“Poor Tom,” observed Markworth, sympathisingly.
“Yes; but that’s not the worst either, old chap. My mother is very cranky, you know, and the house itself is as dull as ditch-water. You have to go to bed and get up by clockwork; and if one should be late at dinner, or in turning in, why, it is thought more of by the ruling powers than the worst sin in the decalogue. Besides, I have to keep straight and humour the old lady—for I am quite dependent on her until I come of age; and, though she’s very fond of me in her sort of way, she cuts up rough sometimes, and would stop supplies in a moment if I should offend her.”