CHAPTER XLIII
HOW THEY DRANK A NEW TOAST
"The Major's rib will do, sir," nodded Dr. Ponderby, "'tis doing well and will do better and better. A simple fracture, sir—'twill be sound in no time, it being a rib of health abounding, owing, if I may put it so, to an abstemious life, a past puritanic—a——"
"Abstemious, sir!" exclaimed Lord Cleeve, rolling his eyes, "abstemious d'ya' say? O begad, hark to that, Jack! Abstemious sir, abste——" The Colonel choked and rolled his eyes fiercer than ever.
"My lord," said portly Dr. Ponderby, patting his smooth wig, "I am no Puritan myself, nor do I look askance at a glass or so of wine, far from it——"
"The bottle is at your elbow, sir," said the Major from his cushioned chair.
"Abstemious—begad!" chuckled Lord Cleeve, snuffing fiercely.
"I thank you, Major," said Dr. Ponderby, leisurely filling his glass, "and my Lord Cleeve, coming back to my patient's rib, I repeat its abounding health is due entirely to a youthful and immensely robust constitution and——"
"Abstemious—ho!" chuckled the Colonel. "Given occasion sir, Jack can be as abstemious as Bacchus. I remember last time we made a night on't—aha! It being nigh dawn and we on our fifth bottle, or was it the seventh, Jack—not to mention Sir Benjamin's punch, begad, it being nigh dawn, I say, and I happening to glance about missed divers faces from the genial board. 'Where are they all, Jack?' says I. 'Under the table,' says he, sober as a judge, and damme sir, so they were and Jack as I say, sober as yourself sir, for all his abstemiousness!"
"Hem!" exclaimed Dr. Ponderby, gulping his wine and rising. "None the less, Major d'Arcy, my dear sir, you shall be abroad again in a week if—I say, and mark me sir, I say it with deepest emphasis—if you will brisk up, banish gloomy thought and melancholy, cultivate joy, sit i' the sun, eat well, drink moderately and sleep as much as possible."
"A copious prescription, sir!" sighed the Major wearily.
"Brisk?" snorted Lord Cleeve, "brisk, is it? Refuse me but he's as brisk and joyous as a gallows! Here he sits, hunched up in that old service coat and glooms and glowers all day, and when night draws on, damns his bed, curses himself, and wishes his oldest friend to the devil and that's me sir—his friend I mean."
"Stay, never that, George," smiled the Major, shaking protesting head.
"But ya' curst gloomy Jack, none the less."
"This won't do," smiled Dr. Ponderby, "won't do at all. Gloom must we dissipate——"
"Dissipate!" exclaimed the Colonel, "dissipate—aye man, but he won't drink and the Oporto's the right stuff you'll allow——"
"He must have company——"
"Well and aren't I company?"
"The very best, my lord——"
"Not to mention Viscount Tom and——"
"Very true sir," smiled the doctor, "only you don't either of you happen to wear petticoats——"
"Petticoats!" exclaimed the Colonel, rolling his eyes.
"Petticoats are my prescription, my lord—plenty of 'em and taken often. A house is a gloomy place without 'em——'
"Agad and ya' right there—ya' right there!" nodded the Colonel vehemently.
"No!" protested the Major.
"Yes!" cried the Colonel. "Look at my place in Surrey, the damndest, dreariest curst hole y'ever saw——"
"Nay George, when I saw it last it was——"
"A plaguy, dreary hole, Jack!" snapped the Colonel. "Used to wonder why I couldn't abide the place—reason perfectly plain to-day—lacks a petticoat, and Jack man, a petticoat I'm a-going to have soon, man, soon ha, and so shall you begad!"
"Never!" said the Major drearily.
"Now hark to the poor, curst wretch, 'tis the woefullest dog!" exclaimed the Colonel feelingly, "won't drink and no petticoats! Man Jack, I tell thee woman is to man his—his—well, she's a woman, and man without woman's gentle and purifying influence is—is only—only a—well, man. Look at me. After all these years, Jack 'tis a petticoat for me."
The Major murmured the old adage about one man's meat being another man's poison, whereon his lordship snarled and rolled his eyes as he rose to escort the doctor to the door.
"Petticoats quotha?" said he, "Petticoats it shall be."
"In large doses!" nodded Dr. Ponderby, "and repeated often." So saying, he shook the invalid's languid hand, smiled and bustled away.
"Ha!" exclaimed his lordship, "there's a man of stark common sense, Jack."
"Aye, aye," nodded the Major a little impatiently, "but what of Effingham, you say he has left Westerham?"
"He left at mid-day, Jack."
"For good?"
"'Twould seem so, he marched bag and baggage. The rascal fences purely well, I vow."
"Superlatively well," nodded the Major beginning to fill a much smoked clay pipe.
"Man Jack, I thought he had ya' there in carte."
"Nay I was expecting it and ready, George. I should have caught him on the riposte but I was short d'ye see——"
"Owing to ya' rib, Jack."
"Damn my rib!" exclaimed the Major. "'Tis pure folly I should be laid up and sit here like a lame dog for so small a matter as a rib, d'ye see——"
"'Tis more than ya' rib is wrong with ya', Jack!"
"A Gad's name, what?"
"A general gloom and debility induced by lack of and need for—a petticoat."
"Folly!" snorted the Major, but his pale cheek flushed none the less.
"Talking o' Dalroyd, ya' pinked his sword arm, Jack."
"But he's alive, alive George and now, now for all I know—where's Tom—where's Pancras? For all we know they may be fighting at this moment!" And the Major half rose from his elbow-chair.
"Content ya', Jack, content ya'!" said the Colonel, pressing him back with hands surprisingly gentle, "the lad's not fighting—nor likely to. I swear again, he shan't cross blades with Dalroyd or Effingham if I have to pistol the rogue myself, so ha' no worry on that score, Jack."
The Major sighed and leaned back in his chair while Lord Cleeve watched him and, snuffing copiously, sighed sympathetically.
"'Tis the woefullest figure ya' cut, Jack, wi' that long face and damned old service coat."
"'Tis the one I wore at Ramillies," said the Major, glancing down at faded cloth and tarnished lace.
"Is it, begad! I'd never ha' recognised it. Then 'tis time 'twas superannuated and retired from active service. You was wounded that day I remember, Jack."
"Yes."
"Twice."
"Yes."
"But ya' never wore look so doleful—never such a damned dumb-dog, suffer-and-smite me air—not then, Jack—not in those days and ya' were generally nursing some wound or other."
"I was younger then!" sighed the Major.
"Pah!" exclaimed the Colonel scattering a pinch of snuff in his vehemence, "I say pish, man—tush and the devil! Ya' younger these days than ever ya' were—all ya' need to become a very youth is a petticoat—take your old comrade's advice and marry one."
"Never!" exclaimed the Major, clenching his fists.
"Tush!" exclaimed the Colonel, snuffing. "As ya' friend, Jack, 'tis my duty to see ya' happily married and I'll be damned if I don't. Wedlock 'twixt man and woman is—is—ah, is well, marriage. There's little Mrs. Wadhurst over at Sevenoaks—a shape, Jack, an eye and a curst alluring nose. Hast ever noticed her nose?"
"No!" snarled the Major.
"Ha!" sighed the Colonel. "Not to ya' taste, belike. Why then there's Lady Lydia Flyte—a widow, Jack—another neighbour—a comely piece, man, bright eyes, wealthy and sufficiently plump——"
"Ha' done!" snapped the Major, puffing smoke.
"Dooce take ya'!" snarled the Colonel, scattering snuff. "Begad, man Jack, ya' damned peevish and contrary, y'are 'pon my life! If I wasn't the most patient, long-suffering, meek and mild soul i' the world I should be inclined to lose my temper over ya' damned stubbornness—rot me, I should!" At this the Major chuckled..
"Your meekness, George, hath ever been equalled only by your humility!" said he.
"Nay, but man Jack, look'ee now—'tis not that I would ram my own happiness down thy throat, but to see thee so glum and spiritless, damps my own joy doocedly. And the word glum brings us back to petticoats."
"Nay George, for mercy's sake no more——"
"But comrade, a petticoat should be—ah—should be, a petticoat is—is a—ha!"
At this moment was a knock and, the door opening, the Sergeant advanced two paces and stood at attention:
"Your honour," said he.
"Ha, Zeb," exclaimed the Colonel, fixing him with fierce, blue eye, "ho, Sergeant Zeb, what the dooce is a petticoat?"
The Sergeant stared at his lordship, stared at the ceiling, scratched smooth-shaven chin with thoughtful finger and spoke.
"A petticoat, m' lud, is a article as a woman can't very well go without and a man shouldn't—and won't!"
The Colonel set down his glass, threw back his head and roared with laughter till he stamped. "Aha—oho!" he cried at last, sprinkling snuff over himself and everything within reach. "O Gad, Zeb, ya' right, ya' right—must remember that. D'ya hear that, Jack—oho—aha!" And he roared again while the Major smiled, chuckled, and despite rib and bandages, laughed until Sergeant Zebedee anxiously bade him have a care, and announced that Sir Benjamin Tripp, Lord Alvaston, Mr. Marchdale, Sir Jasper and Captain West had ridden over to see him and enquire after his health.
"Why then let 'em in, Zeb—let 'em in," said the Major a little breathlessly, "and bring up a half-dozen or so of the yellow seal——"
"The yellow—ha!" sighed the Colonel, "if the same as last time 'tis bottled sunshine, 'twill warm the very cockles o' ya' heart, man——"
"Nay, George——"
"Tush, Jack—an you don't drink, I don't——"
"But George——"
"Pish, Jack! You'll never go for to deny ya' old friend?" Here the door opened and the company entered with a prodigious waving of hats, flirting of gold-mounted whips and jingling of spurs.
"Major d'Arcy, sir!" cried Sir Benjamin, "your very devoted, humble servant. My lord, yours! Ods my life, my dear Major d'Arcy, I joy to see you no worse, sir, after your desperate battle with nine bloodthirsty ruffians——"
"Four, Sir Benjamin——"
"Common report, sir, makes 'em twelve but I'm assured they were but nine——"
"Sir, they were but four," repeated the Major gently. "But gentlemen, you have lost one of your number—Mr. Dalroyd is gone, I understand?"
"Faith and so he has, sir," answered Mr. Marchdale petulantly, "clean gone and with eight hundred guineas o' mine and more of Alvaston's, not to mention——"
"But then we never had 'ny luck wi' th' cards, Tony," yawned his lordship.
"Luck!" spluttered Mr. Marchdale, "luck, d'ye call it——"
"Ahem!" exclaimed Sir Benjamin. "'Tis true Dalroyd is gone, sir, and suddenly, nor will I disguise the fact that his ahem!—his departure was in some sort a relief considering the deplorable scene 'twixt him and Viscount Merivale——"
"And his curst secret ways," added Mr. Marchdale, "and his treatment of that fellow of his—Dalroyd's room was next mine and I know he's beaten the poor rogue damnably more than once of late."
"Haw—that's true enough!" exclaimed Captain West, "heard the miserable dog myself. Dismally a-groaning a-nights. More than once, haw!"
"And yesterday, just as he mounts to ride away Dalroyd must fall a-kicking the fellow—in the open street and with us standing by! And kicked him, look you, not as a gentleman should but with such vicious pleasure in it—faith, 'twas positively indecent!"
"Od's life, sir, and that's true—indecent is the word!" nodded Sir Benjamin tapping his snuff-box, "and gentlemen, if the human optic, basilisk-like, could blast soul and wither flesh—Dalroyd would have hem! I say would have known—ha—would have made a sufficiently uncomfortable not to say painful exit—or setting forth the matter in plainer terms Dalroyd hem——"
"Hold hard, Ben!" yawned Alvaston. "Y' gettin' lost again. What our Ben wants t' say 's simply Dalroyd's f'low looked bloody murder 'n so he did."
"Ha—begad! He did so!"
"Dalroyd is well enough enjoyed now and then," said Mr. Marchdale sententiously, "but as a constant diet is apt to become devilish indigestible! And as regards his unfailing lack with the cards, I shouldn't wonder——"
"Then don't, Tony—don't!" murmured Lord Alvaston, crossing his slender legs. "Dalroyd may be this, that or t'other, but Dalroyd ain't here—enough of him."
"Aye, true," nodded Sir Benjamin, "true indeed, Dalroyd is gone and we, dear Major, like this year's roses, are going too. In a week sir, this fraternity amorous will suffer disruption, our lady hath so decreed, the fiat hath gone forth."
"Indeed sir, you surprise me!" said the Major, glancing from one to another, "whence comes this?"
Here Sir Benjamin shook his head and sighed, Sir Jasper stifled a groan, Mr. Marchdale swore beneath his breath, the Captain uttered a feeble "Haw" and Lord Alvaston whistled dolefully.
"Sir," sighed Sir Benjamin, "you behold in us a band of woeful wooers each alike condemned to sigh, and yet to sigh in unison and in this, the measure of our woe doth find some small abatement. Each hath wooed and each hath proved his wooing vain, his dreams, his visions must remain but—hem!—but dreams and——"
"Hold on, Ben," murmured Alvaston, "burn me but y're gettin' int' th' weeds again! What poor old Ben's strivin' t' say 's simply that——"
"Betty'll ha' none of us," scowled Mr. Marchdale, "though if I'd had more time——"
"None of us!" added the Captain, "er—haw! Not one!" Here Sir Jasper, trying to sip his wine and groan at the same time, choked.
"And yet—and yet," sighed Sir Benjamin, holding his glass between his eye and the light, "seeing that our ahem! our unspeakable grief is common to us, each and all, it shall, methinks, but knit closer the bonds of our fellowship and we should unite to wish her happiness with whatsoever unknown mortal she shall some day make blest. Regarding which I think a toast might be appropriate—pray charge your glasses and I——" Sir Benjamin paused and turned as with a perfunctory knock the Sergeant re-appeared.
"Your honour," said he, "my Lady Belinda Damain with Lady Carlyon to see you."
The Major caught his breath, then sat upright his square chin showing a little grim.
"You will tell their ladyships that I present my humble respects and thanks but regret I am unable to see them."
"Sir?" said the Sergeant, staring.
"Go, Sergeant!"
"Jack!" exclaimed the Colonel as the door closed "why, Jack!"
"Sir!" answered the Major, his eyes very keen and bright.
"P-petticoats, man—two of 'em—doctor's orders! O rot me!" spluttered the Colonel.
"Gentlemen," said the Major, smiling wearily, "pray charge your glasses for Sir Benjamin's toast."
"Major d'Arcy, sir," said Sir Benjamin, bowing from his chair, "permit me to say that I applaud the delicacy of your feelings. We lovers who have wooed and lost, alas! Ods my life, sir, 'twas well done—honour me!" And he extended his snuff-box. "Sir," he continued, when they had bowed and snuffed together, "summer is on the wane and with the summer we, like the swallows, shall desert these rural solitudes. A week hence, instead of perambulating bosky Westerham we shall most of us be jolting over the cobblestones of London—but we shall one and all treasure a lively memory of your friendship and trust that it may be renewed from time to time. Meanwhile, ere we fly hence, it is our united hope that you, together with my Lord Cleeve will honour us again with your company to supper on an early date——"
"A Gad, sir, we will that!" nodded the Colonel. "Speaking for myself I thank you heartily, and speaking for Jack, I say he shall come if I have to carry him there and back again."
"And now, Sir Benjamin," said the Major, "pray give us your toast."
Sir Benjamin rose, glass in one hand, lace handkerchief in the other.
"We have all here, I think, with the exception of the gallant Colonel, essayed our fortune with my lady Betty, and with equal ahem! equally deplorable lack of success. 'Twould seem that she is determined on according to no one of us here that felicity we have, each one, dreamed of and sought for. But she is young and 'tis but to be expected that one day some happier man shall succeed where we have failed. Now sirs, as lovers, as gentlemen and sportsmen true, let us raise our glasses to that happy unknown whoever he be, let us drink health to him, joy to him, success and long life to him for the sake of Our Admirable Betty. Gentlemen 'The Unknown!'"