Roland Cashel, Volume I (of II). Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Kennyfeck was to meet him on his arrival in England, about ten days ago, and they spent a few days in London, and were – But hark! there comes a carriage now, – yes, I know the step of his horses; here they are!”

      CHAPTER VI. A FRACAS IN THE BETTING-RING

      Ne’er mind his torn, ill-fashioned doublet,

      Beshrew me! if he ‘s not a pretty man.

Don Lopez.

      The movement and bustle in the hall showed that Mr. Jones’s surmise was correct; for scarcely had the carriage stopped than the street-door was flung wide open, and Mr. Pearse, the butler, followed by a strong detachment of bright-liveried menials, stood bowing their respectful compliments to their master and his guest. As Mr. Kennyfeck entered the house, he walked slowly and with difficulty, endeavoring at the same time to avoid all scrutiny of his appearance as he passed through the crowded hall; but, although his hat was pressed firmly over his brows, it could not entirely conceal a very suspiciously tinted margin around one eye; while the care with which he defended his left arm, and which he carried in his waistcoat, looked like injury there also.

      He, however, made an attempt at a little sprightliness of manner, as, shaking his companion’s hand with cordial warmth, he said, —

      “Welcome to Ireland, Mr. Cashel. I hope I shall very often experience the happiness of seeing you under this roof.”

      The person addressed was a remarkably handsome young man, whose air and carriage bespoke, however, much more the confidence that results from a sense of personal gifts, and a bold, daring temperament, than that more tempered ease which is the consequence of fashionable breeding.

      Mr. Kennyfeck’s felicitations on their arrival were scarce uttered ere Cashel had sufficiently recovered from his surprise at the unexpected magnificence of the house to make any reply; for, although as yet advanced no further than the hall, a marble group by Canova, a centre lamp of costly Sèvres, and some chairs of carved ebony served to indicate the expensive style of the remainder of the mansion.

      While Cashel, then, muttered his acknowledgments, he added to himself, but in a voice scarcely less loud, —

      “Devilish good crib, this, Master Kennyfeck.”

      “Pearse,” said the host, “is dinner ready?”

      “My mistress and the young ladies have dined, sir; but Mr. Jones and Mr. Softly are in the parlor.”

      “Well, let us have something at once; or, would you prefer, Mr. Cashel, making any change in your dress first?”

      “I say dinner above all things,” said the youth, disencumbering himself of a great Mexican mantle.

      “Perfectly right; quite agree with you,” said Kennyfeck, endeavoring to assume a little of his guest’s dash; “and here we are. Ah, Jones, how d’ye do? Mr. Cashel, this is my friend Mr. Jones. Mr. Softly, very glad to see you. Mr. Softly. – Mr. Cashel. Don’t stir, I beg; keep your places. We ‘ll have a bit of dinner here, and join you at your wine afterwards. Meanwhile, I ‘ll just step upstairs, and be back again in a moment; you’ll excuse me, I ‘m sure.”

      “Oh, certainly,” replied Cashel, who appeared as if he could excuse anything with a better grace than the ceremonious slowness of the butler’s arrangements.

      There was a pause of a few seconds as Mr. Kennyfeck left the room, broken, at last, by Mr. Jones asking if they had not been detained by contrary winds.

      “No, I think not; I fancy the weather was pretty average kind of weather. Had we been expected here earlier?”

      “Yes; Mrs. Kennyfeck mentioned to me Monday, and afterwards Tuesday, as the very latest day for your arrival.”

      Cashel made no remark; and, soon after, Mr. Pearse’s entrance with the soup put an end to the conversation. “Mr. Kennyfeck desired me to say, sir, not to wait for him; he’ll be down presently.”

      “What do you call this soup?”

      “Mock-turtle, sir.”

      “Rather too much Madeira in it for my taste; but that sha’ n’t prevent my having a glass of wine. Will you permit me, gentlemen?”

      The parties bowed policy; but still the intercourse did not progress; and in the exchanged glances of those at the large table, and the sidelong looks Cashel occasionally threw towards them, it was easy to see that neither party had made way with the other.

      “I fear Kennyfeck is not going to make his appearance,” said Cashel, as he seemed to hesitate about proceeding with his dinner.

      “I should n’t advise you waiting,” cried Jones; “the fish is growing cold.”

      “I suspect Mr. Kennyfeck is fatigued by his journey, sir,” said Mr. Softly, in his most bland of voices; “I thought I remarked it by his face.”

      “Oh, did you?” said Cashel, with a very peculiar look of knowingness.

      “Yes; you are aware, Mr. Cashel,” interrupted Jones, “our friend is n’t much used to that kind of thing. I suppose it’s some years since he has had so much knocking about as in these last few days.”

      “I fancy so,” said Cashel, with a significant smile that puzzled the lawyer exceedingly, and he ate on without making a further remark.

      The two or three efforts made by Jones and Softly to converse together were, like nearly all similar attempts at perfect ease and self-possession, complete failures, and gradually slided down into monosyllables, and then to silence; when Cashel, who seemed to be enjoying his venison and Bordeaux with perfect zest, leaned back in his chair and said, “What kind of place is this same good city of Dublin? What goes forward here?”

      As this question was more directly addressed to Jones, that gentleman prepared himself, not unwillingly, for an elaborate reply.

      “Dublin, Mr. Cashel,” said he, pretty much in the same tone he would have used in opening an address to a jury, —

      “Dublin is a city which, from a great variety of causes, will always be exposed to every variable and opposing criticism. To begin: it is provincial – ”

      “Is it slow?” interrupted Cashel, who had listened to this exordium with palpable signs of impatience.

      “If you mean, has it its share of those habits of dissipation, those excesses so detrimental alike to health and fortune – ”

      “No, no; I merely ask what goes on here, – how do people amuse themselves?” said Cashel, fencing to avoid any very lengthened exposure of the other’s views.

      “They dine, dance, drink tea, talk politics and scandal, like other folk; but if you ask, what are the distinguishing features of the society – ”

      “What kind of sport does the country afford?” interrupted Roland, somewhat unceremoniously.

      “Hunting, shooting, fishing, coursing – ”

      “What do you mean by hunting, – a fox, is it?”

      “Yes, fox-hunting and hare-hunting, too.”

      A very insolent laugh was Cashel’s answer, as, turning to Mr. СКАЧАТЬ