First Person Paramount Part 2

"A cousin he 'ates wors'n noise and wors'n women. A young chap name o'

Sefton Dagmar. He's heir to the t.i.tle, but I'm not thinkin' he'll get much o' the splosh. Sir William's got it all in Government bonds and he can leave it as he likes."

"What is this Sefton Dagmar like?"

"Not a bad sort. He's always haffable enough to me. He lives at Newhaven, but he calls here once in a while to see how Sir William is.

But he hardly ever sees him. Hi! there's master's bell--I'll be back in a minute."

As soon as b.u.t.ts had disappeared I gave my appet.i.te free rein and a very hearty meal I made. He was absent a quarter of an hour, and on his return he wore a look of annoyance. "Nuisance!" he began. "He's halways worriting about this time. He's goin' to give a dinner party to-morrow night. He gives one every month. But he wants you! Hurry up, he 'ates to be kep waitin'."

I was up the stairs in a twinkle, and again standing before Sir William. He looked bored to death.

"Some gentlemen will dine with me to-morrow night, Brown," he drawled.

"Six in all. Their names are on this paper, and their table places marked. I wish you to serve--b.u.t.ts is a clumsy waiter."

I received the paper with a deferential bow. "Very good, sir!" I murmured.

"You will also see that card tables are arranged in the smoking room.

b.u.t.ts will order the dinner, he knows my ways. But you will take charge of the arrangements. You seem a capable young fellow."

"Thank you, sir!"

"And Brown," he frowned heavily.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't fill my gla.s.s too often. I am an invalid, you know, and wine does not agree with me. That is all. I shall not want you again until seven o'clock this evening, when you may dress me for dinner!"

b.u.t.ts and I studied the paper that Sir William had given me, with the greatest attention. I soon gathered that the six gentlemen who were to dine with my master were not members of the smart set of society such as b.u.t.ts called "tip-toppers," but men of intellectual attainment, and leaders of thought, if not of fas.h.i.+on. b.u.t.ts knew them all. "They belong to Sir William's club, the 'Athenian,'" he remarked. "This here Sir Charles Venner who's to take the seat of honour is a cove what cuts up dead dogs and such like while they are alive."

"A vivisectionist?" I asked smiling.

"Don't know what you call 'em," responded b.u.t.ts. "But he's doctor, and so is Mr. Fulton, who is to sit opposite on master's left. The next chap on the right--Luke Humphreys--is a hauthor, on political economy.

Mr. Husband is the chap who wrote that article in the _National Review_ on the weakness of the Navy, which kicked up such a blessed fuss a while since. You must have heard of him?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, George Cavanagh is an artist and a R.A. Master has one of his pictures in the dining room--you'll see it presently: a naked woman with a chap--'Love and Death' it's called."

I had much ado not to laugh outright. "I've seen prints of it," I muttered. "Who is the last, Mr. Nevil Pardoe, b.u.t.ts?"

"He's a playwright," answered b.u.t.ts with a sigh. "They're playin' one of his pieces now at the Kensington Theatre. I went there the other night and got my pocket picked for my trouble." He kicked over a chair as he spoke, as if carried away by temper in remembering his misfortune. The bell rang on instant. "Oh, Lor!" groaned b.u.t.ts. "I'm in for it again, that man has the ears of a mole!"

He came back a few minutes later looking very sour. "Called me a clod hopper!" he growled in a low voice. "He's got a reptile tongue. But come upstairs, Brown, and I'll show you his bedroom--an' where he keeps his clothes an' things!"

It was an immense apartment, magnificently furnished. But it was very untidy and medicine bottles, some full, some empty, crowded the mantelpiece and dressing tables. The place smelt like a druggist's store. "I'll clear that rubbish away first thing," I declared. But the footman seized my arm as I caught up the first bottle. "He'd go ravin'

stark starin' mad if one of them was s.h.i.+fted," he cried. "Don't you touch 'em, lad."

I shrugged my shoulders, and watched b.u.t.ts ransack our master's wardrobe, he explaining to me the while certain preferences in matters of taste and dress which Sir William had always manifested. It appeared that he detested colours. All his suits were black, also his boots and gloves.

"You seem to know him so well, b.u.t.ts," I remarked at last, "that I wonder more and more why he has not made you his valet."

"It's my haccent!" sighed b.u.t.ts. "He can't abear it. Whenever I drop a haitch, in his 'earing, he shrivels up."

During the afternoon I borrowed half a sovereign from b.u.t.ts, and purchased some fresh linen.

While dressing Sir William Dagmar later in the evening, I only spoke when he addressed me, and then in softest monosyllables. He seemed pleased with my attentions. But then I have frequently noticed that no man is hard to please whose idiosyncrasies are humoured when detected.

He gave me a list of his medicines and the hours when they should be administered, after which he departed to dine at a neighbouring restaurant, in which his habit was to take most of his meals in a private room, perfectly alone.

b.u.t.ts and I dined together in the pantry, and a merry time we spent, until our master's return, when noise was prohibited.

On the morrow the house was more or less in the hands of a bevy of restaurateurs preparing for the dinner. Sir William went out early in the morning, and he was absent all day, but he returned in time for me to dress him, and he appeared to be pleased with our arrangements. The table indeed looked magnificent, for I had taken care to deck it with flowers, and my taste in such matters is excellent. I did not see the guests until dinner was served, and they were all seated at the table.

I wore an evening suit of my master's, which on b.u.t.ts' advice I had borrowed beforehand without the formality of asking permission, having none of my own. Sir William was not an observant man, _grace au Dieu_!

I entered the room noiselessly, and slipped behind my master's chair.

The table had been previously spread with oysters. No one spoke, until the sh.e.l.ls were emptied; meanwhile I studied the six attentively. They were intelligent, but cold-faced men. Sir Charles Venner had an enormous nose, and very small grey eyes. Dr. Fulton possessed a hare-lip. Mr. Humphreys rejoiced in a squint. George Cavanagh might have stepped from a portrait by Van Dyck, but he had a trick of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up the tip of his nose under the influence of excitement, at intervals, as a rabbit does. Mr. Husband put out his tongue, to meet his fork as he ate, he possessed a prodigious chin; and Mr. Nevil Pardoe had watchful heavy lidded eyes. These traits were their key-notes so to speak--their individual and predominant peculiarities, which distinguished them from each other and from other distinguished men. From the rest of the world, they were one and all distinguished by a common pallor of complexion, and a curious cough, which stamped them as consumptives.

As I removed their plates, Sir Charles Venner broke a silence that I at least was beginning to find oppressive. "I believe you will be the first to go after all, Dagmar!" he remarked in French, casting a keen glance at my master. "Pardoe seems picking up. He doesn't cough so much to-night." It was evident that no one suspected me of an acquaintances.h.i.+p with French.

Sir William shrugged his shoulders. "I am ready," he returned. "But I don't think so. Will you bet, or any one?"

"I'll lay you even money that Pardoe turns up his toes before you, Dagmar!" cut in Mr. Husband.

"Very good," said Sir William. "How much?"

"A hundred!"

"It is a wager!" Sir William took out his pencil and scrawled some figures on his s.h.i.+rt cuff.

"I'll take you too, Husband," cried Mr. Cavanagh.

"And I," chorused Dr. Fulton and Sir Charles.

"No thanks," retorted Mr. Husband drily. "My book is full. How are you feeling yourself, Venner?"

"Nice and poorly, thanks, but with care I'll out-last the lot of you!"

He broke out into a fit of coughing as he finished speaking, and the others bending forward, watched him eagerly. Their expressions reminded me of a lot of hungry carnivora eyeing a bone held just beyond their reach.

They drank their soup in silence, but while I served to them the entree, they conversed again.

"I'm in the hands of a quack," began Nevil Pardoe. "The enterprising devil has agreed to cure me for the sake of an advertis.e.m.e.nt."

"Oh! How long?"

"Ten days now. Upon honour I feel a little better already."

"Where is he to be found?" demanded my master suddenly.

A roar of laughter drowned the reply. But Sir William looked annoyed.

"It's not that I want to live," he explained in tones of anger. "I know I'm doomed, but Cavanagh stands to lose two thousand pounds--if I predecease Pardoe, and as he is only a poor devil of an artist--I'd like to improve his chances!"