“Or, rather, Mr. Black must,” added Mr. Stewart. “He got us into this scrape, and he must get us out of it; so, remember, Frank, you are in for a paper war with one of the shrewdest men I know; you and Mr. Raidsford will have to muster your forces so as to come out of the struggle with éclat. I am sorry it has so happened, I must confess; sorry that Lord Kemms has been—I am obliged to use a harsh word, Mr. Raidsford—so ill-advised. With the best intentions, I feel confident, you have counselled him to hurry into print (a course always to be avoided, if possible), but still, you have led him wrong. Had you left the matter in my hands, Frank,” he added, “I should myself have stated publicly that there had been some misunderstanding, and so withdrawn your name, without any fuss or anger. As it is—why it is—and there is no use in further discussion. We must now do the best we can for ourselves,” and Mr. Stewart rose to depart.
“You are not thinking of going to-night?” exclaimed Lord Kemms, in astonishment; “because we differ in opinion, we are not, I trust, to swear eternal enmity.”
“Not with my good-will,” replied Mr. Stewart; “but because we have differed in opinion, I must get back to town by the first train to-morrow morning. Had your letter to the Times not been despatched I would gladly have remained here, instead of returning to Palinsbridge to-night; but needs must, you know; and you, Frank, are our driver.”
“I am sorry for it, extremely sorry!” exclaimed Lord Kemms.
“Sorry for having appealed to the god of English breakfast-tables?” asked Mr. Stewart. “Come, I am glad to see some signs of repentance about you.”
“I did not mean that; I am not sorry for having written and despatched my letter, I only regret that there should be any necessity for you to drive back to Palinsbridge to-night. But, at least, you will have something to eat before you start?”
“It appears to me we ought not to break bread under your roof,” said his cousin; “but, considering we have had nothing since we left Hastings, ten hours since, except a glass of sherry and seltzer water at Palinsbridge, I think it would be carrying animosity farther than human nature could endure, to refuse your obliging though tardy offer.”
“For my part, I shall be very glad to accept it,” declared Mr. Stewart; “worry always gives me an appetite; and I should not care to be dependent on the good offices of mine landlord at the Plough, for supper. His seltzer water was as hot as though drawn from one of the Geyser springs. And will you let some of your people tell the fellow, who brought us over, to give that poor devil of a horse of his a feed? Nice creature it is; trots about three miles an hour!”
“Will you allow my man to drive you back, Mr. Stewart?” said the contractor. “I shall be very happy if you will make use of my carriage.”
“Thank you, no,” was the reply; “the fly must return, and so Douglas and I may as well go in it. We are not exactly like man and wife, apt to quarrel by the way. If he were my better half, I would accept your offer at once; as it is, we will return as we came—much obliged, nevertheless.”