“God bless you, my boy,—God bless you, Davy,” cried the old man, tenderly, grasping his hand in both his own. “Keep the head clear, and trust nobody; that's the secret,—trust nobody; the only mistakes I ever made in life was when I forgot that rule.” And affectionately kissing him, the father dismissed his son, muttering blessings on him as he went.
CHAPTER XVI. DAVIS VERSUS DUNN.
Davenport Dunn had not exaggerated when he spoke of a busy day for the morrow. As early as eight o'clock was he at breakfast, and before nine the long back parlor, with its deep bay-window, was crowded like the waiting-room of a fashionable physician. Indeed, in the faces of anxiety, eagerness, and impatience of those assembled there, there was a resemblance. With a tact which natural shrewdness and long habit could alone confer, Mr. Clowes, the butler, knew exactly where each arrival should be introduced; and while railway directors, bank governors, and great contractors indiscriminately crowded the large dining-room, peers and right honorables filled the front drawing-room, the back one being reserved for law officers of the Crown, and such secret emissaries as came on special mission from the Castle. From the hall, crammed with frieze-coated countryfolk, to the little conservatory on the stairs, where a few ladies were grouped, every space was occupied. Either from previous acquaintance, or guided by the name of the visitor, Mr. Clowes had little difficulty in assigning him his fitting place, dropping, as he accompanied him, some few words, as the rank and station of the individual might warrant his addressing to him. “I 'll let Mr. Dunn know your Lordship is here this instant; he is now just engaged with the Chief Baron.”—“He 'll see you, Sir Samuel, next.”—“Mr. Wilcox, you have no chance for two hours; the Foyle deputation is just gone in.”—“You need scarcely wait to-day, Mr. Tobin; there are eighteen before you.”—“Colonel Craddock, you are to come on Saturday, and bring the plans with you.”—“Too late, Mr. Dean; his Grace the Archbishop waited till a quarter to eleven, the appointment is now for to-morrow at one.”—“No use in staying, my honest fellow, your own landlord could n't see Mr. Dunn to-day.” In the midst of such brief phrases as these, while he scattered hopes and disappointments about him, he suddenly paused to read a card, stealing a quick glance at the individual who presented it “'Mr. Annesley Beecher.' By appointment, sir?”
“Well, I suppose I might say yes,” muttered the visitor, while he turned to a short and very overdressed person at his side for counsel in the difficulty.
“To be sure—by appointment,” said the other, confidently, while he bestowed on the butler a look of unmistakable defiance.
“And this—gentleman—is with you, sir?” asked the butler, pausing ere he pronounced the designation. “Might I request to have his name?”
“Captain Davis,” said the short man, interposing. “Write it under your own, Beecher.”
While Mr. Annesley Beecher was thus occupied,—and, sooth to say, it was an office he did not discharge with much despatch,—Clowes had ample time to scan the appearance and style of the strangers.
“If you 'll step this way, sir,” said Clowes, addressing Beecher only, “I'll send in your card at once.” And he ushered them as he spoke into the thronged dinner-room, whose crowded company sat silent and moody, each man regarding his neighbor with a kind of reproachful expression, as though the especial cause of the long delay he was undergoing.