"I tell you, if she'll have me, I'm going to marry her."
The dismay written on every inch of Sir Thomas's countenance became
intensified at these terrific words. Great as had been his contempt
for the actual holder of the title, considered simply as a young
man, he had always been filled with a supreme respect for the
Dreever name.
"But, Spencer," he almost howled, "consider your position! You
cannot--"
"Can't I, by Jove! If she'll have me! And damn my position! What's
my position got to do with it? Katie's the daughter of a general, if
it comes to that. Her brother was at college with me. If I'd had a
penny to call my own, I'd have asked her to marry me ages ago. Don't
you worry about my position!"
Sir Thomas croaked feebly.
"Now, look here," said his lordship, with determination. "Here's the
whole thing in a jolly old nutshell. If you want me to forget about
this little flutter in fake diamonds of yours, you've got to pull up
your socks, and start in to do things. You've got to get me attached
to some embassy for a beginning. It won't be difficult. There's
dozens of old boys in London, who knew the governor when he was
alive, who will jump at the chance of doing me a good turn. I know
I'm a bit of an ass in some ways, but that's expected of you in the
diplomatic service. They only want you to wear evening clothes as if
you were used to them, and be a bit of a flyer at dancing, and I can
fill the bill all right as far as that goes. And you've got to give
your jolly old blessing to Katie and me--if she'll have me. That's
about all I can think of for the moment. How do we go? Are you on?"
"It's preposterous," began Sir Thomas.
Lord Dreever gave the door-handle a rattle.
"It's a hold-up all right," said Jimmy, soothingly. "I don't want to
butt in on a family conclave, but my advice, if asked, would be to
unbelt before the shooting begins. You've got something worse than a
pipe pointing at you, now. As regards my position in the business,
don't worry. My silence is presented gratis. Give me a loving smile,
and my lips are sealed."
Sir Thomas turned on the speaker.
"As for you--" he cried.
"Never mind about Pitt," said his lordship. "He's a dashed good
fellow, Pitt. I wish there were more like him. And he wasn't
pinching the stuff, either. If you had only listened when he tried
to tell you, you mightn't be in such a frightful hole. He was
putting the things back, as he said. I know all about it. Well,
what's the answer?"
For a moment, Sir Thomas seemed on the point of refusal. But, just
as he was about to speak, his lordship opened the door, and at the
movement he collapsed again.
"I will," he cried. "I will!"
"Good," said his lordship with satisfaction. "That's a bargain.
Coming downstairs, Pitt, old man? We shall be wanted on the stage in
about half a minute."
"As an antidote to stage fright," said Jimmy, as they went along the
corridor, "little discussions of that kind may be highly
recommended. I shouldn't mind betting that you feel fit for
anything?"
"I feel like a two-year-old," assented his lordship,
enthusiastically. "I've forgotten all my part, but I don't care.
I'll just go on and talk to them."
"That," said Jimmy, "is the right spirit. Charteris will get heart-
disease, but it's the right spirit. A little more of that sort of
thing, and amateur theatricals would be worth listening to. Step
lively, Roscius; the stage waits."
CHAPTER XXVIII
SPENNIE'S HOUR OF CLEAR VISION
Mr. McEachern sat in the billiard-room, smoking. He was alone. From
where he sat, he could hear distant strains of music. The more
rigorous portion of the evening's entertainment, the theatricals,
was over, and the nobility and gentry, having done their duty by
sitting through the performance, were now enjoying themselves in the
ballroom. Everybody was happy. The play had been quite as successful
as the usual amateur performance. The prompter had made himself a
great favorite from the start, his series of duets with Spennie
having been especially admired; and Jimmy, as became an old
professional, had played his part with great finish and certainty of
touch, though, like the bloodhounds in "Uncle Tom's Cabin" on the
road, he had had poor support. But the audience bore no malice. No
collection of individuals is less vindictive than an audience at
amateur theatricals. It was all over now. Charteris had literally
gibbered in the presence of eye-witnesses at one point in the second
act, when Spennie, by giving a wrong cue, had jerked the play
abruptly into act three, where his colleagues, dimly suspecting
something wrong, but not knowing what it was, had kept it for two
minutes, to the mystification of the audience. But, now Charteris
had begun to forget. As he two-stepped down the room, the lines of
agony on his face were softened. He even smiled.
As for Spennie, the brilliance of his happy grin dazzled all
beholders.
He was still wearing it when he invaded the solitude of Mr.
McEachern. In every dance, however greatly he may be enjoying it,
there comes a time when a man needs a meditative cigarette apart
from the throng. It came to Spennie after the seventh item on the
program. The billiard-room struck him as admirably suitable in every
way. It was not likely to be used as a sitting-out place, and it was
near enough to the ball-room to enable him to hear when the music of
item number nine should begin.
Mr. McEachern welcomed his visitor. In the turmoil following the
theatricals, he had been unable to get a word with any of the
persons with whom he most wished to speak. He had been surprised
that no announcement of the engagement had been made at the end of
the performance. Spennie would be able to supply him with
information as to when the announcement might be expected.
Spennie hesitated for an instant when he saw who was in the room. He
was not over-anxious for a tete-a-tete with Molly's father just
then. But, re-fleeting that, after all, he was not to blame for
any disappointment that might be troubling the other, he switched on
his grin again, and walked in.
"Came in for a smoke," he explained, by way of opening the
conversation. "Not dancing the next."
"Come in, my boy, come in," said Mr. McEachern. "I was waiting to
see you."
Spennie regretted his entrance. He had supposed that the other had
heard the news of the breaking-off of the engagement. Evidently,
however, McEachern had not. This was a nuisance. The idea of flight
came to Spennie, but he dismissed it. As nominal host that night, he
had to dance many duty-dances. This would be his only chance of a
smoke for hours, and the billiard-room was the best place for it.
He sat down, and lighted a cigarette, casting about the while for an
innocuous topic of conversation.
"Like the show?" he inquired.
"Fine," said Mr. McEachern. "By the way--"
Spennie groaned inwardly. He had forgotten that a determined man can
change the conversation to any subject he pleases by means of those
three words.
"By the way," said Mr. McEachern, "I thought Sir Thomas--wasn't your
uncle intending to announce--?"
"Well, yes, he was," said Spennie.
"Going to do it during the dancing, maybe?"
"Well--er--no. The fact is, he's not going to do it at all, don't
you know." Spennie inspected the red end of his cigarette closely.
"As a matter of fact, it's kind of broken off."
The other's exclamation jarred on him. Rotten, having to talk about