These things Skeffy told like confidences,—secrete he would not have breathed to any one he held less near his heart than Tony. But somehow commonplaces told by the lips of authority will assume an immense authority, and carry with them a stupendous weight; and Tony listened to the precious words of wisdom as he might have listened to the voice of Solomon.
But even more interesting still did he become as he sketched forth, very vaguely indeed,—a sort of Turner in his later style of cloud and vapor,—his own great future. Not very clear and distinct the steps by which he was fated to rise, but palpable enough the great elevation he was ultimately to occupy.
“Don't imagine, old fellow,” said he, laying his hand on Tony's shoulders, “that I am going to forget you when that time comes. I'm not going to leave you a Queen's messenger.”
“What could you make of me?” said Tony, despondently.
“Fifty things,” said the other, with a confidence that seemed to say, “I, Skeffy, am equal to more than this; fifty things. You, of course, cannot be expected to know it, but I can tell you, it's far harder to get a small place than a big one,—harder to be a corporal than a lieutenant-general.”
“How do you explain that?” asked Tony, with an eager curiosity.
“You can't understand it without knowing life. I cannot convey to you how to win a trick where you don't know the game.” And Skeffy showed, by the impatient way he tried to light a fresh cigar, that he was not fully satisfied with the force or clearness of his own explanation; and he went on: “You see, old fellow, when you have climbed up some rungs of the ladder with a certain amount of assurance, many will think you are determined to get to the top.”
“Well, but if a man's ladder has only one rung, as I imagine is the case with mine!” broke in Tony.
Skeffy looked at his companion for a moment, half surprised that he should have carried out the figure, and then laughed heartily, as he said, “Splice it to mine, my boy; it will bear us both.”
It was no use that Tony shook his head and looked despondingly; there was a hopeful warmth about Skeffy not to be extinguished by any discouragement. In fact, if a shade of dissatisfaction seemed ever to cloud the brightness of his visions, it was the fear lest, even in his success, some other career might be neglected wherein the rewards were greater and the prizes more splendid. He knew, and he did not scruple to declare that he knew, if he had been a soldier he 'd have risen to the highest command. If he 'd have gone to the bar, he'd have ended on the woolsack. Had he “taken that Indian appointment,” he 'd have been high up by this time on the Council, with his eye on Government House for a finish. “That's what depresses me about diplomacy, Tony. The higher you go, the less sure you are. They—I mean your own party—give you Paris or St. Petersburg, we 'll say; and if they go out, so must you.”