Vassall Morton Part 24

The day brightened as the steamer bore out to sea, and the sun streamed along the fast-receding sh.o.r.e. Morton stood at the s.h.i.+p's stern, gazing back longingly towards his native rocks. Though far from inclining to echo those set terms of praise which the progeny of the Puritans are fond of lavis.h.i.+ng on themselves, he felt himself bound with enduring cords to the woods and hills of New England, the scene of his boyish aspirations, of his pure ambition, and his devoted love; and while the crags of Gloucester faded from his sight, his eyes were dimmed as he turned them towards those rugged sh.o.r.es.

"Well, young man, seems to me you look a leetle kind o' streak-ed at the idee of quitting home," said a husky voice at his elbow.

Morton turned, and saw a small man, with a meagre, hatchet face, and a huge pair of black whiskers hedging round a countenance so dead and pallid that one could see at a glance that he was in a consumption. He had an eye hard as a flint, one that might have faced a Gorgon without risk. Morton regarded him with an expression which told him, as plainly as words, to go about his business; but he might as well have tried to look an image of bra.s.s out of countenance.

"Now _I_," pursued the small man, "have some reason to feel bad. It's an even bet if ever I see Boston lighthouse again--about six of one and half a dozen of the other. I consider myself a gone sucker. I've ben going, going, for about two years, and pretty soon I expect I shall be going, going, gone."

These words, uttered in a sort of bravado, were interrupted by a violent fit of coughing.

"Ever crossed the pond before?" asked the small man, as soon as he could gain breath.

"Yes."

"Business?"

"No."

"I thought not. You don't look like a business man. I know a business man, a mile off, by the cut of his jib. I'm a business man myself, and a hard used one at that."

Here a fresh fit of coughing began.

"Bad health; bad health, and d.a.m.ned hard luck, that's what has finished up this child. If it worn't for them, I should be worth my hundred thousand dollars this very minute."

Another fit of coughing.

"So you've ben across before. Well, so've I. That was three years ago, by the doctors' advice. It's great advice they give a man. It's good for their pockets, and there's deused little else it's good for. I spent that year over three thousand dollars; and if I'd staid to home, and stuck to my business, _I_ should have ben jest about as well, and cleared,--well, yes, I should have cleared double the money, at the smallest figger."

More coughing.

"I expect you travel for pleasure."

Morton replied by an inarticulate sound, which the other might interpret as he pleased. He chose to interpret it in the affirmative.

"Well, that's all very well for a young man like you. You are young enough to like to look at the curiosities, and take an interest in what's going on; but I'm too old a bird for that. One night I was down to Palermo, there was an eruption of Mount Etna going on. We were on the piazzy at the back of Marston the consul's house, and there it was blazing away to kill, way off on the further side of the island. Well, the ladies was all O-ing and Ah-ing like fits. 'Nonsense!' says I; 'it ain't a circ.u.mstance to the fire that burnt down my splendid new freestone-front store on Broadway. Now that was something worth saying O at.'"

More coughing.

"There was a young man there from Boston, and we went round to look at the churches. He was all for staring at the pictures, and the marble images, and the Lord knows what all, while I went and paced off the length of the church from the door up to the altar, and then again crosswise. There wasn't a church in Palermo worth shaking a stick at that I didn't know the size of, and have it all set down on paper."

"And what good did that do you?"

"What good did that do me? Why, I had something to show for my pains, something that would keep. They wanted me to ride up on the back of a jacka.s.s to the top of a mountain to see a cavern where some she saint or other used to live,--St. Rosa Lee, or some such n.i.g.g.e.r-minstrel name."

"St. Rosalie, I suppose you mean."

"St. Rosaly or St. Rosa Lee, it comes to pretty much the same. She was fool enough to leave a comfortable home--inside of a palace, too, be gad--and go and live all alone by herself in that cavern. Well, they wanted me to ride up on the jacka.s.s and see it. 'No,' says I, 'you don't ketch me,' says I; 'if I did, I might as well change places with the jacka.s.s right away,' says I."

A fresh fit of coughing.

"Yes, sir, bad health and hard luck, that's ben the finis.h.i.+ng of me, or else this minute I could show you my solid hundred thousand. The fire was what begun it all. A splendid freestone-front store, that hadn't its beat in all New York, chock full of goods, that worn't more than half covered by the insurance, burnt clean down to the sidewalk!

Then come the great failure you've heard of--Bragg, Dash, and Bustup.

I tell you, I was sucked in there to a handsome figger. Top of all that, my health caved in,--uh,--uh,--uh." Here the coughing grew violent. "Well, I'm a gone sucker, and it's no use crying over spilt milk. But if it worn't for bad health and d.a.m.ned hard luck, I should have been worth a hun--uh--uh--uh--a hundred thousand dol--uh--uh--dollars,--uh--uh--uh--uh--uh."

"This wind is too sharp for you," observed Morton.

"Fact," said the invalid; "I can't stand it no how."

He went down to the cabin, Morton's eye following him in pity and disgust.

CHAPTER XXIX.

The useful science of the world to know, Which books can never teach, nor pedants show.--_Lyttleton_.

The steamer, in due time, reached Liverpool; but Morton remained only a few days in England, crossing to Boulogne, and thence to Paris. Here he arrived late one afternoon; and taking his seat at the _table d'hote_ of Meurice's Hotel, he presently discovered among the guests the familiar profile of Vinal, who was just returned from a flying tour through the provinces. Vinal seemed not to see him; but at the close of the dinner, Morton came behind his chair and spoke to him. At his side sat a young man, whose face Morton remembered to have seen before. Vinal introduced him as Mr. Richards. When a boy, he had been a schoolmate of them both, and now called himself a medical student, living on the other side of the Seine. Having been in Paris for two years or more, he had, as he prided himself, a thorough knowledge of it; that is to say, he knew its sights of all kinds, and places of amus.e.m.e.nt of high and low degree. The sagacious Vinal thought himself happy in so able and zealous a guide.

"Mr. Vinal and I are going on an excursion about town to-night," said Richards; "won't you go with us?"

"Thank you," replied Morton, "I have letters to write, and do not mean to go out this evening."

Vinal and Richards accordingly set forth without him, the latter acquitting himself wholly to his companion's satisfaction and his own.

Vinal, who inclined very little to youthful amus.e.m.e.nts, contemplated all he saw with the eye of a philosopher rather than of a sybarite, looking upon it as a curious study of human nature, in the knowledge of which he was always eager to perfect himself. In the course of their excursion, they entered a large and handsome building on the Boulevard des Italiens. Here they pa.s.sed through a succession of rooms filled with men engaged in various games of hazard, more or less deep, and came at length to two small apartments, which seemed to form the penetralia of the temple.

In the farther of these was a table, about which sat some eight or ten well-dressed men, and at the head, a sedate, collected, vigilant-looking person, with a little wooden rake in his hand.

"_Messieurs, tout est fait. Rien ne va plus_," he said, drawing towards him a plentiful heap of gold coin, almost at the instant that Vinal and Richards came in. The game was that moment finished.

As he spoke, a strong, thick-set man rose abruptly from the table, muttering a savage oath through his black moustache, and brus.h.i.+ng fiercely past the two visitors, went out at the door. Richards pressed Vinal's arm, as a hint that he should observe him. As the game was not immediately resumed, they soon left the room; and after staking and losing a few small pieces at another table, returned to the street.

"Did you observe that man who pa.s.sed us?" asked Richards.

"Yes. He seemed out of humor with his luck."

"He was clean emptied out; I would swear to it. I was afraid he would see me as he went by, but he didn't."

"Why, do you know him?"

"O, yes; and you ought to know him too, if you want to understand how things are managed hereabouts. He's a patriot,--agitator,--democrat,--red republican,--conspirator,--you can call him whichever you like, according to taste. He's mixed up with all the secret clubs, secret committees, and what not, from one end of the continent to the other. He's a sort of political sapper and miner,--not exactly like our patriots of '76, but all's fair that aims a kick at the House of Hapsburg."

"Has he any special spite in that quarter?"

"He has been intriguing so long in Austria and Lombardy, that now he could not show his face there a moment without being arrested. So he is living here, where he keeps very quiet at present, for fear of consequences."

"What is his name?"

"Speyer,--Henry Speyer."