The Drunkard. Thorne Guy

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СКАЧАТЬ is to be invalidated by the presence of contradictory evil, then Beelzebub must sit enthroned and be potent over the affairs of men!"

      Mr. Amberley rose from his chair. His face had quite lost its watchful expression. It was genial and pleased as before.

      "King David has a great deal to answer for," he said. "I don't know what the unorthodox and the 'live-your-own-life' school would do without him. But let us go into the drawing room."

      With his rich, hearty laugh echoing under the Waggon roof, the big man thrust his arm through Lothian's.

      "There are two girls dying to talk to the poet!" he said. "That I happen to know! My daughter Muriel reads your books in bed, I believe! and her friend Miss Wallace was saying all sorts of nice things about you at dinner. Come along, come along, my dear boy."

      The two men left the dining room, and their voices could be heard in the hall beyond.

      Toftrees lingered behind for a moment with young Dickson Ingworth.

      The boy's face was flushed. His eyes sparkled with excitement and the three glasses of champagne he had drunk at dinner were having their influence with him.

      He was quite young, ingenuous, and filled with conceit at being where he was – dining with the Amberleys, brought there under the ægis of Gilbert Lothian, chatting confidentially to the great Herbert Toftrees himself!

      His immature heart was bursting with pride, Pol Roger, and satisfaction. He hadn't the least idea of what he was saying – that he was saying something frightfully dangerous and treacherous at least.

      "I say, Mr. Toftrees, isn't Gilbert splendid? I could listen to him all night. He talks like that to me sometimes, when he's in the mood. It's like Walter Pater and Dr. Johnson rolled into one. And then he sort of punctuates it with something dry and brown and freakish – like Heine in the 'Florentine Nights'!"

      With all his eagerness to hear more – the quiet malice in him welling up to understand and pin down this Gilbert Lothian – Toftrees was forced to pause for a moment. He knew that he could never have expressed himself as this enthusiastic and excited boy was able to do. Ingworth was a pupil then! Lothian could inspire, and was already founding a school.

      "You know Mr. Lothian very well, I suppose?"

      "Oh, yes. I go and stay with Gilbert in the country a lot. I'm nearly always there! I am like a brother to him – he was an only child, you know. But isn't he wonderful?"

      "Marvellous!" Toftrees chuckled as he said the word. He couldn't help it.

      Misunderstood as his chuckle was, it did the trick and brought confidence in full flood from the careless and excited boy.

      "Yes, and I know him so well! Hardly any one knows him so well as I do. Every one in town is crying out to find out all about him, and I'm really the only one who knows .."

      He looked towards the door. Thoughts of the two pretty girls beyond flushed the wayward, wine-heated mind.

      "I'm going to have a liqueur brandy," Toftrees said hastily – he had taken nothing the whole evening – "won't you, too?"

      "Now you'd never think," Ingworth said, sipping from his tiny glass, "that at seven o'clock this evening Prince and I – Prince is the valet at Gilbert's club – could hardly wake him up and get him to dress?"

      "No!"

      "It's a fact though, Mr. Toftrees. We had the devil of a time. He'd been out all day – it was bovril with lots of salt in it that put him right. As a matter of fact – of course, this is quite between you and me – I was in a bit of a funk that it was coming over him again at dinner. Stale drunk. You know! I saw he was paying a lot of compliments to Mrs. Amberley. At first she didn't seem to understand, and then she didn't quite seem to like it. But I was glad when I heard him ask the man for a whiskey and soda just now. I know his programme so well. I was sure that it would pull him together all right – or at least that number two would. I suppose you saw he was rather off when the ladies had gone and you were talking to him?"

      "Well, I wasn't sure of course."

      "I was, I know him so well. Gilbert's father was my father's solicitor – one of the old three bottle men. But when Gilbert collared number two just now I realised that it would be quite all right. You heard him with Mr. Amberley just now? Splendid!"

      "Yes. And now suppose we go and see how he's getting on in the drawing room," said Herbert Toftrees with a curious note in his voice.

      The boy mistook it for anxiety. "Oh, he'll be as right as rain, you'll find. It comes off and on in waves, you know," he said.

      Toftrees looked at the youth with frank wonder. He spoke in the way of use and wont, as if he were saying nothing extraordinary – merely stating a fact.

      The novelist was really shocked. Personally, he was the most temperate of men. He was homme du monde, of course. He touched upon life at other points than the decorous and above-board. He had known men, friends of his own, go down, down, down, through drink. But here, with these people, it was not the same. In Bohemia, in raffish literary clubs and the reprobate purlieus of Fleet Street, one expected this sort of thing and accepted it as part of the milieu.

      Under the Waggon roof, at Amberley's house, where there were charming women, it was shocking; it was an outrage! And the frankness of this well-dressed and well-spoken youth was disgusting in its very simplicity and non-moral attitude. Toftrees had gathered something of the young man's past during dinner. Was this, then, what one learnt at Eton? The novelist was himself the son of a clergyman, a man of some family but bitter poor. He had been educated at a country grammar school. His wife was the youngest daughter of a Gloucestershire baronet, impoverished also.

      Neither of them had enjoyed all that should have been theirs by virtue of their birth, and the fact had left a blank, a slight residuum of bitterness and envy which success and wealth could never quite smooth away.

      "Well, it doesn't seem to trouble you much," he said.

      Ingworth laughed. He was unconscious of his great indiscretion, frothy and young, entirely unaware that he was giving his friend and patron into possibly hostile hands and providing an opportunity for a dissection of which half London might hear.

      "Gilbert's quite different from any one else," he said lightly. "He is a genius. Keats taking pepper before claret, don't you know! One must not measure him by ordinary standards."

      "I suppose not," Toftrees answered drily, reflecting that among the disciples of a great man it was generally the Judas who wrote the biography – "Let's go to the drawing room."

      As they went out, the mind of the novelist was working with excitement and heat. He himself was conscious of it and was surprised. His was an intellect rather like dry ice. Very little perturbed it as a rule, yet to-night he was stirred.

      Wonder was predominant.

      Physically, to begin with, it was extraordinary that more drink should sober a man who a moment before had been making exaggerated and half-maudlin confidences to a stranger – in common with most decent living people, Toftrees knew nothing of the pathology of poisoned men. And, then, that sobriety had been so profound! Clearly reasoned thought, an arresting but perfectly sane point of view, had been enunciated with lucidity and force of phrase.

      Disgust, the keener since it was more than tinged by envy, mingled with the wonder.

      So СКАЧАТЬ