“For God's sake, Mr. Blake, save me from her—do n't let her get hold of me, for the love of all the saints.”
“What do you mean, you fool?” said Jimmy Blake. “Who is anxious to get hold of you?”
But no answer was returned by poor Dionysius. He lay with his head over Blake's shoulder, his arms swaying limply like two pendulums.
“By the powers, he has gone off in a swoon,” said young Blenerhassett. “Let us carry him to the nearest tavern.”
In less than half an hour Dionysius had recovered consciousness; but it required a longer space of time, and the administration of a considerable quantity of whisky, to enable him to tell all his story. He produced the letter signed “S. S.” which he had received in the morning, and explained that he had paid the visit to Mrs. Siddons only with a view of reasoning her out of her infatuation, which, he said with a shadowy simper, he could not encourage.
“I had hardly obtained access to her when she turned upon me in a fury,” said he. “Ah, boys, those eyes of hers!—I feel them still upon me. They made me feel like a poor wretch that's marched out in front of a platoon to be shot before breakfast. And her voice! well, it sounded like the voice of the officer giving the word of command to the platoon to fire. When I lay ready to expire at her feet, every word that she spoke had the effect of a bayonet prod upon my poor body. Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! I'll leave it to yourself, Mr. Blake: was it generous of her to stab me with cold steel after I was riddled with red-hot bullets?”
“I'm sorry to say, Mr. Hogan,” replied Blake, “that I can't take a lenient view of your conduct. We all know what you are, sir. You seek to ingraft the gallantries of the reign of his late Majesty upon the present highly moral age. Mrs. Siddons, sir, is a true wife and mother, besides being a most estimable actress, and you deserved the rebuff from the effects of which you are now suffering. Sir, we leave you to the gnawings of that remorse which I trust you feel acutely.”
Mr. Blake, with his friends, left the tavern room as Dionysius was beginning to whimper.
In the street a roar of laughter burst from the students.
“Mother o' Moses!” cried Moriarty. “'T is a golden guinea I'd give to have been present when the Siddons turned upon the poor devil.”