The Man Who Rose Again Part 33

"Doctor!" laughed the local editor, "he doesn't want a doctor. He'll sleep it off all right. He's only drunk."

"Drunk!" said Leicester solemnly, "I'm sober as a judge. Word of honour, gentlemen. Overcome with 'motion, tha's wha.s.s marr w'me."

Both the reporter and the editor laughed ironically.

"We must get him back to the hotel," said Mr. Smith, "and we must have the doctor immediately."

"Yes, put him to bed at once," said the opposition editor. "He'll be all right in the morning, except for a bad headache."

"Bed," said Leicester, struggling with himself, "bed, who dare talk to me 'bout bed? I mus' do duty. Two thousand faithful s'porters are waitin' for word from thr leader. Hic! I must s'port my party also.

'Scuse me, gentlemen, I--I must return to th' platform. I want to warn my countrymen 'gainst the ter'ble evil 'v drink! No, nod ev'n sorr-ow shall keep me fr-rom duty. Has ses poet, 'Whr duty calls or danger, O ner be wantin' there.'"

He tried to rise; but in vain. Again he fell back with a drunken giggle, while the editor and his reporter laughed gleefully.

"I hope you'll not take an unfair advantage of Mr. Leicester's illness, gentlemen," said Mr. Smith.

"I a.s.sure you we'll only report faithfully what we have seen," was the reply. "But, really, I don't think there is any need for newspaper reports, the people have seen for themselves."

With all speed Leicester was taken back to the hotel, protesting all the while that he wished to address his faithful followers, and warn them against the evils of drink. Presently, when he reached his room, he rang the bell.

"Boll whisky, James," he said. "Gen'l'men, le's drink 'elth party--sobriety 'n' freedom."

"No, Mr. Leicester," said the chairman of the political organisation which had accepted him as their candidate, "you have drunk too much whisky already. You have not only disgraced yourself, but you've disgraced your party. You've ruined our chances of winning this election, you have made us the byword of our opponents, and of the country."

"Qui' m'stak'n, gen'l'men; sob'r's judge. Wha'! Rafford Lester drunk? I cu'nn be drunk if I tried. Whisky cu'nn do it. Le's 'ave a drink!"

A doctor entered the room, and came to his side.

"They say I'm drunk, doctor. Tell 'em wha' fools they are. Tell 'em I'm avocate ov temp'rance."

"Get him to bed," said the doctor. He had been a supporter of Leicester's, and was disgusted at what had taken place. "Here, take this," he said, pouring some liquid into a gla.s.s.

"Is it whisky, docker? No, thank you. I'm ple'ged t'totlerr. I never tush cursed stuff."

"Drink!" said the doctor sternly.

"Anything 'blige you, doctor," he said, as he swallowed the draught. A few minutes later he was in bed asleep, while the whole town was talking eagerly about what had taken place that night. Many there were, in spite of what they had seen, who maintained that his mind had been unhinged by grief, and that instead of turning their backs upon him, they must support him all the more loyally; but in the main it was believed that the opposition editor's dictum was correct, and that he had insulted them by appearing on the platform in a state of intoxication. As the night went on, reports were afloat to the effect that Miss Castlemaine was not ill at all, but that it was a report which originated with Leicester himself, the real truth being that Miss Castlemaine, having at the last moment discovered him to be a drunkard, had ordered him from her home. Before the town had gone to sleep, Leicester was declared to be guilty of every sin in the calendar, and that they must be very thankful that they had found out his real character. Mr. Smith and his staff were in despair, while the agent of the other candidate was jubilant. Their success was now a.s.sured, they felt.

Hour after hour Leicester slept. The doctor's potion, together with the whisky fumes, had to be slept off, and he lay like a log, breathing heavily. More than once the proprietor of the hotel came and looked at him. As he looked, he wondered. Even in his drunken sleep there was something n.o.ble about him. The face, all discoloured as it was, suggested a strong, masterful man. It seemed impossible that the self-restrained man who came to his house a few hours before, and had ordered nothing but soda-water from the waiter, could have fallen on the platform in drunken helplessness. Nevertheless, there could be no doubt about it. As he listened to his maudlin mutterings there could be but one opinion about his condition.

When Leicester woke daylight had come, but although he felt that something terrible had happened, he did not fully realise what had taken place. His mouth was dry and parched, and his head throbbed terribly. He had a vague remembrance of having acted strangely, but he could not piece together the scattered thoughts which floated through his brain.

"What is it?" he asked, after vainly thinking. "Am I still asleep? Is it all a nightmare?"

He looked around the room, and saw the sun's rays streaming through the windows. No, he was not asleep, he was in the bedroom of his hotel. But why was he there? Why was his heart so heavy? Why did his head throb so terribly?

Slowly memory began to work: he remembered dimly the swaying crowds, the shouts of enthusiastic supporters. But it was all very vague, and it seemed a long way off. His tongue was dry and parched, it would hardly move in his mouth. He felt an all-devouring thirst.

"Whisky," he said, "I must have whisky!"

He moved to get out of bed; but as he did so, all the events of the past three days came to him as if in a flood. The wedding-day, the scorn of Olive Castlemaine, the black terror of hopeless darkness, the return to whisky, the dissolution of Parliament, the telegram summoning him to his const.i.tuency.

It all came to him with such a shock that for a moment his thirst left him. The scenes of the previous evening filled him with horror. Yes, he had been drinking hard all the day, and the whisky had proved too much for him. He had walked to the Public Hall all right; but the hot, fetid atmosphere, the sight of Olive Castlemaine's face thrown on the canvas had completely overmastered him. Had he not given up drinking whisky it would have been all right. He would have made his speech, and no one would have suspected that he had been drinking; but as it was he had become a maudlin fool, he had fallen down in drunken helplessness.

The thought stung him to madness. This, then, was his boasted strength; this was what Radford Leicester had come to. The warnings of the pious friends whom he had sneered at had come true. Whisky had made him as drunk as a navvy who had spent his week-end in debauchery on receiving his week's wage. Cynic as he had always been, even in his best hours, he had also been always a proud man. He had professed contempt for the men who had not been able to conquer the vices which disgraced them in the eyes of the world. This pride had checked him from the vulgar indulgence in sin, before he had met Olive Castlemaine. He had always acted and spoken as a gentleman, even when he had drunk enough whisky to make other men hopelessly incapable. However debauched he might have been by the habit which chained him, he had always dressed with scrupulous care, and he had never a.s.sociated with those whom he regarded as low and debased.

But now all had come to an end. Directly after his dismissal by Olive Castlemaine he had cast all good resolutions to the winds, and as a consequence he was at that moment a laughing-stock to the town, to-morrow he would be an object of ridicule for the whole country. And Olive Castlemaine would know of it. Bridget Osborne would send the local newspaper to her, and she would read that----

What a thin veneer his so-called reformation was, and what a broken reed he was, in spite of all his boasted strength! He had been a poor thing whose moral elevation had depended on the smile of a woman, and when that smile was withdrawn, he had returned like a swine to its wallow!

But worse than all, there was the disgrace of it! Never before had he sacrificed his pride, never before had he given any one the opportunity of saying that he did not retain a full possession of his faculties. He who had boasted that he had nerves of steel, and that no whisky ever distilled could make him drunk!

He leaped out of bed, and with trembling hands opened his portmanteau.

Ah! there it was--a bottle of whisky. He pulled out the cork, and then hesitated. Was he so weak, then, as to return to the poison that had made him the byword of clodhoppers? The thought staggered him, and possibly he might have put it from him, had not the smell of the whisky reached him. This was like a match to a powder magazine. He took a deep drink, and he felt better.

"If I had only been careful it would never have happened," he reflected.

"I wonder now if----"

He heard a knock at the door.

"Yes."

"A gentleman to see you, sir."

"His name?"

"Mr. Grayburn, sir."

"Very well, tell him I'll be with him in a few minutes. Ask him to take a seat, will you, James?"

He spoke in his old voice. After all, the event of the previous evening was only an episode. He was not really altered; perhaps he would be able to put all things right even yet.

He determined that nothing should be left undone, on his part, to atone for the miserable past. He went to the bathroom, which adjoined his room, and plunged into cold water; after this he shaved himself, and then dressed with great care. When he appeared before Mr. Grayburn there were no traces of the events of the previous night. His nerves stood him in good stead again. He was never more quiet and composed in his life.

Yet he felt like a man who had signed his own death warrant.

"Ah! good-morning, Mr. Grayburn."

"Good-morning, Mr. Leicester."

"Have you breakfasted? I see the man has set the table for one only, but that can soon be rectified."

"Thank you, I have breakfasted."

Mr. Grayburn spoke very quietly, but he was evidently ill at ease. Had Leicester appeared before him haggard and trembling, his work would have been easier. It seemed impossible to take the superior att.i.tude towards Leicester as he appeared at that moment.

"I have come, Mr. Leicester, at the request of the Executive Committee of our Political a.s.sociation. As chairman of that committee, they thought I was the proper person. You will, of course, guess why."

Leicester was silent.