A Barren Title: A Novel

Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: The Internet Web Archive
https://archive.org/details/barrentitlenovel00spei
(The Library of Congress)

HARPER'S HANDY SERIES

Issued Weekly

Copyright by Harper & Brothers November 27, 1885
Subscription Price per Year, 52 Numbers, $15

Entered the Post-Office at New York, as Second-class Mail Matter

A BARREN TITLE

A Novel

BY T. W. SPEIGHT

AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERIES OF HERON DYKE" ETC.

Books you may hold readily in your hand are the most useful, after all
Dr. JOHNSON

NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
1885

A BARREN TITLE.

[CHAPTER I.]

SHABBY-GENTEEL.

It was a sunny February afternoon when Mr. John Fildew put his nose--aquiline and slightly purple as to its ridge--outside the door of his lodgings for the first time that day, and remarked to himself, with a shiver, that the weather was "beastly cold." After gazing up the street and down the street, and seeing nothing worth looking at, he shut the door behind him and strolled leisurely away.

Hayfield Street, in which Mr. Fildew's lodgings were situate, was, despite its name, as far removed, both in appearance and associations, from anything suggestive of country or rural life as it well could be. It was of the town towny. Every house in it--and they were substantial, well-built domiciles, dating back some seventy or more years ago--was let out to three or four families, while in many cases the ground-floors had been converted into shops, in one or other of which anything might be bought, from a second-hand silk dress or sealskin jacket to a pennyworth of fried fish or a succulent cow-heel.

In whatever part of the street you took your stand a couple of taverns were well within view, and, as a matter of course, there was a pawnbroker's emporium "just round the corner." It is needless to say that the street swarmed with children of all ages and all sizes, and that you might make sure of having the dulcet tones of a barrel-organ within earshot every ten minutes throughout the day. It was situate somewhat to the west of Tottenham-court Road, and ran at right angles with one of the main arteries that intersect that well-known thoroughfare.

In this populous locality Mr. Fildew and his wife rented a drawing-room floor, consisting of three rooms, and including the use of a kitchen below stairs; and here they had lived for between six and seven years at the time we make Mr. Fildew's acquaintance. As we shall see a great deal of that gentleman before the word Finis is written to this history, it may perhaps be as well to introduce him with some particularity to the reader before setting out with him on his afternoon stroll.

John Fildew at this time was about fifty-two years of age, but looked somewhat older. Thirty years previously he had been accounted a very handsome man, and there were still sufficient traces of bygone good looks to make credible such a tradition. But the once clear-cut aquiline nose was now growing more coarse and bibulous-looking with every year, and the once shapely waist was putting on a degree of convexity that troubled its possessor far more than any other change that time had seen fit to afflict him with. As yet he was by no means bald, and his iron-gray hair, however thin it might be at the crown, was still plentiful at the sides and back, and being seldom operated upon by the tonsorial scissors, its long, straggling ends mingled with the tangled growth of his whiskers and lay on the collar of his coat behind. Grizzled, too, were whiskers, beard, and mustache, but all unkempt and apparently uncared for, growing as they listed, and only impatiently snipped at now and again by Mr. Fildew himself, when his mustache had grown so long as to be inconvenient at meal-times. His eyes were his best feature. They were dark, piercing, and deep-set, and were overhung by thick, bushy brows, which showed as yet no signs of age. Their ordinary expression was one of cold, quiet watchfulness, but they were occasionally lighted up by gleams of a grim, sardonic humor, accompanied by a half-contemptuous smile and at such times it was possible to understand how it happened that many not over-observant people came to regard him as a genial, good-hearted, easy-tempered fellow, when, in truth, there was scarcely one touch of real geniality in his composition.

Unshorn and unkempt as Mr. Fildew might appear as regards his hair and whiskers, shabby-genteel as he might be in point of attire, he still carried himself as one who holds himself superior in some measure to the ordinary run of his fellows. His boots might bear unmistakable traces of having been patched, but they were carefully polished and well-set up at the heels. His trousers might be old, and it is possible that they too might be patched on certain parts not visible to the public eye, but they were well ironed at the knees, and were strapped over his boots à la militaire. His frock-coat--always worn tightly buttoned--might be threadbare, inked here and there at the seams, and not after the latest fashion, but it had the merit of being an excellent fit. His hat, too, might be of ancient date, and suspiciously shiny in places, but it was always carefully brushed, and was worn with an air of assurance and aplomb that made its defects seem superior to the virtues of many newer head-coverings. Mr. Fildew's linen might be old, possibly darned, but such portion of it as was visible to the world at large was at least spotlessly white: there was some one at home who took care of that. His attire was completed by a deep, military-looking stock, a pair of faded buckskin gloves, and a substantial Malacca cane with a silk tassel. Being naturally a little short-sighted, he always carried an eyeglass, but rarely made use of it in the streets.

And yet Mr. Fildew's shabby attire was not altogether a matter of necessity with him. One day his son Clement ventured to say, "Father, I wish you would go to my tailor, and let him set you up with some new toggery."

Clem was brushing the collar of his father's coat at the time, and the remark was made laughingly, but Mr. Fildew turned with a scowl and confronted his son. "Confound your tailor, sir!" he cried. "And you, too," he added next moment. "Do you think I'm a pauper, that you offer to pay for my clothes? If you are ashamed to be seen out with me, remember, sir, that there are always two sides to a street." And with that Mr. Fildew turned on his heel in high dudgeon.

Clement and his mother exchanged glances of dismay. "You know how peculiar your father is, dear," said Mrs. Fildew afterwards, "and what little things sometimes touch his dignity. It was injudicious of you to say what you did."

Clement shrugged his shoulders. "I have lived with my father all my life, and yet I confess that I only half understand him," said the young man. "At times he is a complete enigma to me."

"I have lived with him more years than you have, and I think that I almost understand him: almost, but not quite," responded Mrs. Fildew, with a smile. "But then a woman always does understand a man better than another man can hope to do."

Clement Fildew might well say that his father was an enigma to him. Although the latter refused so indignantly to allow his son to be at the expense of refurnishing his wardrobe, he was not too proud to accept from him his weekly supply of pocket-money. But then the money in question found its way from Clement's pocket to that of his father after such a delicate and diplomatic fashion that the susceptibilities of Mr. Fildew had never hitherto been wounded in the transaction. Every Friday Clement placed in his mother's hands the sum of one guinea. The sovereign and shilling in question were wrapped up by Mrs. Fildew in a piece of tissue-paper, and quietly deposited by her in a certain drawer in her husband's dressing-table. By Saturday morning the tiny packet would have disappeared. No questions were asked; neither Mrs. Fildew nor her husband ever spoke to each other on the matter but silence has often a meaning of its own, and it had in this case.

Mr. Fildew having shut the door of his lodgings behind him, walked slowly down the street with the preoccupied air of a man who is busily communing with himself. "I must ask Clem to lend me half a sovereign," he muttered. "The necessity is an unpleasant one, but there's no help for it. I feel certain I could have given that fellow last night a drubbing at a carom game, but he was too many for me at the spot stroke. Experientia docet."

Unfastening a couple of buttons of his frock-coat, Mr. Fildew inserted a thumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket, and drew therefrom a sixpence. "My last coin," he murmured. "I really must not touch a cue again for another month."

Mr. Fildew was methodical in many of his habits. There was one tavern at which he made a point of calling within ten minutes of leaving home every afternoon. It had a little dark, private bar with cane-bottomed stools, where the gas was kept half turned on all day long. Here Punch and other comic papers were always to be found. Somehow, Mr. Fildew liked the place, but although he had called at it daily for years, no one behind the bar knew either his name or anything about him. He now pushed open the swing-doors and went in. In answer to his nod--there was no need for him to speak--the barman brought him fourpennyworth of brown brandy and cold water, together with a minute portion of cheese on the point of a knife. Mr. Fildew munched his cheese, glanced at the cartoon in Punch, sipped up his brandy-and-water, nodded a second time to the barman, and went.

Mr. Fildew walked jauntily along, whistling under his breath. The brandy had imparted a glow to his feelings and a glow to his imagination: the flame would soon drop down again, he knew, but he was philosopher enough to enjoy it while it lasted.

Elderly, shabby-genteel individuals are by no means scarce about the West End of London on sunny afternoons--inveterate flâneurs whose "better days" are over forever. But Mr. Fildew was something more than merely shabby-genteel there was about him a style, a carriage, an air undefinable, but not to be mistaken, of broken-down distinction, which induced many passers-by to turn and glance at him a second time as he "took" the pavement with his slow military stride, his eyes fixed straight before him, and his nose held high in air.

In a few minutes he found himself in Oxford Street. Crossing this as soon as there was a break in the string of vehicles, he took his way towards the mazes of Soho. Stopping at a certain door, he gave one loud rap with the knocker followed by two quick ones, and next moment the door opened, apparently of its own accord, and Mr. Fildew walked in, after which the door shut itself behind him. He had evidently been there before, for without a moment's hesitation he ascended the first flight of stairs, turned to the left down a short passage, and, opening a door at the end of it, found himself in a roomy and well-lighted studio.

Its only occupant was a very little bandy-legged man with a luxuriant crop of curly hair, who was sitting on a low stool in front of a big canvas, palette and brush in hand and a brier-root pipe between his teeth. John Fildew looked round with an air of disappointment.

"Clem not at home?" he asked of the little man.

"Oh, Mr. Fildew, is that you?" said the latter, turning quickly. "I thought it was Clem come back. He's gone to see Pudgin, the dealer. Won't be long, I dare say."

"This is the third time I've called and not found him at home."

"All, just your luck, ain't it?" said the other, coolly. It would almost have seemed from the way he spoke as if he held Mr. Fildew in no particular regard.

The latter made no reply, but strode across the room and came to a halt immediately behind the little painter.

"I'm putting the finishing touches to the pedes of my saint, Mr. Fildew. I wonder whether the holy men of olden time were ever troubled with corns or bunions. I suppose it wouldn't do to paint them with any. Rather too realistic, eh?"

"Intended for the Academy, I suppose?"

"If their high mightinesses will deign to find it hanging room--which is somewhat problematical."

Mr. Fildew's cough plainly implied, "I should think it very problematical indeed."

"Now, about Clem's picture I don't think there can be any doubt whatever," said the generous-hearted little man. "They must be dolts, indeed, if they reject that. It's far and away the best thing Clem's done yet. That boy, sir, has a great career before him."

"From a painter's point of view, I presume you mean?" said Mr. Fildew, with a sneer.

"Precisely so. From a painter's point of view. What other point of view could you expect me to take?"

"No other, I suppose. Chacun à son métier. But the words, 'a great career,' hardly associate themselves in my mind with anything achieved by means of a brush and a paint-pot."

"A paint-pot, indeed! Let me tell you, sir--but you are only chaffing me, Mr. Fildew--only trying to set my Welsh blood boiling that you may have a quiet laugh at me in your sleeve. But, joking apart, sir, you ought really to have a look at Clem's picture. It's there on the other easel. Shall I lift the cover for you?"

"Not to-day, thank you, Macer. I'm not i' the vein. How is it possible for a man to have any proper appreciation of the fine arts who hasn't a sou in the world to bless himself with?"

"If I might venture to offer, Mr. Fildew--" said Macer, doubtfully. He knew something of his visitor's queer moods and sudden spurts of temper, and shook in his shoes as he made the offer.

"Just what I was coming to. You're a good fellow, Macer," responded Mr. Fildew, with much affability. Tony felt immensely relieved. "The truth is, I just looked in to see whether Clem had a spare half-sovereign about him; I've run rather short, as most of us do at odd times."

"If you are in a hurry, Mr. Fildew, and you will allow me--" said Macer, as he opened his purse.

"Thanks. Yes, I am in a hurry, and you can settle with Clem, you know;" and so the half-sovereign was quietly transferred to Mr. Fildew's pocket.

"Any message for Clem, Mr. Fildew?"

"No, I think not, Macer. You may just tell him that his mother seems a little more cheerful and in less pain yesterday and to-day. But, really, I don't wish you to burden your memory with such a trifle."

"It won't seem a trifle to Clem. I could not tell him anything that would please him better."

"Hum! Not even the news that the Academy had accepted his picture?" asked Mr. Fildew, dryly.

"Not even to hear that would afford him the pleasure he would derive from knowing that his mother was really better."

"Ah, yes, Clem's a good boy; a model son in every way." Macer looked up quickly, but Mr. Fildew, with his glass in his eye, was apparently contemplating a cobweb in a far corner of the room. "But I must go now," he added, as he turned on his heel. "Don't forget to ask Clem for the half-sovereign; and if neither of you should be so fortunate as to have your picture hung by the Academy, I hope you won't go and hang yourselves instead." And, with one of his peculiar smiles and a curt nod of the head, he left the room.

"Poor Clem! What a pity Providence didn't provide him with a different kind of father," said Tony Macer, as he turned to his work again. "Egad! if the fellow were worth ten thousand a year, he could hardly give himself more airs."

[CHAPTER II.]

AT THE BROWN BEAR.

The Brown Bear, the tavern usually patronized by Mr. Fildew of an evening, was situate in a quiet street no great distance from Bloomsbury Square. It was one of the few taverns dating from a bygone generation that had escaped the hands of the modern innovator. It could boast no plate-glass windows lighted up with a score of gas-jets. There was plenty of old mahogany, black with age, to be seen inside the bar, but there were no mirrors and no gilding; neither was there any lavish display of colored glass or artificial shrubs. You went down one step from the street into the bar, the floor of which was sprinkled with sand, as in the days when George the Third was king. A huge oaken beam supported the ceiling. On a topmost shelf stood a couple of immense punchbowls backed by some flagons of antique design, and below them were several bottles of Schiedam and other liquors that had been ripening for a dozen years. There was an air of sombre substantiality about the whole place.

Behind the bar was the "coffee-room," so called. Straight-backed, rush-bottomed chairs occupied three sides of it, in front of which were ranged four or five oblong tables, black with age and much polishing. At the upper end of the room was an elaborately carved arm-chair, where the president or chairman for the evening took his seat, opposite which stood a brass box containing tobacco, the lid of which flew open as often as a halfpenny was dropped through an orifice at the opposite end. A few smoke-dried prints of coaching and sporting subjects, and three or four pipe-racks, decorated the walls.

The general public were not allowed to invade this sanctum for them there was another room at the opposite end of the bar. The coffee-room was set apart and kept sacred for a certain set of regular customers, and such private friends as they might choose to bring with them from time to time, who, year in and year out, made a point of spending their evenings at the Brown Bear. Some there were who put in an appearance almost every night, some of them showed up only two or three times a week, but they were all known to each other and to the landlord, the freemasonry of good-fellowship, or what passed among them as such, being the one bond that kept them together. Several of them were small tradesmen of the neighborhood, two or three were connected with the law, a few of them were men whose work in this world was over, and who were ekeing out the remainder of their days on some small pension or private means of their own.

At nine P.M. such of the company as might be present voted one of their number into the chair, a post which it was not considered etiquette to vacate till the clock struck twelve. At ten o'clock they were generally joined by the landlord, who, on such occasions, ordered and paid for what he drank like an ordinary customer. The last proceeding of each evening was for the chairman to treat such of the company as might be left to "goes" of grog at his own expense; one cannot expect to have the honors of this world thrust upon one without having to pay for them.

It is quite possible that some of the frequenters of the Brown Bear were drawn thither by the love of hearing themselves talk, and of having others to listen to them, rather than by any more convivial motives. As a consequence, the affairs of the nation were discussed and settled, and the proceedings of the party in power impugned or approved of, as the case might be, to the satisfaction of everybody concerned; while such minor topics as the weather, the crops, the last murder, or the latest scandal in high life, did not fail to come in for their due share of attention. Some old fogies there were who scarcely opened their lips except to order their grog, or to interject an "exactly" or a "just so" at the proper moment, whenever any particular proposition was pointedly aimed at them, but who otherwise puffed placidly at their pipes in stolid silence. These non-talkers were by no means among the least popular of the company, for how can a man who feels called upon to enlighten his fellow-citizens do so with any satisfaction to himself unless he has appreciative listeners? That those others chose to be listeners rather than talkers was by no means put down to any obtuseness of intellect on their part, for are we not taught that a still tongue is a sign of a wise head? and a man may be brimful of wisdom, and yet be at pains to conceal that fact from his fellows.

Among such a company as this it might almost have seemed as if a man like Mr. Fildew would hardly have felt himself at home; but such was by no means the case. The truth is, that the majority of the frequenters of the Brown Bear, that is to say, the small tradesmen portion of them, looked up to our friend and yet looked down upon him. They looked down upon him because they had a suspicion, which, in their case, was next to a certainty, that he was always in a chronic state of impecuniosity; because they themselves had their snug little investments in one form or other, and could have bought him up, root and branch, a hundred times over; and, finally, because it is one of the blessed privileges of those who have money to look down on those who have none. They looked up to Fildew because there was something about the man which told them he had at one time belonged to a sphere from which they were forever debarred. Through all his poverty and shabbiness, a faint aroma of fashion and high life seemed still to cling to him. The popular notion at the Brown Bear was that he had at one time been an officer in some crack regiment, who had ruined himself by gambling and been discarded by his friends. If he spoke of the aristocracy, which, to give him credit, was but rarely, he spoke as though he were one to the manner born. He seemed to know Eton and Oxford as well as he knew Tottenham-court Road, and to be familiar with most of the West End clubs. A nobleman's name could hardly be mentioned without his being able to tell something about him that the frequenters of the Brown Bear had never heard of before. In his very way of talking, in his mode of accentuating his words, there was an indefinable something which marked him out at once from the ordinary frequenters of the coffee-room of the B. B. They knew, these petty tradesmen, that "His Grace" looked down upon them from the height of some, to them, invisible pedestal; and they in turn looked down upon him from the serene height of their money-bags; and yet, as they argued among themselves when he was not by, he must, to a certain extent, have liked their company, else why did he seek it so persistently night after night the year round?

It was about half-past eight this evening when John Fildew walked into the bar of the Brown Bear. He nodded to the landlord, and that worthy at once touched a spring inside the bar which communicated with the door of the coffee-room, after which the door opened to Fildew's hand, and he entered. With one man in the room he shook hands, to the rest of the company be vouchsafed a general and comprehensive nod. Then he took a vacant chair, and having called for a "go" of brandy cold, he proceeded to select a churchwarden pipe from a heap on the table before him and to charge it with tobacco.

"How's the weather by this time, your grace?" asked Mr. Nutt, the shoemaker. "It was just wetting a bit when I came in."

"The stars are out again," said Fildew, answering to the title as a matter of course. "Not much likelihood of any rain to-night."

It was not often that he joined in the discussions, political or otherwise, that were pretty sure to crop up before the evening was at an end. He generally sat a silent if not an amused listener. If appealed to directly he would give his opinion, but not otherwise. That curious, sneering smile of his would now and then light up his features at the enunciation by one or other of his friends of some more wildly outrageous statement than common, but for the most part he and his pipe held silent session together and troubled no one with what they thought.

It was quite understood in the room why Mr. Fildew should shake hands with Mr. Denzil and no one else. Mr. Fildew was a man who rarely shook hands with any one. His reasons for making an exception in favor of the young law-writer may be told in a few words. One evening, about a year anterior to the particular evening to which we have now come, Mr. Denzil had made his appearance at the Brown Bear considerably the worse for liquor. At the moment of his entrance Mr. Fildew was explaining to the company the ceremonial in connection with a royal levée at St. James's. "What can a shabby dog like you know about the interior of a palace?" hiccoughed Denzil. "If you have ever been inside St. James's it must have been when you were sent for to sweep the chimneys."

"Silence, you drunken fool," said Mr. Fildew, in quietly contemptuous tones.

But Denzil was not in a mood to be silenced, and would probably have insulted the company all round had not three or four of his more intimate friends removed him as quietly as possible. After that evening he and Mr. Fildew spoke to each other no more.

Six or seven months had passed away when one evening somebody inquired what had become of Denzil, upwards of a week having gone by since his last appearance at the B. B.

"My pot man told me to-day that he had heard he was queer," remarked the landlord.

"What's the matter with him? Not d. t. again, eh?"

"Some sort of fever, I'm afraid. Catching, too, I hear."

"Poor Denzil! Let us hope he'll not want for good nursing."

"How can he have good nursing," said another, "when, as I happen to know, he hasn't a single relation within a hundred miles of London? He rents a back bedroom on a third floor, and gets his meals out. That's the sort of home Denzil has."

"Poor devil! They ought to have taken him to the hospital. He'd have been properly cared for there."

"They say he's too ill to be moved," remarked the landlord, as he placidly puffed at his pipe. Had the health of his favorite terrier been in question, some show of feeling might naturally have been expected from him.

Then Mr. Fildew spoke. "Gentlemen," he said, "my opinion is that a deputation of the present company ought without delay to inquire into the circumstances attendant on Mr. Denzil's illness, and make such arrangements as may be necessary for having him properly cared for."

There was a dead silence in the room. Everybody puffed away with increased energy at their pipes.

Mr. Pyecroft, the small-ware dealer, a thin man with a squeaky voice, was the first to speak. "Did you say the fever was a catching one, Mr. Landlord?"

"So my potman was given to understand. A bad kind of fever--very."

"Humph! Well, I for one, as a family man, must say," resumed Pyecroft, "that much as I respect our friend Denzil, and sincerely as I hope he'll soon be among us again as jovial as ever, I don't see my way to go and inquire personally after his health. My duty to my wife and children tells me that I ought to take the greatest possible care of my own health, for their sakes, if not for my own."

"Hear, hear! my sentiments exactly," resounded from three or four parts of the room. "Number Two is all very well when Number One has been properly cared for."

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Scoop, the tailor, with a doleful shake of the head, "I am afraid that this is one of those unfortunate cases in which friendship finds itself with its hands tied. I don't really see that we can do anything. James, another go of Scotch with an extra squeeze of lemon this time."

Mr. Fildew rose to his feet and put his hat on.

"Surely your grace is not going already?" said Mr. Nutt.

"Why, the evening's quite a baby yet," remarked jovial-faced little Tubbins, the undertaker. "But perhaps there's a lady in the case, eh? Ah, sly dog, sly dog!" and he gave a comprehensive wink for the benefit of the company at large.

"Gentlemen," said Mr. Fildew, gravely, "I am going to the lodgings of Mr. Denzil. If any one here chooses to accompany me, so much the better. If not, I shall go alone."

He waited a moment, but no one spoke or moved.

Then he turned on his heel and walked slowly out.

He found Denzil in a raging fever, with no one to attend to him but a poor lad who slept in the next room. For ten days and as many nights he and this lad took it in turns to nurse the sick man, until the fever left him and he was on the high-road to recovery. Then an old aunt was telegraphed for out of Devonshire, and Mr. Fildew went his way. And that is the reason why ever afterwards he and Denzil shook hands when they met each other at the B. B.

To-night the coffee-room was more lively than usual, for Mr. Wimbush, the funny man of the company, had advanced the humorous proposition that the moment a prime-minister failed to secure a majority in the House he ought to be decapitated, and was putting it to his friends generally which of them would like to take office under such circumstances. Lumbering witticisms and time-honored jokes were being bandied about; a joke was hardly looked upon as a joke at the B. B. till it had done duty some half-dozen times, and came to be recognized as an old friend. But John Fildew sat as grave as a judge, behind his pipe, and took no part in the merriment around him.

By and by in came Mr. Nipper, the auctioneer, with the evening paper in his hand. He sat down next Mr. Fildew, rubbed up his hair, and selected a pipe. "Any news this evening worth reading?" asked Fildew, more for the sake of saying something than because he cared to know what the news might be.

"No, everything seems very stale just now," said the auctioneer, as he blew down the stem of his pipe, and twisted his little finger appreciatively round the inside of the bowl. "There's an account of a fatal accident to one of our young swells; but the country could spare a lot like him without being any the worse off," added Nipper, who prided himself on his democratic principles.

"There are swells and swells," responded Mr. Fildew, dryly. "What was the name of this particular one?"

"The Earl of Loughton. Pitched off his hunter and broke his neck. Not quite one-and-twenty."

Mr. Fildew, who had been in the act of lifting his glass to his lips, put it down untasted. Mr. Nipper turned and stared at him.

"Hullo! I say, what's the matter? Was the young lord a friend of your grace?" This was asked with something of a grin. "By Jove! you are all of a shake."

"The Earl of Loughton was no friend of mine. I never saw him in my life. But I happen to be acquainted with the man who will succeed him in the title."

"Bully for you, my boy," responded Mr. Nipper, who could not forget that he had once spent six months in the States. "Here's the account. Perhaps you would like to read it." He pointed to a brief paragraph, which Fildew, with the newspaper held up within an inch or two of his nose, read carefully through more than once.

"I must write to my friend to-night and congratulate him," he said, in his usual quiet, matter-of-fact tone, as he laid down the newspaper. "It will be a great surprise for him."

"Let us hope that in the day of his prosperity the friends of his adversity will not be forgotten," said Nipper, who was one of the orators of the B. B.

"It is but a barren honor that he will come into," answered Fildew. "The title will be his, but the estates go elsewhere;" and nodding a curt "goodnight" to the auctioneer, he emptied his glass and left the room.

[CHAPTER III.]

NEGOTIATIONS.

Whether Mr. Fildew ever wrote that particular letter respecting which he spoke to Mr. Nipper is more than doubtful. Like many other men, he hated letter-writing, and it is possible that the incident in connection with Lord Loughton, to which he had seemed to attach so much importance when he first heard of it, may have assumed a different aspect when recalled to mind in the cool light of morning. In any case, there was no observable difference in his appearance or mode of life. He came and went, and smoked and drank, as heretofore only it might be that he was a little more particular in scanning the newspapers than he had previously been. At the end of a week his friend Nipper said to him, "I see that poor young fellow was buried yesterday."

"You mean Lord Loughton? Yes, I saw the account in this morning's paper."

"Written to your friend yet?"

"No. On second thoughts it seemed to me that it would be better to wait a few weeks before troubling him. He'll have enough to do and plenty to think of for a little while."

"Well, I wouldn't lose sight of him if I were you. It must be rather nice to be on nodding terms with an earl. Not that I should care about that sort of thing, you know," added Nipper, hastily. He had forgotten for the moment that he was in the habit of posing as a democrat. "And then"--with a glance at Fildew's threadbare coat and patched boots--"he might do something for you, you know: some snug little government sinecure, or something of that kind. There's lots of 'em knocking about."

Mr. Fildew laughed a little bitterly. "It may be all very well for me not to forget him, but he may not choose to remember me."

"Well, that's the way of the world and no mistake," said the auctioneer, with a shrug. "But, for all that, I shouldn't forget to jog his memory. Where's the use of having swell friends if you can't make use of 'em?"

A few evenings later Mr. Fildew called for pen, ink, and paper, and, seating himself at a little table, apart from the rest of the company, he wrote the following letter, which George the potman afterwards took for him to the nearest post:

"The Brown Bear Tavern, Chalcot Street, W. C.

"February 25th, 18--.

"Messrs. Flicker & Tapp, Bedford Row:

"Gentlemen,,--In common with a great number of other people, I have heard with extreme regret of the untimely demise of the late Earl of Loughton. That a life so abounding in promise should be thus suddenly nipped in the bud must be almost enough to cause those near and dear to him to arraign the decrees of Providence.

"I know not whether it may be a matter of any moment either to the Dowager Countess of Loughton or to yourselves, as business agents for the family, to be made acquainted with the whereabouts of the present earl; but should it be so, I think I may safely say that I am the only person in England who can furnish you with his address. You may probably be aware that Mr. Lorrimore, as we may still call him, has resided abroad for several years but as I happen to have had a communication from him only a fortnight ago, I am fully competent to supply you with the information stated above. Should you think it worth your while to take any notice of this communication, I am to be found here any evening from 8.30 till 11.30 P.M.

"I am, gentlemen, faithfully yours,

"John Fildew."

Two evenings passed away without any response, but on the third evening a dapper little man, with a very shiny hat and a pair of whiskers several sizes too large for him, walked into the bar of the Brown Bear, and asked for Mr. Fildew. Our friend, being called, came lounging out of the coffee-room, his glass in his eye and a thumb in each waistcoat pocket.

"Are you Mr. John Fildew?" asked the little stranger, taking in the whole of John's shabby toggery at a glance.

"I am--unfortunately. I often think it would be a good thing if I could be somebody else."

"My name is Perkins. I have called respecting a certain letter addressed by you to Messrs. Flicker & Tapp. Our senior partner would like to know--"

"Pardon me," interrupted Fildew, blandly, "but if I have not the pleasure of addressing either Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp, we need not proceed further with the matter."

"Why, sir--how, sir--I don't understand you!" spluttered Mr. Perkins, becoming as red as a turkey-cock.

"I am sorry for that. I will put my meaning as plainly as possible. I never transact business except with principals."

"But I tell you, sir, I have been sent here specially to--to--"

"I am sorry that you should have your trouble for nothing, but unless Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp choose to come and consult me in person the matter must end here. And, really, I shall not be sorry for it to do so."

"Mr. Flicker or Mr. Tapp come to a place like this!"

"Why not, my dear Mr. Perkins? If the place is good enough for me, surely it is good enough for them."

"Why, you impertinent, shabby--"

"Gently, my dear Mr. Perkins, gently. I've rather a partiality for little men, so long as they behave themselves; but when little men become impertinent I've a nasty trick of caning them (verbum sap.). But have a drop of something hot before you go. This house has a name for its old Jamaica, and I've an odd sixpence somewhere in a corner of my pocket."

"To the devil with your Jamaica and your sixpence too!" ejaculated Mr. Perkins. "It's my opinion that you're nothing better than a common swindler;" and, jamming his hat over his brows, the little man turned abruptly on his heel and left the bar. Mr. Fildew, after a grim, silent laugh, went back to his pipe in the coffee-room.

Three days later Mr. Fildew found a note awaiting his arrival at the Brown Bear. It ran as follows:

"No. 429 Bedford Row.

Messrs. Flicker & Tapp will be at liberty to see Mr. John Fildew any morning between half-past ten and two, if he will favor them with a call as above."

To this the following answer was sent:

"The Brown Bear Tavern.

"Mr. Fildew is sorry to say that his numerous engagements preclude him from having the pleasure of waiting on Messrs. Flicker & Tapp, as suggested in their note of yesterday. As previously stated, Mr. Fildew may be found at the above address any evening prior to 11.30 P.M."

"They shall wait upon me, not I upon them," said Mr. Fildew to himself, with an emphatic bang of his fist upon the unoffending postage-stamp.

And so it came to pass for one evening the great Mr. Flicker himself put in an appearance at the Brown Bear, having left his brougham at the corner of the street. He was a tall, thin, melancholy-looking man, like an attenuated life-guardsman who had turned mute for a livelihood. He stood among the bar-frequenters for a moment or two while Mr. Fildew was summoned, looking as grim, cold, and uncompromising as if he had been carved out of monumental marble.

"I am Mr. Flicker."

"I am Mr. Fildew."

Then the latter said a few words to the landlord, and the two gentlemen were ushered up-stairs into a private room. As soon as the door was shut, said the lawyer: "We received rather a singular communication from you a few days ago, Mr. Fildew."

"In what did the singularity of my communication consist, Mr. Flicker?"

"I will be frank with you, and I trust you will be equally frank with me."

Mr. Fildew bowed, but said nothing.

"May I be permitted to ask by what reasons you were influenced in your assumption that a knowledge of the address of--of--"

"Of the present Earl of Loughton," suggested Mr. Fildew, blandly.

"That a knowledge of the address of the person named in your letter," said Mr. Flicker, loftily, "could be of any possible interest either to the Dowager Lady Loughton or to myself or partner?"

"Were I so minded, I might content myself by replying that the fact of your presence here this evening is a proof that the information proffered by me has a certain measure of interest for you, and possibly for her ladyship also. But you have asked me to deal frankly with you, and I will endeavor to do so. Since writing my first letter to you, I have had a communication from his lordship containing certain instructions, and giving me full power to act in his behalf in this matter."

Mr. Flicker's eyebrows went up perceptibly, but he simply bowed and waited to hear more.

"Before proceeding further," resumed Mr. Fildew, "it may be as well if I give you our view of the case as it now stands. Of course we are all aware that the title, as it comes to the present earl, is what may be called a barren honor, there being no entail. Not one golden guinea, not one acre of moorland, comes with it. The father of the late earl, when he drew up his will, might have foreseen the contingency which the strange irony of events all unlikely as it then seemed--has now brought about. He took every possible precaution that his scapegrace cousin the man who on account of his evil doings, had been compelled to expatriate himself long years before, should not inherit a single rood of the property, and he would doubtless have willed the title away also had it been in his power to do so. The greater share of the property comes to Miss Collumpton, and a lesser share to Mr. Slingsby Boscombe, both of whom are half-cousins to the late earl, and I believe it has long been considered a desirable thing in the Lorrimore family that the two young people in question should unite their fortunes in wedlock. Should this consummation be brought about, one thing and one only would be needed to make such a union a matter for rejoicing among gods and men. The one thing needful would be that the title should accompany the estates." Mr. Fildew paused for a moment to relight the pipe he had brought with him from the coffee-room. "Which is your favorite tobacco, Mr. Flicker?" he asked, as he blew a cloud of smoke from his lips. "For my part, give me bird's-eye for choice."

"I never use tobacco in any shape, sir," said Mr. Flicker, with a sort of lofty scorn.

"Then let me tell you, sir, that you lose one of the pleasures of existence. But to return to our muttons. As you and I are well aware, Mr. Flicker, under present circumstances the title cannot go with the estates but it may follow them, and that at no distant date. The life of one elderly gentleman--of a gentleman who has been in infirm health for years--is all that now stands between Mr. Slingsby Boscombe and an earldom. But supposing this same elderly gentleman were to marry and have issue, where would Mr. Boscombe's chance be in that case?" Mr. Fildew put up his glass and stared across at his companion as if awaiting a reply but Mr. Flicker merely blew his nose with a melancholy air, and said nothing.

"However, as I am instructed," resumed Mr. Fildew, "matrimony is the last thought in his lordship's mind. At the same time, he does not relish the idea of succeeding to the title without any income to support it with. What, therefore, I am empowered to suggest is a compromise. Provided his lordship will enter into an engagement not to contract a matrimonial alliance, the question is what amount per annum the dowager countess, or Miss Collumpton, or Mr. Slingsby Boscombe, or all three of them together, will be prepared, after due consideration, to allow him out of the estate."

Mr. Fildew let his eyeglass drop and resumed smoking.

Mr. Flicker sat and stared at him across the table. His respect for the strange, shabby, tobacco-flavored man before him had gone up thirty per cent. during the last few minutes.

"Well, Mr. Fildew, really I am at a loss to know in what light to regard the strange proposition you have put before me. I have no instructions to--to--"

"I can't quite understand that," broke in Fildew, "and I am not such an ass as to expect an answer from you off-hand. Take my proposition away with you, and you and the dowager can consider it at your leisure. You know by this time where I am to be found."

Mr. Flicker rose. His sluggish blood was beginning to simmer. He felt that he had been quietly put down all through the interview. The strange being before him had actually had the presumption to address him in the same tone that he himself might have made use of when speaking to one of his clerks.

"By-the-bye, there is one point that I must press specially on your attention," resumed Fildew, as he too rose. "His lordship informs me that the first step in the negotiations, should your side agree to negotiate at all, must be a distinct understanding that the debts, on account of which he left England so many years ago, shall be discharged in full. His lordship makes that a sine quâ non."

"If his lordship may be judged by the tone of his mouthpiece," said Mr. Flicker, dryly, "it seems pretty evident that he looks upon himself as master of the situation."

"It is quite possible that such may be the earl's own opinion. But, in any case, Mr. Flicker, I think that you and I understand each other by this time."

Mr. Flicker muttered something that was inaudible and opened the door. "One moment, if you please," said Mr. Fildew. Then he rang the bell. "James, be good enough to light this gentleman downstairs and conduct him through the bar."

Four days later the following letter was put into Mr. Fildew's hands: "If Mr. Fildew will call at No. 287 Harley Street, at noon to-morrow (Tuesday), the Dowager Countess of Loughton will be at home."

Never had John Fildew looked more uncompromisingly and audaciously shabby than when he knocked at 287 Harley Street. His hat and coat might not have been brushed for days. His boots seemed to lack something of their usual polish. He wore a frayed black satin stock with long ends, which completely hid whatever portion of his shirt-front might otherwise have been visible, but which, at the same time, gave one the idea that perhaps there was nothing to hide. A faint, a very faint, aroma of stale tobacco floated round him as he moved.

The bleak March winds had made the ridge of his nose look more purple than usual, and when he put a dingy piece of pasteboard into the hand of the tall footman who answered his knock, that functionary was evidently disposed to look upon him as a member of the great fraternity of shabby-genteel beggars.

"Take that to the Countess of Loughton, and be quick about it," said Mr. Fildew, in the sharp military way he sometimes affected, for the man was turning the card over and hesitating.

Three minutes later Mr. Fildew found himself in the presence of the countess and Mr. Flicker.

The Dowager Lady Loughton was nearly eighty years old, but was still a wonderfully active and bright-eyed little woman. The tradition ran that she had been accounted a great beauty in her youth, but her nose and chin nearly touched each other now, and when she grew very earnest in conversation her head began to nod as if to add emphasis to her words, but that was simply because she could not keep it still at such times. All her life she had borne the reputation of being a good hater, and it was said that her tongue grew more venomous each year that she lived. The sudden death of her grandson had doubtless been a great blow to her, but she bore the loss with a stoicism which would not let any signs of grief be witnessed by those about her. Some of the countess's dearest friends averred that her grief at the fact of the title having to lapse into another branch of the family was quite as poignant as that which she felt for the loss of the young earl; but then we all know what strange things our dearest friends will say about us.

The countess examined Mr. Fildew through her double eyeglass--even at seventy-eight she would not take to spectacles--as he crossed the room after the servant had shut the door behind him. Mr. Flicker's description of the man had made her slightly curious respecting him. In that elegantly furnished room John Fildew's shabbiness looked shabbier by contrast. Had he been dressed as an ordinary working man he would not have looked nearly so much out of place as he did in the worn and rusty garments of a broken-down man about town. The only change in his attire that he had made in honor of the occasion consisted of a pair of very ancient black-kid gloves, which had been stitched and restitched so often that nothing more could be done for them, and a narrow mourning band round his hat.

"You are Mr. Fildew?" asked the countess, with a sort of sweet condescension in her tones.

"And you are the Dowager Lady Loughton."

Her ladyship looked at Mr. Flicker as much as to say, "You were quite right a strange being, truly." Then she said aloud, "Pray take a chair, Mr. Fildew."

This Mr. Fildew did, planting himself close to the little table near which the countess and the lawyer were seated. Then he stared mildly through his glass at one and the other of them, as waiting to hear more.

"Mr. Flicker has confided to me the purport of his interview with you a few evenings ago," began the countess.

"And the decision which her ladyship has arrived at," croaked Mr. Flicker, "is that the suggestion then put forward by you is totally inadmissible, and cannot be entertained for a moment."

"Then may I ask," said Mr. Fildew, with a sort of grave surprise, "why I have been summoned to Harley Street this morning? All this might surely have been told me under cover of a penny postage-stamp."

"Although I cannot at present see my way to entertain the proposition which Mr. Lorrimore has thought fit to make through you," said the countess, "it may still be conceded that I am not without a little natural curiosity to learn some particulars concerning the man himself, and what he has been doing these many years since he left England."

"I have no authority to gratify your ladyship's curiosity. I am here simply to negotiate a certain business transaction. As there seems no probability of our coming to terms I may as well take my leave at once. When Lord Loughton arrives in England he will no doubt be able to satisfy your ladyship's affectionate inquiries: whether he will care to do so is another matter." Mr. Fildew rose and pushed back his chair.

"Sit down, sir," said her ladyship, with an imperious gesture. "If you were Lord Loughton himself you could not treat me more cavalierly." Her head began to nod portentously.

"Suppose I am Lord Loughton?" said Mr. Fildew, quietly, as he resumed his seat.

"Eh!" said her ladyship, with a sudden scared look.

"I say--suppose I am Lord Loughton?"

She stuck her double eyeglass across her nose and stared at him for a moment or two. "You Lord Loughton--you!" she said, with a little derisive cackle. "Tchut! tchut! that would be a farce indeed."

"A farce that, like many others in real life, may involve a most serious meaning. But whether it be a farce or a masquerade, it is high time it were ended. Permit me, therefore, to introduce myself to your ladyship as John Marmaduke Lorrimore, ninth Earl of Loughton."

[CHAPTER IV.]

TERMS PROPOSED.

"I don't believe one word you have said. You are nothing but a vile impostor," exclaimed Lady Loughton, with all the energy at her command, while her head continued to wag as if at any moment it might fall off.

Mr. Flicker rose from his chair, and, with his hands resting on the table, stared across at the audacious being sitting opposite to him. His mouth opened and then shut. Finding no language forcible enough to express a tithe of what he felt, he sat down again without speaking, and blew his nose. It was a protest more eloquent than words.

"Your ladyship always had a reputation for speaking your mind. I find that the old habit still clings to you," said Mr. Fildew, quietly, as he toyed carelessly with a paper-knife.

"You are nothing but a charlatan, sir, and my servants shall turn you out of doors." Her ladyship laid a finger on the tiny silver gong at her elbow, but Mr. Fildew's next words arrested the movement.

"I remember on one occasion when I was at Ringwood," he said, "and I could not have been more than eight or nine years old at the time, what a scrape Cousin Charley and I got into through bird-nesting in the woods when we ought to have been learning our lessons. We were stealing in through the back entrance, as black as two sweeps, when your ladyship caught us. What a setting down you gave us, to be sure! Charley being Earl of Loughton--he came into the title, you know, when he was seven years old--was simply scolded and forgiven, while I, being merely cousin to the Earl of Loughton, and nobody in particular, was not only scolded but sent with your ladyship's compliments to Mr. Pembroke, the tutor, and would he please cane me enough for two. The sight of you again, madam, brought this little reminiscence quite freshly to my mind."

Snarling till she showed the whole of her false teeth, and shaking a withered finger at Mr. Fildew, the countess said, "I repeat, sir, that you are nothing but a charlatan. Don't for one moment imagine that you can bamboozle me with any made-up tales about Ringwood, and what happened there thirty or forty years ago. Any fool could work up evidence of that kind."

"There used to be a good deal of company at the old place in those days," resumed Mr. Fildew, without heeding her ladyship's outburst in the least. "Where are the old faces by this time, I wonder? Scattered to the four quarters of the globe, I suppose, such of them as are still alive. Does your ladyship remember Captain Bristow? I wonder whether he is still among the living."

It was strange to see the hot color mount to her ladyship's forehead. She blushed like any girl of eighteen. Then she took up her fan. "Mr. Flicker," she said, "will you oblige me by opening that window a couple of inches? I feel a little faint. Thank you. And now, sir," turning to Mr. Fildew, "pray what do you know about Captain Bristow?"

"I have some very pleasant reminiscences in connection with the handsome captain. For one thing, he always tipped me liberally when he came to Ringwood. One day I happened to be the unseen witness of a little comedietta in which your ladyship and the captain enacted the chief--indeed, I may say, the only characters. I had been to the library to fetch a book for Mr. Pembroke, when, happening to hear voices in the blue boudoir, which, as you may remember, madam, is the room next the library, and perceiving that the door was ajar, I peeped in and saw--now, what does your ladyship think that I saw?"

The countess coughed, and Mr. Flicker, in obedience to an almost imperceptible sign, rose softly from his chair and walked away to the farthest window, humming under his breath.

"I saw," resumed Mr. Fildew, with hardly a break, "the captain on his knees before your ladyship--the earl had been dead at that time about two years--I saw him kiss your hand, and I saw that you, madam, did not repulse him. I was not near enough to hear the words which passed between you, but presently I saw the captain take a ring out of his waistcoat pocket and slip it on to your ladyship's finger. Then there came a knock at the other door, and the captain had barely time to rise before in came a servant with a letter for him. It was a message to say that his father was dying. He left Ringwood that night, and never, so far as I know, entered its doors again. But I notice that your ladyship still wears the ring which Captain Bristow slipped on your finger that sunny afternoon. That is the one on the third finger of your right hand."

Lady Loughton sank back in her easy-chair, and turned as white as she had been red before. "Water," she said, faintly, pointing to a carafe that stood upon a side-table. Mr. Flicker was by her side in a moment. When she had drunk a little water, he said, "Shall I ring the bell for your maid?"

"No. I shall be better presently. I hate having a fuss made about trifles." Then, after a moment or two of silent thought, she said suddenly, "Flicker, that man"--pointing to Mr. Fildew with her fan "is either John Marmaduke Lorrimore or Beelzebub!"

Mr. Flicker rubbed his chilly hands together and bowed low--very low. Whether the bow was intended for the Earl of Loughton or for the Prince of Darkness was best known to himself.

"I am sorry, my lord," he said, "that with a recent melancholy tragedy still fresh in my memory, I cannot congratulate your lordship as I should like to have done on your accession to so distinguished a title."

"You are not a bit like a Lorrimore," broke in her ladyship, in the abrupt way which was habitual with her.

"And yet you used to say that I had more of a Lorrimore look than even your own son had."

"It seems impossible that you can ever have been that long-haired, fair-skinned boy whom I used to nurse and spoil."

"And box and scold--don't forget that, madam. I have fought with wild beasts at Ephesus since those days, and there's little left of me but a wreck."

"What are your means of living?"

"I have a private income of one pound per week."

"And you exist on that?"

"On that I exist."

This statement, if not strictly in accordance with fact, was still sufficiently near the truth. The countess and Mr. Flicker exchanged looks.

"And now, sir, if you are prepared to state categorically to Mr. Flicker and myself what it is that you think we ought to do for you, we will listen to what you may have to say." The dowager was careful not to address him by his title, although she had virtually acknowledged his right to it.

"What I think you ought to do is this," said the earl, with quiet deliberation. "In the first place, to pay my debts, amounting, with interest, to a trifle over six thousand pounds; and, in the second place, to allow me twelve hundred a year for life, to be paid quarterly in advance."

"Tut-tut-tut!" said the countess. "The man must be mad--crazy. Six thousand pounds down and twelve hundred a year for life! Where do you imagine, sir, that any such outrageous sums are to be obtained from?"

"When Charles came of age I remember that his income was set down as being a clear eighteen thousand a year, and I don't suppose the estate has depreciated in value since that time."

"My life interest in the estate, let me tell you, sir, is only to the extent of three thousand per annum."

"Of that, madam, I am quite aware. But there are other people interested in this question besides yourself. Your niece, Miss Collumpton, for instance, and Mr. Slingsby Boscombe, who hopes to be Earl of Loughton whenever Providence may be pleased to snuff me out of existence."

"And pray what are the special advantages that might be supposed to accrue to the family in general, supposing, for the sake of argument merely, that they were disposed to entertain your ridiculous proposition?"

"The advantages are self-evident. The family surely do not wish to see an honorable and ancient title dragged through the mire at the heels of a pauper, and what am I but a pauper? Then, again, I am not a marrying man. I don't want to marry. Miss Collumpton and Mr. Boscombe may become man and wife with the blissful certainty that the title will be theirs in ten or a dozen years at the most--it may be in ten or a dozen months."

"Suppose, on the other hand, that we decline in toto to have anything to say to your proposition?"

"In that case, madam, my course lies clear before me. I cannot, as an earl, be expected to exist on a pound a week; that would be too absurd. I have the honor to rent an apartment over a milk-shop in one of our most populous suburbs. My landlady has one daughter a buxom, apple-cheeked, red-armed young woman of five-and-twenty, who serves in the shop. I should make this estimable young person Countess of Loughton. For I am growing old, madam, and feel to need the comforts of a home, and what is twenty shillings a week for a nobleman to live on? I have reason to believe that the milk business is a lucrative one, and, with an earl at the head of it, it would become ten times more lucrative than it is now. Of course, I should have my name in full over the door: 'John Marmaduke Lorrimore, Earl of Loughton.' And the same on our business cards, with the family escutcheon underneath, and the family motto Je puis. Then would follow the usual announcements: 'New milk twice a day. Pure Aylesbury butter. Our eggs, eight a shilling, are guaranteed by the Countess. References kindly permitted to the Dowager Lady Loughton, No. 287 Harley street, and to Mr. Flicker, of the eminent firm of Flicker & Tapp. The earl will be on view in the shop any day from ten till eleven A. M. engaged in the perusal of the Morning Post.' I should send out circulars and cards to every name enshrined in Debrett. Twelve hundred a year, madam, would not cover the profits of such a concern. And, by and by, I should hope to have a son and heir to inherit his father's title and his mother's business."

His lordship, for so we must henceforth call him, stared gravely across the table at Lady Loughton. For a little time no sound was heard save the obtrusive ticking of Mr. Flicker's watch.

"Do you think, sir, you are altogether in your right senses?" asked the countess at length, turning on him in her quick way.

"Well, really, Aunt Barbara"--she winced at the appellation--"I have sometimes asked myself the same question. I have a theory that we are all more or less mad on some point or other, and probably I am neither better nor worse than the majority of my fellows."

"You can go now, sir," said the countess, presently. "I have seen enough of you for one day--more than enough. Should I care to see you again I will send for you."

"Flicker knows where a letter will always find me," said the earl, with easy condescension, as he pushed back his chair and possessed himself of his dilapidated hat. "You will think over what I have said, Aunt Barbara, will you not? As I remarked before, I am not a marrying man, and really, to go into the milk trade would be rather below the dignity of an earl, would it not?" He was rubbing his hat tenderly with the sleeve of his threadbare coat as he spoke.

"Go! go!" was all that the countess could say, as she pointed with a skinny finger to the door.

"I have the honor, madam, to wish you a very good morning," said the earl, bowing low over his hat. "Flicker, I shall, doubtless, see you again before long."

Lord Loughton walked slowly down the broad staircase, under the eyes of the two tall footmen in the hall. But scarcely had he reached the lowest stair before Mr. Flicker called over the balusters in his most dulcet tones, "My lord--my lord--you have left your pocket-handkerchief behind you." Had some one fired off a gun close by the heads of the two footmen they could not have been more startled.

"Did you not hear, sir?" said the earl, sharply, to one of them. "Fetch me my pocket-handkerchief, and be quick about it."

The man had never climbed those stairs so quickly before. A minute had hardly elapsed before he came down again, carrying a silver salver on which lay his lordship's well-worn green-and-red bandana. The earl took his handkerchief off the salver with the gravest air in the world, and replaced it in his pocket. Then the massive door was flung wide open, and he marched slowly forth into the street. Stopping at the first tavern he came to, and pushing open the swing-doors, he went in and called for fourpennyworth of brandy-and-water and a mild cheroot.

[CHAPTER V.]

TERMS ACCEPTED.

A fortnight passed after Lord Loughton's interview with the dowager countess before he received any further communication from her. During that time life went on with him in its ordinary humdrum fashion. No one either saw or suspected any difference in him. If the misfortunes and mishaps of his earlier life had taught him nothing else, they had at least taught him the virtue of patience. He was emphatically a man who could bide his time.

But at the end of a fortnight there came a note addressed to Mr. Fildew, at the Brown Bear, in which he was informed that the countess would see him at the Charing Cross Hotel at eleven o'clock next morning. He smiled grimly to himself as he read. "We are ashamed of our shabby relation, it seems," he muttered. "We don't want him to call again in Harley Street till he is a little more presentable."

But he was not one whit more presentable when he was ushered into her ladyship's room next morning. "A more deplorable object than ever," were her ladyship's words afterwards to Mr. Flicker. The ends of two fingers had burst completely through his gloves and refused to be hidden any longer, while the shiny patch on one side of his hat was certainly growing in circumference from day to day. It is quite possible that he had some ulterior object to serve in thus appearing at his shabbiest before the countess.

He walked across the room rather more briskly than usual, and when he reached the countess he put out his hand. But her ladyship made believe not to see it, and motioned him to a chair. He took it, not in the slightest degree abashed by her refusal to shake hands with him. The inevitable Mr. Flicker was seated close by, as monumentally cold and as mutely observant as ever.

Her ladyship's first remark was a somewhat singular one. "Mr. Flicker," she said, "will you oblige me by looking behind the left ear of--of the person opposite to me, just at the back of the lobe, and tell me whether you find a large mole there?"

Mr. Flicker rose from his seat, coughed deferentially, adjusted his double eyeglass on his nose, and walked gingerly across the floor to where Lord Loughton was sitting. "Pardon me," he said in his blandest tones "it is at her ladyship's special request that I do this."

The earl smiled, or it may be he only sneered--one could not always feel sure which was intended--but said nothing. Bending his head slightly forward, he lifted up the tangled masses of his iron-gray hair with one hand and pulled at the lobe of his ear with the other, so as to assist Mr. Flicker in his search for the birth-mark.

That gentleman, with his hands behind his coattails, bent his head and peered through his glasses as though he were trying to decipher some half-illegible inscription. "Nothing to be seen, I suppose, is there?" asked the dowager at last, drumming impatiently on the table with her fingers meanwhile.

"Pardon me, madam, but there is certainly a very large mole here, just behind the lobe of the left ear," replied Flicker, in his slow, precise way.

"There is, eh? A mole. You are quite sure?"

"Quite sure, Lady Loughton. There can be no mistake in the matter, I give you my word of honor. A very fine mole, indeed."

Her ladyship sighed. "Ah, well, then," she said, after a moment's silence, "I suppose we must really put him down as being the Earl of Loughton."

"I thought that point was finally settled when I saw your ladyship last," said the earl.

"Then it shows, sir, how little you know about it. Nothing is finally settled in this world, except that there are a vast number of rogues and vagabonds in it."

"It would not be half such a diverting place without them," said the earl, with a chuckle. Mr. Flicker shook his head in his slow, melancholy way, but did not speak. Such doctrines were dreadful to listen to, especially when enunciated by a peer of the realm.

Her ladyship was staring intently at the fire. After a while she said, without turning round, "The strange proposition which you chose to lay before me when I saw you last has been received with more consideration than it deserved. It has been decided by my advisers, conjointly with the advisers of Miss Collumpton and Mr. Slingsby Boscombe, in the first place, to pay off the debts contracted by you some thirty years ago, after receiving from you a full and correct schedule of the same; and, in the second place, to allow you an income of six hundred pounds per annum so long as you continue to remain unmarried; and I must say that I consider the offer a most munificent one."

"Oh, yes, most munificent!" sneered the earl. "Six hundred a year out of eighteen thousand; yes, certainly, most munificent."

"Do you, or do you not, agree to the terms?"

"Beggars cannot be choosers, madam; and, as I have said more than once already, I am not a marrying man."

"Mr. Flicker will settle all details with you." Mr. Flicker rubbed his hands and bowed. "You will, of course, sign an undertaking not to marry so long as the income is continued to you."

"Pardon me, madam, but I must decline to sign any such document. My word of honor must be taken as a sufficient guarantee of my intentions."

"Your word of honor! Pray, how much would that article fetch if it were put up to auction?"

Mr. Flicker crossed the floor and whispered a few words in the countess's ear. "If you really think so, let it be so," she said to him. Then she said to the earl, "As I said before, I will leave you and Flicker to settle details."

"May I presume that your lordship has never been married?" asked the lawyer, in his most insinuating tones. He was looking down and fumbling with some papers on the table before him.

The countess turned her head quickly.

"Never, Flicker, never," replied the earl, impressively "on that word of honor which her ladyship believes would fetch so little if put up for sale. I have been very near it, though, once or twice--very near it indeed--but Providence has always intervened."

Her ladyship turned away in a huff.

There was an interval of silence. Mr. Flicker was engaged in tying up his documents, and the earl was watching him.

"May I ask whether you have formed any plans for the future?" asked the dowager, presently.

"No plans in particular. I think that I shall go and live at Brimley, at least for some time to come."

"At Brimley! Why, that is only sixteen miles from Ringwood."

"Precisely so. We shall be neighbors. A dozen miles, more or less, are not of much consequence in the country."

The countess did not look over well pleased. "What is your object in choosing Brimley for a residence?" she asked.

"I lived near there with my father when a lad, and I still retain some pleasant recollections of it, so that the place will not seem altogether strange to me. In addition to which, I see from an advertisement in today's Times that 'Laurel Cottage' there is to be let on lease--the very place to suit an elderly bachelor of limited means and unambitious tastes. I shall run down there to-morrow and see about it."

"Well, sir, I hope that when next I see you I shall find some improvement in your toilet and general appearance."

"Possibly, madam, possibly. I admit that there is some slight room for alteration, perhaps for improvement. I have not followed the fashions very attentively of late. The state of my finances did not allow of my doing so."

"Mr. Flicker will send you a check to-morrow."

"I shall be greatly obliged to Mr. Flicker."

"What a pity it is that you threw your chances to the dogs in the way you did when a young man."

"What a pity it is that my cousin Charles, your good son, madam, could not see his way to advance me the three thousand pounds which was all I needed at that time to save me from destruction. But he buttoned his breeches pocket--saving your ladyship's presence--and allowed me to go headlong to the deuce."

"You forget, sir, that you had had five hundred pounds from him only six months previously."

"I forget nothing. Three thousand pounds would have been my salvation. I did not have the three thousand pounds, nor three thousand pence, and you see the result before you to-day."

"Charles was building and planting at the time, as I well remember, and the sum was a much larger one than he could spare."

"So the building and the planting went on, and Cousin Jack was obliged to fly like a thief in the night. It was the young fool's own fault, and it was only right that he should suffer. So ridiculous of him, wasn't it, to think that because he and Charley had been schoolfellows and like brothers for years, he could now ask Charley to pull him through his troubles? I've often laughed since to think what a young greenhorn he must have been. I'll warrant you he knows the world better by this time."

The countess's head was beginning to shake worse than ever. Flicker made a sign to the earl, and the latter rose. "Good-morning, Aunt Barbara," he said; "shake hands with me for my mother's sake if you won't for my own."

She stared very hard at him for about half a minute, and then she extended two claw-like fingers. "Get a decent coat to your back before you let me see you again. And--and I don't want to see those gloves any more."

Next day "Mr. Fildew" received from Mr. Flicker a check for one hundred and fifty pounds, being the first quarterly instalment of his allowance at the rate of six hundred pounds a year.

"Greedy old hag!" muttered the earl to himself as he pocketed the check. "She might just as easily have made it twelve hundred as six. I'll be even with her for this before I've done with her."

[CHAPTER VI.]

MILD LUNACY.

"THIS must be the house, No. 105 Cadogan Place," said Clement Fildew to himself, as he stopped in front of an imposing-looking mansion. Taking the steps two at time, he gave a loud rat-tat-tat at the door. "Is Miss Collumpton at home?" he asked of the man who answered his knock.

Miss Collumpton was at home.

"Will you give her this card, and say that I have called at the request of Sir Percy Jones?"

He was shown into a morning-room while the man took his message. After three or four minutes the door opened, and a young lady entered, dressed very plainly in black. As their eyes met they both started, and then, as if moved by a common impulse, they drew a step or two nearer each other, while Clem colored up to the roots of his hair. The young lady, who was by far the more self-possessed of the two, was the first to speak. "Unless I am much mistaken," she said, "you are the gentleman to whose kindness I was so greatly indebted when coming up to town the other day."

"And you are the lady to whom I had the good-fortune to be of some slight service."