Kellett was very anxious to impress his son's friend with a sense of his social standing and importance, and he told Bella “not to mind spending the whole week's allowance, just to show the soldier what Jack's family was.” A leg of mutton and a little of Kinnahan's port constituted, in his mind, a very high order of entertainment; and these were at once voted. Bella hoped that after the first outburst of this ostentatious fit he would fall back in perfect indifference about the whole matter; but far from it,—his waking thought in the morning was the dinner; and when she remarked to him at breakfast on the threatening aspect of the clouds, his reply was, “No matter, dear, if we have plenty of capers.” Even the unhappy possibility of Beecher's “dropping in” was subordinate to his wish to cut a figure on the occasion; and he pottered about from the dining-room to the kitchen, peeped into saucepans, and scrutinized covered dishes with a most persistent activity. Nor was Bella herself quite averse to all this. She saw in the distance—remotely it might be—the glimmering of a renewed interest about poor Jack. “The pleasure this little incident imparts,” thought she, “will spread its influence wider. He 'll talk of him too; he 'll be led on to let him mingle with our daily themes. Jack will be one of us once more after this;” and so she encouraged him to make of the occasion a little festival.
What skill did she not practise, what devices of taste not display, to cover over the hard features of their stern poverty! The few little articles of plate which remained after the wreck of their fortune were placed on the sideboard, conspicuous amongst which was a cup “presented by his brother officers to Captain Paul Kellett, on his retirement from the regiment, with which he had served thirty-eight years,”—a testimonial only exhibited on the very most solemn occasions. His sword and sash—the same he wore at Waterloo—were arrayed over the fireplace, and his Talavera chako—grievously damaged by a French sabre—hung above them. “If he begins about 'that expedition,'”—it was thus he always designated the war in the Crimea,—“Bella, I 'll just give him a touch of the real thing, as we had it in the Peninsula! Faith, it wasn't digging holes in the ground we were then;” and he laughed to himself at the absurdity of the conceit.
The few flowers which the garden owned at this late season, humble and common as they were, figured on the chimney-piece, and not a resource of ingenuity was neglected to make that little dinner-room look pleasant and cheery. Fully a dozen times had Kellett gone in and out of the room, never weary of admiring it, and as constantly muttering to himself some praise of Bella, to whose taste it was all owing. “I 'd put the cup in the middle of the table, Bella. The wallflowers would do well enough at the sideboard. Well, maybe you 're right, darling; it is less pretentious, to be sure. And be careful, dear, that old Betty has a clean apron. May I never, but she's wearing the same one since Candlemas! And don't leave her any corks to draw; she's the devil for breaking them into the bottle. I 'll sit here, where I can have the screw at my hand. There 's a great convenience in a small room, after all. By the good day, here 's Beecher!” exclaimed he, as that worthy individual approached the door.
“What's all this for, Kellett, old boy? Are you expecting the Viceroy, or celebrating a family festival, eh? What does it mean?”
“'T is a mutton chop I was going to give a friend of Jack's,—a young fellow that brought me a letter from him yesterday.”
“Oh! your son Jack. By the way, what's his regiment,—Light Dragoons, is n't it?”
“No; the Rifles,” said Kellett, with a short cough.
“He's pretty high up for his lieutenancy by this, ain't he?” said Beecher, rattling on. “He Joined before Alma, didn't he?”
“Yes; he was at the battle,” said Kellett, dryly; for though he had once or twice told his honorable friend that Jack was in the service, he had not mentioned that he was in the ranks. Not that Annesley Beecher would have, in the least, minded the information. The fact could not by possibility have touched himself; it never could have compelled him to mount guard, do duty in the trenches, eat Commissariat biscuit, or submit to any of the hardships soldiery inflicts; and he 'd have heard of Jack's fate with all that sublime philosophy which teaches us to bear tranquilly the calamities of others.
“Why don't you stir yourself to get him a step? There's nothing to be had without asking! ay, worse than asking,—begging, worrying, importuning. Get some fellow in one of the offices to tell you when there's a vacancy, and then up and at them. If they say, 'We are only waiting for an opportunity, Captain Kellett,' you reply, 'Now's your time then, Groves of the Forty-sixth is gone “toes up;” Simpson, of the Bays, has cut his lucky this morning.' That's the way to go to work.”