International Short Stories: English. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ as he put the money up, and said, "Law, Deuceace, you flatter me."

      Flatter him! I should think he did. It was the very thing which master ment.

      "But mind you, Dawkins," continyoud he, "I must have my revenge; for I'm ruined—positively ruined—by your luck."

      "Well, well," says Mr. Thomas Smith Dawkins, as pleased as if he had gained a millium, "shall it be to-morrow? Blewitt, what say you!"

      Mr. Blewitt agread, in course. My master, after a little demurring, consented too. "We'll meet," says he, "at your chambers. But mind, my dear fello, not too much wine: I can't stand it at any time, especially when I have to play écarté with you."

      Pore Dawkins left our rooms as happy as a prins. "Here, Charles," says he, and flung me a sovring. Pore fellow! pore fellow! I know what was a comin!

      But the best of it was, that these 13 sovrings which Dawkins won, master had borrowed them from Mr. Blewitt! I brought 'em, with 7 more, from that young genlmn's chambers that very morning: for, since his interview with master, Blewitt had nothing to refuse him.

      Well, shall I continue the tail? If Mr. Dawkins had been the least bit wiser, it would have taken him six months befoar he lost his money; as it was, he was such a confounded ninny, that it took him a very short time to part with it.

      Nex day (it was Thursday, and master's acquaintance with Mr. Dawkins had only commenced on Tuesday), Mr. Dawkins, as I said, gev his party—dinner at 7. Mr. Blewitt and the two Mr. D.'s as befoar. Play begins at 11. This time I knew the bisniss was pretty serious, for we suvvants was packed off to bed at 2 o'clock. On Friday, I went to chambers—no master—he kem in for 5 minutes at about 12, made a little toilit, ordered more dewles and soda-water, and back again he went to Mr. Dawkins's.

      They had dinner there at 7 again, but nobody seamed to eat, for all the vittles came out to us genlmn: they had in more wine though, and must have drunk at least two dozen in the 36 hours.

      At ten o'clock, however, on Friday night, back my master came to his chambers. I saw him as I never saw him before, namly, reglar drunk. He staggered about the room, he danced, he hickipd, he swoar, he flung me a heap of silver, and, finely, he sunk down exosted on his bed; I pullin off his boots and close, and making him comfrabble.

      When I had removed his garmints, I did what it's the doty of every servant to do—I emtied his pockits, and looked at his pockit-book and all his letters: a number of axdents have been prevented that way.

      I found there, among a heap of things, the following pretty dockyment:

      +-------------------------------------------+

       | I. O. U. |

       | £4700 |

       | THOMAS SMITH DAWKINS |

       | |

       | _Friday,_ |

       | _16th January_ |

       +-------------------------------------------+

      There was another bit of paper of the same kind—"I.O.U. four hundred pounds, Richard Blewitt:" but this, in cors, ment nothink.

      Nex mornin, at nine, master was up, and as sober as a judg. He drest, and was off to Mr. Dawkins. At 10 he ordered a cab, and the two genlm went together.

      "Where shall he drive, sir?" says I.

      "Oh, tell him to drive to the Bank."

      Pore Dawkins! his eyes red with remors and sleepliss drankenniss, gave a shudder and a sob, as he sunk back in the wehicle; and they drove on.

      That day he sold out every hapny he was worth, xcept five hundred pounds.

      Abowt 12 master had returned, and Mr. Dick Blewitt came stridin up the stairs with a sollum and important hair.

      "Is your master at home?" says he.

      "Yes, sir," says I; and in he walks. I, in coars, with my ear to the keyhole, listening with all my mite.

      "Well," says Blewitt, "we maid a pretty good night of it, Mr. Deuceace. You've settled, I see, with Dawkins."

      "Settled!" says master. "Oh yes—yes—I've settled with him."

      "Four thousand seven hundred, I think?"

      "About that—yes."

      "That makes my share—let me see—two thousand three hundred and fifty; which I'll thank you to fork out."

      "Upon my word—why—Mr. Blewitt," says my master, "I don't really understand what you mean."

      "You don't know what I mean!" says Blewitt, in an axent such as I never before heard. "You don't know what I mean! Did you not promise me that we were to go shares? Didn't I lend you twenty sovereigns the other night to pay our losings to Dawkins? Didn't you swear, on your honour as a gentleman, to give me half of all that might be won in this affair?"

      "Agreed, sir," says Deuceace; "agreed."

      "Well, sir, and now what have you to say?"

      "Why, that I don't intend to keep my promise! You infernal fool and ninny! do you suppose I was labouring for you? Do you fancy I was going to the expense of giving a dinner to that jackass yonder, that you should profit by it? Get away, sir! Leave the room, sir! Or, stop—here—I will give you four hundred pounds—your own note of hand, sir, for that sum, if you will consent to forget all that has passed between us, and that you have never known Mr. Algernon Deuceace."

      I've sean pipple angery before now, but never any like Blewitt. He stormed, groaned, belloed, swoar! At last, he fairly began blubbring; now cussing and nashing his teeth, now praying dear Mr. Deuceace to grant him mercy.

      At last, master flung open the door (Heavn bless us! it's well I didn't tumble hed over eels, into the room!) and said, "Charles, show the gentleman down stairs!" My master looked at him quite steddy. Blewitt slunk down, as miserabble as any man I ever see. As for Dawkins, Heaven knows where he was!

      "Charles," says my master to me, about an hour afterwards, "I am going to Paris; you may come, too, if you please."

THE BROTHERS

       Table of Contents

      A TALE[1]

      By EDWARD BULWER LYTTON

       [1] This tale is, in reality, founded on the beautiful tradition which belong to Liebenstein and Sternfels.

      You must imagine, then, dear Gertrude (said Trevylyan), a beautiful summer day, and by the same faculty that none possess so richly as yourself, for it is you who can kindle something of that divine spark even in me, you must rebuild those shattered towers СКАЧАТЬ