“Hanged if you shall,” said Bruce, with an oath of vexation. In fact, not only was he determined not to be foiled in proving his wisdom and power of reading men’s characters, but he was wholly unable to afford any payment of the bet. Bruce could get unlimited credit for goods, on the reputation of his father’s wealth, but money-dealers were very sharp-eyed people, and he found it much less easy to get his promissory-notes cashed. It was a matter of etiquette to pay at once “debts of honour,” and his impetuous disposition led him to take bets so freely that his ready money was generally drained away very soon after his return. Not long before he had written to his father for a fresh supply, but, to his great surprise, the letter had only produced an angry and even indignant reproof. “Vyvyan,” (his father had written—not even ‘dear Vyvyan’), “I allow you 500 pounds a year, a sum totally out of proportion with your wants, and yet you are so shamefully extravagant as to write without a blush to ask me for more. Don’t presume to do it again on pain of my heavy displeasure.” This letter had so amazed him that he did not even answer it, nor, in spite of his mother’s earnest, urgent, and almost heart-rending entreaties, post by post, would he even condescend to write home for many weeks. It was the natural result of the way in which at home they had pampered his vanity, and never checked his faults.
But, for these reasons, it was wholly out of Bruce’s power to pay Brogten the bet, if he failed in trying to shake the temperance of De Vayne. He saw at once that he had mistaken his subject; he took De Vayne for a man whose goodness and humility would make him pliant to all designs.
A dark thought entered Bruce’s mind.
He went alone into a druggist’s shop, and said, with a languid air, “I have been suffering very much from sleeplessness lately, Mr Brent; I want you to give me a little laudanum.”
“Very well, sir. You must be careful how you use it.”
“Oh, of course. How many drops would make one drowsy, now?”
“Four or five, sir, I should think.”
“Well, you must give me one of those little bottles full. I want to have some by me, to save trouble.”
The chemist filled the bottle, and then said, “I’m afraid I’m out of my poison labels, sir. I’ll just write a little ticket and tie it on.”
“All right;” and putting it in his pocket, Bruce strolled away.