“'Come over and drink a pipe of port' was the invitation when I was a boy. A servant was sent round to the neighborhood to say that a hogshead of claret was to be broached on such a day, and to beg that the gentlemen around would come over and help to drink it,—ay, to drink it out! Your piperly hounds, with their two-bottle magnum, think themselves magnificent nowadays; why, in my time they 'd have been laughed to scorn!”
“They were glorious times indeed,” cried Crowther, with mad enthusiasm.
“Glorious times to beggar a nation, to prostitute public honor and private virtue,” broke in Curtis, passionately; “to make men heartless debauchees first, that they might become shameless scoundrels after; to teach them a youth of excess and an old age of venality. These were your Glorious Times! But you, sir, may be forgiven for praising them; to you, and others like you, they have been indeed 'Glorious Times'! Out of them grew those lawsuits and litigations that have enriched you, while they ruined us. Out of that blessed era of orgie and debauch came beggared families and houseless gentry; men whose fathers lay upon down couches, and whose selves sleep upon the like of that;” and the rude settle rocked as his hand shook it. “Out upon your Glorious Times, say I; you might as well call the drunken scene of a dinner-party a picture of domestic comfort and happiness! It was a long night of debauchery, and this that we now see is the sad morning afterwards! Do you know besides, sir,” continued he, in a still fiercer tone, “that in those same 'Glorious Times,' you, and others of your stamp, would have been baited like badgers if found within the precincts of a gentleman's house? Ay, faith, and if my memory does not betray me, I can call to mind one or two such instances.”
The violence of the old man's passion seemed to have exhausted him, and he sat down on the bed, breathing heavily and panting.
“Where were we?” cried he at last. “What was it that we were arguing? Yes—ay—to be sure—these bills—these confounded bills. I can't pay them. I would n't if I could. That scoundrel Fagan has made enough of me without that. What was it you said of an annuity? There was some talk of an annuity, eh?”
Crowther bent down, and spoke some words in a low, murmuring voice.
“Well, and for that what am I to do?” cried Curtis, suddenly. “My share of the compact is heavy enough, I'll be sworn. What is it?”
“I think I can show you that it is not much of a sacrifice, sir. I know you hate long explanations, and I 'll make mine very brief. Mr. Fagan has very heavy charges against an estate which is not unlikely to be the subject of a disputed ownership. It may be a long suit, with all the delays and difficulties of Chancery; and in looking over the various persons who may prefer claims here and there, we find your name amongst the rest, for it is a long list, sir. There may be forty or forty-five in all! The principal one, however, is a wealthy baronet who has ample means to prosecute his claim, and with fair hopes of succeeding. My notion, however, was that if Mr. Fagan could arrange with the several persons in the cause to waive their demands for a certain consideration, that it would not be difficult then to arrange some compromise with the baronet himself,—he surrendering the property to Fagan for a certain amount, on taking with it all its liabilities. You understand?”
“And who's the owner?” asked Curtis, shortly.
“He is dead, sir.”