Charles Lever - One Of Them

Ogden rose abruptly at the intimation, and, muttering something inaudible, led the way into the drawing-room.

“You have been too hard upon him, doctor,” whispered Karstairs, as he walked along at Layton’s side. “You should be more careful; he is a man of note on the other side of the Channel; he was a Treasury Lord for some six months once, and is always in office somewhere. I see you are rather sorry for this yourself.”

“Sorry! I ‘m sorry to leave that glorious Madeira, which I know I shall never taste again,” said Layton, sternly.

“Are you a smoker, Dr. Layton?” said the host. “If so, don’t forget this house gives all a bachelor’s privileges. Try these cheroots.”

“Liberty Hall!” chimed in the Colonel, with a vacant laugh.

“Not a bad name for your dining-room, Millar,” said Ogden, bitterly.

A slight shrug was the parson’s answer.

“Is this man a frequent guest here?” he asked again, in a low whisper.

“It is his first time. I need scarcely say, it shall be his last,” replied Millar, as cautiously.

“I felt for you, Millar. I felt what pain he must have been giving you, though, for myself, I pledge you my word it was most amusing; his violence, his presumption, the dictatorial tone in which he affirmed his opinions, were high comedy. I was half sorry when you proposed coffee.”

Under pretence of admiring some curiously carved chessmen, Karstairs had withdrawn the doctor into a small room adjoining; but, in reality, his object was the friendly one of suggesting greater caution and more reserve on his part.

“I don’t say,” whispered he, – “I don’t say that you were n’t right, and he wrong in everything. I know nothing about false quantities in Latin, or German metaphysics, or early Christian art. You may be an authority in all of them. All I say is, he is a great Government official, and you are a village doctor.”

“That was exactly why I couldn’t let slip the opportunity,” broke in Layton. “Let me tell you an incident I once witnessed in my old days of coach travelling. I was going up from Liverpool to London in the ‘Umpire,’ that wonderful fast coach that astonished the world by making the journey in thirty-six hours. I sat behind the coachman, and was struck by the appearance of the man on the box-seat, who, though it was the depth of winter, and the day one of cutting sleet and cold wind, wore no upper coat, or any protection against the weather. He was, as you may imagine, speedily wet through, and presented in his dripping and soaked habiliments as sorry a spectacle as need be. In fact, if any man’s external could proclaim want and privation, his did. The signs of poverty, however, could not screen him from the application of ‘Won’t you remember the coachman, sir?’ He, with no small difficulty, – for he was nearly benumbed with cold, – extricated a sixpence from his pocket and tendered it. The burly driver flung it contemptuously back to him with insult, and sneeringly asked him how he could dare to seat himself on the box when he was travelling like a pauper? The traveller never answered a word; a slight flush, once, indeed, showed how the insult stung him, but he never uttered a syllable.

“‘If I had you down here for five minutes, I ‘d teach you as how you ‘d set yourself on the box-seat again!’ cried coachee, whose passion seemed only aggravated by the other’s submission. Scarcely were the words spoken, when the dripping traveller began to descend from the coach. He was soon on the ground, and almost as he touched it the coachman rushed upon him. It was a hand-to-hand conflict, which, however, could not have lasted four minutes. The stranger not only ‘stopped’ every blow of the other, but followed each ‘stop’ by a well-sent-in one of his own, dealt with a force that, judging from his size, seemed miraculous. With closed eyes, a smashed jaw, and a disabled wrist, the coachman was carried away; while the other, as he drank off a glass of cold water, simply said, ‘If that man wishes to know where to find me again, tell him to ask for Tom Spring, Crane Alley, Borough Road!’”

Karstairs followed the anecdote with interest, but, somehow – for he was not a very brilliant man, though “an excellent officer” – missed the application. “Capital – excellent – by Jove!” cried he. “I ‘d have given a crown to have seen it.”

Layton turned away in half ill-humor.

“And so it was Tom Spring himself?” said the Colonel. “Who ‘d have guessed it?”

Layton made no reply, but began to set the chessmen upon the board at random.

“Is this another amongst your manifold accomplishments, sir?” asked Ogden, as he came up to the table.

“I play most games,” said Layton, carelessly; “but it’s only at billiards that I pretend to any skill.”

“I’m a very unworthy antagonist,” said Ogden; “but perhaps you will condescend to a game with me, – at chess, I mean?”

“With pleasure,” said Layton, setting the pieces at once. He won the first move, and just as he was about to begin he stopped, and said, “I wish I knew your strength.”

“The players give me a knight, and generally beat me,” said Ogden.

“Oh! I understand. Will you allow me to fetch a cheroot? I move king’s knight’s pawn one square.” He arose as he spoke, and walked into the adjoining room.

Ogden moved his queen’s pawn.

Layton, from the adjoining room, asked the move, and then said, “King’s bishop to knight’s first square;” meanwhile continuing to search for a cigar to his liking.

“Do you purpose to continue the game without seeing the board?” asked Ogden, as he bit his lip with impatience.

“Not if you prefer otherwise,” said Layton, who now came back to his place, with his cigar fully lighted.

“You see what an inexorable enemy I have, Millar,” said Ogden, with an affected laugh; “he will not be satisfied unless my defeat be ignominious.”

“Is it so certain to be a defeat, George?” said the rector. “Chess was always your great game. I remember how the Windsor Club entertained you on the occasion of your victory over that Swiss player, Eshwald.”

“And so you have beaten Eshwald,” broke in Layton, hastily. “We must give no quarter here.” And with this he threw away his cigar, and bent down over the board.

“We shall only disturb them, Karstairs; come along into the drawing-room, and let us talk parish business,” said the rector. “Our little dinner has scarcely gone off so well as I had expected,” said Millar, when they were alone. “I meant to do our doctor a service, by asking him to meet Odgen, who has patronage and influence in every quarter; but I suspect that this evening will be remembered grievously against him.”

“I confess I was highly amused at it all, and not sorry to see your friend Ogden so sorely baited. You know well what a life he has led us here for the last week.”

“A hard hitter sometimes, to be sure,” said the rector, smiling; “but a well-meaning man, and always ready for a kind action. I wish Layton had used more moderation, – more deference towards him.”

“Your Madeira did it all, Millar. Why did you give the fellow such insinuating tipple as that old ‘31 wine?”

“I can’t say that I was not forewarned,” continued Millar. “I was told, on his coming down to our neighborhood, to be careful of him. It was even intimated to me that his ungovernable and overbearing temper had wrecked his whole fortune in life; for, of course, one can easily see such a man ought not to be sentenced to the charge of a village dispensary.”

“No matter how clever you are, there must be discipline; that’s what I’ve always told the youngsters in my regiment.”