CHAPTER XXVII

Major O’Teague did not stay late. He apologised for hurrying away from such excellent company; but the fact was that he had, in a thoughtless hour, accepted an invitation to supper from a lady who was as beautiful as she was virtuous—perhaps even more so. He hoped that Mr. Long would pardon the precipitancy of his flight, and not attribute it to any churlishness on his part.

Mr. Long did his best to reassure him on this point,—he had already stayed for an hour, and had drunk a bottle and a half of claret and half a tumbler of brandy “to steady the wine,” he declared; and indeed it seemed that the claret was a little shaky.

When they were alone Dick said:

“I was afraid, sir, that letter would come to you.”

He shook his head with the air of a man who has had a varied experience of men and their ways.

“I frankly confess that I was surprised to receive it,” said Mr. Long. “But I had made my calculations without allowing for such a possibility as this Major O’Teague. Mathews had some remnant of discretion, and that is why three days have passed before I receive his challenge.”

“You think that Mathews would not have sent it of his own accord?” said Dick.

“I am convinced of it,” replied Mr. Long. “He knows something of what I know about him, and he has given me the best evidence in the world of his desire to get rid of me once and for all. But he would never have sent me this challenge had it not been that that fire-eating Irish adventurer got hold of him and talked him into a fighting mood. What chance would a weak fool such as Mathews have against so belligerent a personality as O’Teague? Heavens, sir, give the man an hour with the most timorous of human beings, and I will guarantee that he will transform him into a veritable swashbuckler. Mathews is a fool, and he is probably aware of it by now—assuming that an hour and a half has elapsed since O’Teague left him.”

“If he had not challenged you, he need never have shown his face in Bath again,” said Dick.

“Oh, my dear Dick, you have not seen so much of Bath as I have,” said Mr. Long. “Bath will stand a great deal. Has it not stood Mathews for several years?”

Dick made no reply; he was walking to and fro in the room in considerable agitation. At last he stood before Mr. Long.

“Dear sir,” he cried, “why will you not consent to my taking this quarrel on myself? Why should you place your life in jeopardy for the gratification of Mathews and his associates? Think, sir, that your life is valuable; while mine—well, I can afford to risk it.”

“My dear boy, you have risked your life once for me,” said Mr. Long, laying a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I cannot permit you to do so a second time. But believe me, I shall run no risk in this matter. I give you my word that I shall never stand up before that fellow. Why, when his friend the major was juggling, but without the skill of a juggler, with his metaphors just now, I was thinking out three separate and distinct plans for making a duel impossible, however well-intentioned Major O’Teague may be.”

“Tell me but one of them, Mr. Long,” said Dick.

“Nay, my friend, I debated the question of telling you when I had worked out my plans of campaign, and I came to the conclusion that you must know nothing of—of—of what I know,” said Mr. Long. “You hope to write a play one of these days? Well, sir, there is no discipline equal to that of one’s daily life for a man who aspires to write a comedy dealing with the follies of the time. The comedy of the duel has never been rightly dealt with. Behold your chance, sir.”

Dick resumed the shaking of his head.

“Ah, sir, what I dread is the play which one means to be a comedy, but which becomes in its development a tragedy.”

“True, that is always to be dreaded,” said Mr. Long. “And I allow that Fate is not a consistent designer of plays. She mixes up comedy and tragedy in such a tangle that her own shears alone can restore the symmetry of the piece. When Fate puts on the mask of comedy the result is very terrible. But we shall do our best to get her to play a leading part on our side, in our company, and I promise you some diversion. Now you must act in this little play as if you were no novice on the stage, but as if, like Major O’Teague, you had played the part fourteen times. At the outstart you must get rid of your nervousness. I tell you again, the play is a comedy.”

“I would not be nervous if I were playing the chief part, sir.”

“What, you are still willing to play the leading character? That is quite unlike a play-actor, Mr. Sheridan. Is’t not very well known that an actor would submit to anything rather than play a leading character? Has your father never told you how anxious they all are to be cast for the insignificant parts?”

Dick laughed.

“Oh, that, sir, is one of the best-known traits of the profession of acting,” he said. “But I should dearly like to have a shot at Captain Mathews.”

“He is a soldier, but I fear that he will not meet his death by so honourable an agent,” said Mr. Long. “No, if he dies by a shot it will be fired at him by a platoon of men with muskets. Now, you will arrange with Major O’Teague as to the time and place of the meeting. I have no choice in regard to the weapons; but I wish to suggest as a suitable ground the green paddock facing the iron gate where you came to my assistance when I was attacked by the footpads.”

“I do not see that the man can make any objection to so suitable a place,” said Dick.

“We shall see,” said Mr. Long. “At any rate, it is my whim to meet him there. You see, I was once very lucky in that neighbourhood, and I have my superstitions.”

Dick went home with a heavy heart. He could not understand why Mr. Long should still persist in the belief that no duel would be fought. He seemed to have acquired the idea that Mathews was a coward because he had taken his horsewhipping so quietly; but Dick, having seen how the fellow had been overpowered at the outset by the superior strength of his opponent, knew perfectly well that he had had no choice in the matter. He had displayed weakness, but not cowardice; and Dick had felt certain that he was just the man to seek an opportunity of revenging himself with the weapons of the duellist. He had believed all along that Mathews would regard the realisation of his scheme as a matter of life or death. If it became known that he had evaded calling out the man who had so publicly insulted him, he would, of course, be compelled to leave Bath. If, however, he succeeded in killing Mr. Long—and Dick felt convinced that he would do his best to kill him—he would be able to swagger about as the hero of the hour. That was the rôle which exactly suited him.

But would he have the chance of killing Mr. Long?

Before he slept, Dick had made up his mind that if Mathews killed Mr. Long, he himself would either prevent his playing the rôle of the hero, or give him a double chance of playing it. The moment this duel with Mr. Long was over he would send a challenge to Mathews. He felt that he would have every right to do so. The horsewhipping which Mr. Long had administered to the man was a sufficient punishment for his insult; but Dick did not forget that the placing of the ribald verses in the urn was a gross insult to every lady present on the lawn at Bath-Easton, and he had long ago made up his mind that he would accept the responsibility of avenging this special affront. All the sophistry of his chivalrous nature backed up this resolution of his, until he had no difficulty in feeling that he was the exponent of a sacred duty. Was it to be placed in the power of any rascal, he asked an imaginary objector, to insult a number of ladies in the shocking way that Mathews had done, with impunity? Was that entire company to have no redress for the gross conduct of the fellow?

Surely it was the privilege of every man with a spark of chivalry in his nature—ordinary chivalry, mind, the ordinary spirit of manhood—to do all that lay within his power to prevent a recurrence of such an outrage upon civilised society as had been perpetrated. If no other man thought fit to make a move toward so desirable an end, he, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, thanked God that he saw his way clearly in the matter; and the moment he had ceased to act for Mr. Long, he would take action on his own behalf as the representative of the ladies on whose fastidious ears the ribald lines had fallen. He fell asleep quite easily, having made up his mind on this point.

He had an interview the next day with Major O’Teague, and found him ready to agree to any suggestion made in regard to the meeting. The only detail to which he took a momentary exception was in respect of the ground.

“Hivins, Mr. Sheridan, aren’t there many nice and tidy places more adjacent than that paddock, where our friends can have an enjoyable hour?” he said. “Faith, sir, I have always thought Bath singularly favoured by Providence in this respect. A bountiful Hivin seems to have designed it for the settlement of these little affairs. ’Tis singularly complete in this way, as you may have remarked. Egad! you could kill your man at the corner of any street. Doesn’t it seem to be spurning the gifts which Providence has laid at our very feet to go two miles out into the country?”

But Mr. Sheridan had something of the sentimental Irishman in his nature also, and so he was able to acknowledge frankly that it was on the border-line of atheism for any one to assert that it was necessary to go two miles out of Bath in order to conduct friendly hostilities; still, he thought that the whim of an old gentleman should be respected.

“Mr. Long has lived in the country all his life, you see, Major O’Teague, and that is no doubt why he makes it a point of sentiment always to fight in the midst of a sylvan landscape, free from the contaminating hand of man, you understand?” said Dick.

“’Tis a beautiful thought, sir,” said Major O’Teague, raising his eyes toward the ceiling. “And ’tis one that I can appreciate to the full, Mr. Sheridan. Thank Hivin, a life of pretty rough campaigning among pretty rough characters hasn’t blunted my finer sensibilities. I feel that we are bound to respect the whim of your friend just as if we were his executors. ’Twould be just the same if he had expressed a desire to be buried under a special tree—maybe one that he had climbed for chestnuts when a boy, or courted the girl of his choice under when a sthripling. He didn’t say that he had a whim about being laid to rest under a special tree, sir?”

“We haven’t discussed that point yet, sir,” said Dick. “The fact is, I am rather a novice in this business, as you may have perceived, major.”

“Don’t apologise, sir; we must all make a beginning. ’Tis not your fault, I’m sure, Mr. Sheridan, that y’haven’t killed your man long ago.”

“You do me honour, sir,” said Dick.

“Not I, sir. Can’t I see with half an eye that y’have the spirit of an annihilator beating within your bosom? ’Tis only your misfortune that y’haven’t been given your chance yet. But I hope that y’ll mind that you must make up for lost time.”

“It will be my study, sir. I intend to begin without delay by calling out your friend Captain Mathews when this little affair is over.”

“Good luck to you, my boy!” cried Major O’Teague, enthusiastically flinging out his hand to Dick. “Good luck to you, sir! If you’ll allow me to act for you, ’twill be the proudest day of my life.”

“We shall talk the matter over when the first affair is settled. One thing at a time has always been my motto,” said Dick.

“I ask your pardon, Mr. Sheridan; I was a bit premature,” said Major O’Teague. “I won’t inquire what your reasons are for fighting Mathews; I never preshume to pry into the motives of gentlemen for whom I act. I hold that ’twould be an insult to their intelligence to do so. Besides, if one were to inquire into the rights and wrongs of every quarrel before it takes place, all manhood would die out of England inside a year. No, sir; after the fight is the time to inquire, just as after dinner is the time for the speeches.”

But when Major O’Teague called upon Dick the same evening, as courtesy demanded, a wonderful smile came over his face while he said:

“What is there about that paddock opposite the iron gate by the Gloucester Road that makes your friend insist on it as the place of meeting?”

“I give you my word that I have no notion,” replied Dick. “Why should Captain Mathews object to it?”

“That’s more than I can say, sir,” said O’Teague. “But, by the Lord Harry, I had a long job getting him to agree to that point. You should have seen his face when I told him that we were to meet at that same paddock. He turned as white as a sheet, and said that Mr. Long meant to insult him by making such a suggestion. ‘’Tis not there that I’ll fight,’ said he, quite livid. You’ll excuse me introducing the special oaths that he made use of, Mr. Sheridan?”

“I am quite sure that their omission is more excusable than their utterance would be,” said Dick. “But he consented to the ground at last?”

“Ay, at last. But between the first hint of the matter and this ‘at last’ a good deal of conversation occurred. ’Twas pretty near my gentleman came to having a third affair pressed on him. For some reason or other he wanted to fight nearer town. Well, to be sure, it would be more homelike. I never did believe in the suburbs myself, and, besides, ’twill be very inconvenient for the spectators. Still——”

“My dear major,” cried Dick, “I trust that there will be no spectators beyond those gentlemen.”

“What, sir, would you propose to exclude the public from this entertainment? I hope that is not your idea of what is due to the intelligent curiosity of the people of Bath? Asking your pardon, Mr. Sheridan, I must say that you have no notion at all of fair play.”

“You have had so much experience of these matters, Major O’Teague, I have every confidence that under your guidance we can manage this little business by ourselves, and without the need for the intrusion of all the busybodies in Bath,” said Dick.

“That may be true enough, Mr. Sheridan,” said Major O’Teague, “but let me remind you that the gentleman for whom I am acting got his horsewhipping in public—— Why the mischief wasn’t I there to see it? I would have given a guinea for a place in the front row!”

Dick clearly perceived that the man was anxious to be the centre of a crowd of onlookers; he was treating the duel from the standpoint of a showman desirous of making plain his own ability as a stage-manager of experience, and nothing would have pleased him better than to have engaged Drury Lane for the spectacle.

For a moment or two Dick was annoyed; he was sorely tempted to say something that would have been hurtful to Major O’Teague’s feelings. He restrained himself, however, and then he suddenly remembered—Major O’Teague had given him no reason to forget it—that he was talking to an Irishman. That was why he said in a confidential tone:

“I acknowledge the force of your argument, sir; but the fact is”—his voice became a whisper—“there is a lady in the case. You will agree with me in thinking that her feelings must be respected at any cost. Major O’Teague, if the lady—I refrain from mentioning her name in this connection—who has given Mr. Long her promise, were to hear of his danger, the consequences might be very serious to her. We are both Irishmen, sir.”

“Sir,” said Major O’Teague, “your thoughtfulness does you honour. No one ever yet made an appeal to me on behalf of a beauteous creature without success. The least wish of a lady is sacred in the eyes of Major O’Teague. If the lady wishes, we’ll set our men to fight at midnight in a coal-cellar.”