"That's where I am quartered; and if you please to send the thing there, I'll get it."
The Duke thrust the envelope into his waistcoat-pocket, and soon afterwards he shook hands with the young soldier on Greenwich pier. He walked into The Ship and ordered dinner. While he was waiting he asked for the means of writing a letter. Having copied the name and address on the envelope the young soldier had given him, he wrote on a sheet of paper: "From the Soldiers' Kith and Kin Society," folded two five-pound notes into the sheet of paper, closed up and stamped the envelope, and on his way back stopped his cab at a post-office and dropped the letter in.
CHAPTER VI.
[A SUPPER WITHOUT A HOST.]
The Duke had been quite right about his appetite. He could have contented himself with a steak, but now he might as well have a nice little dinner, and play with it for an hour or so. He had fricasseed sole, roast lamb, duck and green peas, and cheese fondu. He had a pint bottle of sound claret, and maraschino to finish with; and all the time there was the freshness from the river streaming through the window, and the soft beat of paddle-wheels and the swirl of cool waters at the prows of steamers and of barges.
Yes, this was much better than working seven, eight, or ten hours a day in the top of that dull house in Long Acre, where the smell of varnish, turpentine, and shavings of the factory blended not pleasantly with the dull damp odour native to the street outside. And of those ten hours a day what had come? On an average not more than a dozen shillings a day. A dozen shillings a day! Fancy a dozen shillings a day for all that work--all that plotting and planning, and weighing and considering; and then the hateful slavery of having to bend over a desk until he grew sick of pens, ink, and paper, as a prisoner grows sick of his cell! And then, after the weary writing, the reading over, and scoring out and writing in. After this came the proofs, and after the proofs came the printed and published sheet, and the two blunders or infelicities on each page, or the five in each column, which had after all escaped him! Oh, it was a cruel life now to look back upon; but he had not felt it to be so at the time.
Now here he was, at the pleasant open window. He had had an excellent simple little dinner, and he was smoking a cigar which cost as much as all the bird's-eye he had used in a week of the old time! Every day he could do what he liked, go where he liked, buy what he liked. In a few days, as soon as the novelty had worn off May, he should make her go with him everywhere in the neighbourhood of London. He should map out the little trips they should take. She should travel in the softest of carriages, and taste the daintiest fare, and see the fairest sights. It would be so good to lean back and watch the delight in her bright face, as she came upon some beauty of wood or glen or river! It would be such a happiness to him to see her resting on the most luxurious cushions art could devise! It would be so good to see the servants at every place they stopped eager to anticipate her lightest wish! It would be delightful!
And now he should not abandon writing altogether. Of course he should never run a story in any of the papers again. But he would write a novel in time. He need be in no hurry about it. He would have excellent opportunities of going about and picking up local colour and character. As far as he knew, no English duke had ever written a novel. It would be a novelty to find three volumes at Mudie's and Smith's by the Duke of Shropshire. There would be an enormous demand for it.
Fortunately he had not sold the copyright of anything he had written, so that no one could now advertise a book of his without his consent. He had sold the three-volume right of "The Duke of Fenwick" to Blantyre and Ferguson; but they had no power to put "by the Duke of Shropshire" on the title-page; and even though all the world and his wife knew "Charles Augustus Cheyne," author of "The Duke of Fenwick," was now Duke of Shropshire, the effect was not nearly so striking as if the page showed the title he now bore.
Ah, it was pleasant to be rich at last! He had often dreamed and written of great riches, but never of such a colossal fortune as he now owned. He was not crushed by it, and yet he felt he should have great difficulty in disposing of his revenue. There were, of course, four or five houses to keep in order and readiness; and there were subscriptions and donations to be paid, as a matter of routine. But after this had all been done scarcely any impression had been created on the enormous income. He had no taste for horses or gambling, but he supposed it would be necessary for him to rely on some such means for spending his money.