In which occurs Mr. Parnassus' Ballad—The Chieftain's Destiny.
"Wretched weather, eh?" remarked Mr. Oldstone. "We shall have to call for lights soon. Here, Cyanite, a game of chess, what do you say? A story from whom ever loses."
"Thank you," replied the Professor, "but I have a letter to write which is of some importance."
"Come now, Crucible, have at you," quoth Oldstone.
"I have not played for years," replied Crucible, "and as I have no story wherewith to pay the penalty and am consequently out of practice and sure to lose and——"
"What do you say, Blackdeed?" asked Oldstone.
"Well, to say the truth," answered the chemist, "I find myself much in the same position as my friend Mr. Crucible, for were I to lose, an event which amounts to a dead certainty, I am perfectly sure I should not be able to pay the forfeit, even if I were to be imprisoned for it."
"Perhaps you'll oblige me, Hardcase," said the antiquary.
"Another time, thank you, Oldstone," replied the lawyer; "but the fact is that I've promised Bleedem a game of cards."
"Well really, gentlemen, I don't know what has come over you all," said Mr. Oldstone. "Perhaps Mr. Parnassus will oblige me, as nobody else will."
"Well, I never piqued myself upon being much of a chess-player," replied Parnassus, "but as the other gentlemen have refused, and I have nothing particular to do, I don't mind doing you a favour, and if I lose and don't happen to recollect a story, well I must owe it you."
"Agreed," said Oldstone. "Draw your chair to the table and set the board."
The game began. Hardcase and Bleedem also had taken their seats and commenced theirs. Professor Cyanite retired to write his letter, whilst Messrs. Blackdeed and Crucible drew their chairs up to the fire and talked politics.
A stillness reigned through the club as the last-mentioned gentlemen conversed together in a low tone and the rest remained absorbed in their several occupations. Suddenly, in the midst of this unusual silence, the triumphant voice of Mr. Oldstone was heard to cry out the magic word, "check-mate."
"Now then, Parnassus, my boy," said he, rubbing his hands, "a story, you know; there's no getting out of it. Give us a little ode or ballad like that you gave us once before, on the night of our grand saturnalia."
"When I can think of one and a propitious moment presents itself, I am at your service, but these gentlemen, you see, are otherwise occupied; besides, here comes Helen to lay the cloth for supper."
"Well, Helen," cried Mr. Oldstone, "and what has become of your enamoured portrait painter?"
"Mr. McGuilp?" inquired Helen, blushing deeply. "Is he not here? I left him some time ago cleaning his palette and brushes."
"Ah! here he comes at last," exclaimed Crucible, halting in the middle of his politics. "Lucky dog! to be able to have so much beauty all to himself."
"Well, if he has had Helen to himself all this time, we've had a story during his absence," said the antiquary.
"Ah, but so have we," said McGuilp. "Haven't we Helen?"
"Yes, we have indeed, and a long one," replied Helen.
"The deuce you have," said Crucible. "Upon my word, Mr. McGuilp, I think that's hardly fair; first robbing us of our lady and then telling her a story all to yourself, from which we are debarred."
"Come now," retorted McGuilp, "are we not quits? Have you already forgotten my story of the 'Scharfrichter,' with which I purchased a sitting from Helen? If Helen and I have had a story together from which you have been shut out, at least you have had one that we have not enjoyed."
"Yes, Crucible, I think it is all fair," said Oldstone, backing up his young friend.
The cloth now being laid, the members drew their chairs to the table, and the supper went off amidst laughter and jovial conversation. The bottle went round a few times at the last before the cloth was finally cleared, when each drew round the fire, which was now blazing fiercely, our host having just put on a fresh log, and each lighting his pipe, waited, according to custom, for someone to broach a new story.
"Now, Parnassus, my boy," said Oldstone, "we are quite ready for your story. What is it to be?"
"Well then, gentlemen, since I must pay my forfeit, I will, according to a wish expressed by Mr. Oldstone, sing you a little ballad of my own composing."
"Yes, yes; hear, hear! A song, a song! Make ready for a song."
The members re-settled themselves on their chairs, and pronounced themselves "all attention," while the young poet, throwing himself back carelessly in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, began in a clear rich voice, the following ditty.