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Several of 'em choice exotics, too! have found their way up here lately, one of 'em got in here this very morning after Barrymaine had gone, characteristic specimen in a fur cap. But, as I was saying, you may have noticed that Chichester is not altogether friendly towards you?" "Chichester?" said Barnabas. "Yes!" "And it would almost seem that he's determined that Barrymaine shall be the same.
Chichester smiled, and coming beside him, looked down upon his helpless form and flushed face and, smiling still, spoke in his soft, gentle voice: "Are you asleep, Ronald?" he inquired, and stirred Barrymaine lightly with his foot, but, feeling him so helpless, the stirring foot grew slowly more vicious. "Oh Ronald," he murmured, "what a fool you are! what a drunken, sottish fool you are.
Obediently, the Viscount turned the crumpled paper over, and thereafter sat staring wide-eyed at a name scrawled thereon, and from it to Barnabas and back again; for the name he saw was this: RONALD BARRYMAINE ESQUIRE. "And Dick," said Barnabas, "it is in Chichester's handwriting." The whiskers of Mr.
Barrymaine and I are still strangers." "By heaven, you are right, sir, though, egad! I'm only a little previous, eh, my dear fellow?" and, smiling engagingly, Mr. Smivvle followed Barnabas into a side room, and shutting the door with elaborate care, immediately shook his whiskers and heaved a profound sigh.
"Yes, I'll lie down, dev'lish drowsy p-place lie down," mumbled Barrymaine, suiting the action to the word; yet after lying down full length, he must needs struggle up to his elbow again to blink at Mr. Chichester, heavy eyed and with one hand to his wrinkling brow. "Wha-what w-was it we came for? Oh y-yes I know Bev'ley, of course! You'll w-wake me when he c-comes?" "I'll wake you, Ronald."
"Did I hurt you much?" But Ronald Barrymaine lay very white and still, and, stooping, Barnabas saw that he had struck much harder than he had meant, and that Barrymaine's mouth was cut and bleeding. Now at this moment, even as he sank on his knees, Barnabas again heard a cry, but nearer now and with the rustle of flying draperies, and, glancing up, saw Cleone running towards them.
My friend Barry, sir, was a dasher, by George! a regular red-hot tearer, by heaven! a Go, sir, a Tippy, a bang up Blood, and would be still if it were not for the Jews curse 'em!" "And is Mr. Barrymaine still a friend of yours?" At this Mr. Smivvle took off his hat again, clapped it to his bosom, and bowed.
"C-condescend?" cried Barrymaine, and it needed but a glance at his flushed cheek and swaying figure to see that he had been drinking more heavily than usual. "C-condescend, damn his insolence! Condescend, will he? I'll give him no chance for his c-cursed condescension, I I tell you, Chichester, I'll " "But you can't make a man fight, Ronald." "Can't I? Why then if he won't fight I'll "
"Cleone," said he, "why are you so strange to me, what is it, speak to me." But Cleone was dumb, and walked on beside Ronald Barrymaine with head averted, and so with never a backward glance, was presently lost to sight among the leaves. Long after they had gone, Barnabas stood there, his head bowed, while the shadows deepened about him, dark and darker.
"Yes," said Barnabas, and stood up. "So you're back again, are you?" "Thank you, yes," said Barnabas, "and quite safe!" "S-safe?" "As yet," answered Barnabas. "You aren't d-drunk, are you?" "No," said Barnabas, "nor are you, for once." Barrymaine clenched his fists and took a step towards Barnabas, but spying the bargeman, who now lurched forward, turned upon him in a fury.
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