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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -</style> -<title>TOM MOORE</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Tom Moore" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Theodore Burt Sayre" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1902" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="41656" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2012-12-18" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Tom Moore An Unhistorical Romance, Founded on Certain Happenings in the Life of Ireland's Greatest Poet" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Tom Moore An Unhistorical Romance, Founded on Certain Happenings in the Life of Ireland's Greatest Poet" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="tom.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2012-12-19T03:53:18.628974+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41656" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Theodore Burt Sayre" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2012-12-18" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -<style type="text/css"> -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="tom-moore"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">TOM MOORE</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Tom Moore -<br /> An Unhistorical Romance, Founded on Certain Happenings in the -<br /> Life of Ireland's Greatest Poet -<br /> -<br />Author: Theodore Burt Sayre -<br /> -<br />Release Date: December 18, 2012 [EBook #41656] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>TOM MOORE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-100"> -<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">Here's a health to thee, Tom Moore!</em><span class="medium">--BYRON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-101"> -<span id="the-desired-idea-failed-to-materialize"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="THE DESIRED IDEA FAILED TO MATERIALIZE." src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">THE DESIRED IDEA FAILED TO MATERIALIZE.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">TOM MOORE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics large">An</em><span class="large"> Unhistorical Romance, Founded -<br /></span><em class="italics large">on</em><span class="large"> Certain Happenings </span><em class="italics large">in the</em><span class="large"> Life -<br /></span><em class="italics large">of</em><span class="large"> Ireland's Greatest Poet</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">By THEODORE BURT SAYRE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Author of "Two Summer Girls and I" -<br />"The Son of Carleycroft," Etc.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">ILLUSTRATED</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">THE MUSSON CO., LIMITED -<br />TORONTO</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Copyright, 1902 -<br />By Frederick A. Stokes Company</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Published in September 1902</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">FOURTH EDITION</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">To</em><span class="medium"> -<br />ANDREW MACK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">With the author's grateful acknowledgment and appreciation -<br />of the convincing art and rare personal charm of -<br />the actor who has done so much to make -<br />"Tom Moore" a success upon -<br />the stage</em></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">Preface</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In this book the author has endeavored to give to -the reading public an intimate presentation of -one of the more famous of the literary giants -who made the beginning of the last century the most -brilliant period in the history of English Letters since -the days of the Elizabethan authors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Of Tom Moore's rank and attainments as a poet of -the finest gifts very little need be said. Posterity has -placed the seal of everlasting approval upon the best of -his work and in the main is admirably ignorant of his -few less worthy productions. So it need not be feared -that the memory of the author of "Lalla Rookh," "The -Last Rose of Summer," "Love's Young Dream," and, -lastly, the most tender and touching of all love songs, -"Believe Me, if All Those Endearing Young Charms," -will ever be less brightly preserved, less tenderly -treasured, than it has been in the years that have intervened -since his death.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Moore has a peculiarity of talent, or rather talents--poetry, -music, voice, all his own; and an expression -in each, which never was, nor will be, possessed by -another.... There is nothing Moore may not do, if -he will but seriously set about it.... To me some of -his Irish Melodies are worth all the epics that ever -were composed,</em><span>" wrote the hapless Lord Byron, who -was one of the gifted Irishman's most intimate and -faithful friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">The poet of all circles and the idol of his own.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No other words could so fitly describe the position -of Moore in the esteem of the public. His ballads -are sung by peer and peasant, in drawing-room and -below stairs, and long ago the world at large began -to rival the affection and admiration with which the -life work and memory of the sweetest singer of them -all has been cherished by the little green island which -so proudly proclaims itself as the birthplace of this, -its favorite son. But of the brilliant poet's early -struggles, failures, successes and ambitions little is -known. From his own writings and those of Lord -Byron, Sir Walter Scott, Leigh Hunt and Captain -Trelawney, it has been gleaned that there never was -a more faithful friend, a more patient or devoted lover, -a truer husband and fonder father than Thomas -Moore. His married life was as sweet and tender as -one of his own poems. Much is known of the happy -years that followed his wedding, but till now no -attempt has been made to picture the days of love and -doubt that preceded the union which was destined -to prove so splendid an example of true connubial -content. In regard to historical accuracy, it is admitted -that a certain amount of license has been used. For -the sake of gaining continuity, events spread over a -space of years have been brought within the compass -of months, but aside from this concentration of action, -if it may be so described, the happenings are in the -main not incorrect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While it is true that Moore was never actually -ejected from society by the Prince of Wales, he did -forfeit for a time the favor of that royal gentleman -until the authorship of certain offensive verses was -generously acknowledged by Lord Byron. The -incident wherein Moore sells his life-work to McDermot -is pure fiction, but in truth he did succeed in obtaining -from Longmans an advance of £3,000 for "Lalla -Rookh" before it was even planned, an event which -in this chronicle is supposed to occur subsequent to -his rescue from McDermot by Lord Brooking. Since -the advance really obtained was three times the amount -he is made to demand of the Scotch publisher the -possibility of this particular part of the occurrence is not -to be questioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For certain definite and easily comprehended reasons -the real degree of Moore's poverty when he arrived in -London and previous to his talent's recognition by the -Regent, who did accept the dedication and thus insure -the success of his first volume of verses, has been -exaggerated, but in regard to his possession of the -Laureateship of England the story deals with fact. -Nevertheless the correctness of this bestowal of favor -by the Prince of Wales was publicly denied in the -columns of an influential New York newspaper at the -time of the play's first presentation in the metropolis. -For the enlightenment of those who may have been -led into error by this misstatement, at the time -overlooked by the author, they are referred to letter -No. 63, from Moore to his mother, dated Friday, May 20th, -1803, in the first volume of the "Memoirs, Journal, -and Correspondence of Thomas Moore," edited by -Lord John Russell, in which the poet gives his exact -reasons for having recently relinquished the post in -question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is also true that the first notable success of Bessie -Dyke as an actress was scored at Kilkenny, Ireland, -instead of London. As her elder sister, Mary, has no -part in this story, she has been omitted altogether, -though her long and successful career upon the -American stage is a part of the national theatrical history.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far as the characters herein set forth are -concerned but little explanation is required. Those -historical have been sketched in accordance with the -accounts of their peculiarities furnished by the -literature of the times. Several of the most important -people are entirely imaginary, or have been constructed -by combining a number of single individuals into one -personage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In reply to the anticipated charge that the author -cannot prove that the incidents described in the -progress of Moore's wooing ever happened, he makes bold -to answer that it is equally as impossible to prove that -they did not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With this explanation, necessary or unnecessary, as -the future will no doubt prove, the book "Tom Moore" -is confided to the mercy of the public which has so -generously welcomed the play.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">BOOK ONE</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">ONE AFTERNOON IN IRELAND</em></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>CHAPTER</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-goes-angling">Tom Moore goes Angling</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#certain-happenings-in-mistress-dyke-s-school">Certain Happenings in Mistress Dyke's School</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-entertains-teacher-and-pupils">Tom Moore entertains Teacher and Pupils</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-blackmailing-of-tom-moore">The Blackmailing of Tom Moore</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-gives-mistress-dyke-an-inkling">Tom Moore gives Mistress Dyke an Inkling</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#two-gentlemen-of-wealth-and-breeding">Two Gentlemen of Wealth and Breeding</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-obliges-a-friend-and-gets-in-trouble">Tom Moore obliges a Friend and gets in Trouble</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">BOOK TWO</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">ONE AFTERNOON IN ENGLAND</em></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple" start="8"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#introduces-montgomery-julien-ethelbert-spinks">Introduces Montgomery Julien Ethelbert Spinks</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-receives-calls-from-mrs-malone-and-mr-dyke">Tom Moore receives Calls from Mrs. Malone and Mr. Dyke</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-which-the-landlady-is-played-a-trick">In which the Landlady is played a Trick</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-receives-visits-from-two-cobblers-and-a-clerk">Tom Moore receives Visits from Two Cobblers and a Clerk</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#in-which-the-poet-warbles-to-mrs-malone">In which the Poet warbles to Mrs. Malone</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-has-a-bitter-disappointment-and-an-unexpected-visitor">Tom Moore has a Bitter Disappointment and an Unexpected Visitor</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#sir-percival-lovelace-is-favored-by-fortune">Sir Percival Lovelace is favored by Fortune</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">BOOK THREE</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TWO EVENINGS IN HIGH SOCIETY</em></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple" start="15"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#sets-forth-certain-explanations">Sets Forth Certain Explanations</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-separates-a-young-lady-from-her-skirt">Tom Moore separates a Young Lady from her Skirt</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#honors-are-easy">Honors are Easy</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-moves-in-distinguished-company">Tom Moore moves in Distinguished Company</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#mr-sheridan-mr-brummell-and-mr-moore-hold-council-of-war">Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Brummell, and Mr. Moore Hold Council of War</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-makes-a-bad-bargain">Tom Moore makes a Bad Bargain</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-poet-falls-from-favor">The Poet falls from Favor</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics medium">BOOK FOUR</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">A NIGHT OF ADVENTURE</em></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple" start="22"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-receives-a-proposal-of-marriage">Tom Moore receives a Proposal of Marriage</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-poet-has-callers-and-gives-a-dinner-party">The Poet has Callers and gives a Dinner-Party</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-hears-of-a-political-appointment">Tom Moore hears of a Political Appointment</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#sir-incognito-receives-a-warm-welcome">Sir Incognito receives a Warm Welcome</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#tom-moore-s-servant-proves-a-friend-in-need">Tom Moore's Servant proves a Friend in Need</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-poet-regains-royal-favor">The Poet regains Royal Favor</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>The Play, founded by Mr. Sayre on the same -incidents as the novel, was produced by Messrs. Rich -and Harris, with great success at the Herald Square -Theatre, New York, on the evening of the Thirty-first of -August, 1901, with the following cast:</span></p> -<pre class="literal-block"> -<span>TOM MOORE, Ireland's favorite poet . . . . . . . . . ANDREW MACK -PRINCE OF WALES, Regent of England . . . . . . . . . MYRON CALICE -SIR PERCIVAL LOVELACE, Boon Companion to the Prince GEORGE F. NASH -LORD MOIRA, Moore's friend and patron . . . . . . . THEODORE BABCOCK -ROBIN DYKE, an Irish minor poet . . . . . . . . . . GEORGE W. DEYO -SHERIDAN, the famous wit . . . . . . . . . . . . . . GILES SHINE -BEAU BRUMMELL, a leader of society . . . . . . . . . HARRY P. STONE -TERENCE FARRELL, a young Irishman . . . . . . . . . FRANK MAYNE -BUSTER, Moore's servant . . . . . . . . . . . . . . EDWARD J. HERON -MCDERMOTT, a publisher . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . RICHARD J. DILLON -SERVANT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . JOHN NAPIER</span> -</pre> -<pre class="literal-block"> -<span>MICKEY } { JOHNNY COOKE -WILLIE } { WILLIE COOKE -PATSEY } { AUGUSTUS WILKES -DICKY } { GEORGIE CADIEUX -JOHNNY } { JOHNNY WILKES -TOMMY } School { HAROLD GRAU -LIZZIE } Children { VIVIAN MARTIN -NELLIE } { ETHEL CLIFTON -MAGGIE } { MARY McMANUS -KATIE } { SYLVIA CASHIN -BRIDGET } { ISABEL BARRCACOLE -MARY } { LORETTA RUGE</span> -</pre> -<pre class="literal-block"> -<span>BESSIE DYKE, an Irish girl . . . . . . . . . . JOSEPHINE LOVETT -WINNIE FARRELL, an heiress . . . . . . . . . . SUSIE WILKERSON -MRS. FITZ-HERBERT, the Prince's favorite . . . JANE PEYTON -MRS. MALONE, Moore's landlady . . . . . . . . MAGGIE FIELDING -Courtiers, Ladies, Footmen, Servants, etc.</span> -</pre> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-goes-angling"><span class="large">Book One</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line noindent"><span>"</span><em class="italics">The time I've lost in wooing,</em></div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">In watching and pursuing</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">The light, that lies</em></div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">In woman's eyes,</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">Has been my heart's undoing</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">TOM MOORE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics large">Chapter One</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE GOES ANGLING</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mr. Thomas Moore was certainly in a -very cheerful mood. This was evidenced -by the merry tune with which he was -delighting himself, and a jealous-minded thrush, with -head cocked on one side, waited with ill-concealed -impatience for his rival to afford him the opportunity of -entering into competition. As this was not forthcoming, -the bird took wing with an angry flirt of the tail -and mental objurgation levelled at the unconscious -head of the dapper young Irishman, who lilted gayly -as he wandered along the path worn in the sward of -the meadow by the school children on their way to -and from the institution of learning presided over by -Mistress Elizabeth Dyke.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"The time I've lost in wooing,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>In watching and pursuing</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The light, that lies</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>In woman's eyes,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Has been my heart's undoing."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Moore paused in his ditty and sat down on a -convenient stone, while he wiped his brow with a ragged -silk handkerchief which, though of unmistakably -ancient origin, was immaculately clean.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith," he murmured, "there's no fiction in that -last stanza. It's broken-hearted I am, or as near it as -an Irishman can be without too much exertion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He sighed almost unhappily, and drawing a knife -from his breeches pocket proceeded to manufacture a -whistle from the bark on the end of the long willow -wand he had cut a few moments before to serve as a -fishing-rod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This last was accomplished after some little effort -accompanied by much pursing of lips and knitting of -brows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His labors completed, Moore regarded the whistle -with the critical approval of an expert, and putting it -to his mouth blew a shrill blast. As the result was -eminently satisfactory, he bestowed the toy in the -crown of his beaver and, crossing his legs -comfortably, proceeded to take his ease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His appearance was decidedly attractive. While -quite a little below middle size, his wiry figure was so -well proportioned that in the absence of other men -nearer the ordinary standard of height, he would have -passed as a fine figure of a lad. He carried himself -with easy grace, but affected none of the mincing, -studied mannerisms of the dandy of the period. He -had a round, jolly face, a pleasing though slightly -satirical mouth, an impudent nose, and a pair of fine eyes, -so brightly good-humored and laughingly intelligent, -that no one could have looked into their clear depths -without realizing that this was no ordinary youth. -And yet at the period in his career from which dates -the beginning of this chronicle Tom Moore's fortunes -were at a decidedly low ebb. Disgusted and angry -at the ill success which attended his attempts to sell his -verses to the magazines and papers of Dublin, for at -this time it was the exception, not the rule, when a -poem from his pen was printed and paid for, Moore -gathered together his few traps, kissed his mother and -sisters good-bye, shook the hand of his father, then -barrackmaster of an English regiment resident in -Ireland, and hied himself to the sylvan beauties of the -little town of Dalky. Here he secured lodgings for -little more than a trifle and began the revision of his -translation of the Odes of Anacreon, a task he had -undertaken with great enthusiasm a year previous. -Thus it was that he chanced to be wandering through -the fields on fishing bent this bright and beautiful -morning in the year of our Lord 179-.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 54%" id="figure-102"> -<span id="id1"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Tom Moore" src="images/img-004.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Tom Moore</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A small boy, barefooted and shock-headed, came -across the meadow in the direction of the schoolhouse -visible in the distance on the crest of a long, slowly -rising hill. He carried a bundle of books and an old -slate tightly clutched under one arm, while from the -hand left disengaged swung a long switch with which -he smartly decapitated the various weeds which had -achieved altitude sufficient to make them worthy of -his attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Noticing Moore for the first time, the boy's face -brightened and lost its crafty look of prematurely -developed cunning and anxiety, as he approached with -a perceptible quickening of his gait.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it you, Mr. Moore?" he said, a rich brogue -flavoring his utterance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unless I am greatly mistaken, Micky, you have -guessed my identity," admitted the young man, -making a playful slap with his rod at the new-comer's bare -shins, which the lad evaded with an agility that -bespoke practice, at the same time skilfully parrying -with his switch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goin' fishin'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shooting, my boy. Don't you perceive my -fowling-piece?" replied Moore, waving his fish-pole in -the air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure," said Micky, grinning broadly, "you will -have your joke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None of the editors will, so, if I did n't, who -would?" responded Moore, with a smile not altogether -untinged by bitterness. "Where are you going, -Micky?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To school, sir, bad cess to it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Such enthusiasm in the pursuit of education is -worthy of the highest commendation, my lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it?" said Micky doubtfully. "What's that, -Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Commendation?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if I said you were a good boy, what would -that be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father would say it was a d--n lie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore chuckled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we will let it go at that. You seem to be in -a great hurry, Micky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So do you, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Humph!" said Moore. "I perceive you are -blessed with an observing mind. Have you observed -the whereabouts of a trout brook that is located -somewhere in this neighborhood?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis," replied Micky, himself an enthusiastic fisherman. -"I have that. Don't ye know the place, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, my lad, but, since Providence has sent you -along to show me the way, I 'll speedily be possessed -of that knowledge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Micky looked doubtfully in the direction of the -schoolhouse. It was almost time for the afternoon -session, but the day was too beautiful to be spent in -the dull depths of the school without regret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd show you the way, sir, gladly, but it 'll make -me late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you afraid of Mistress Dyke?" queried -Moore, noticing the boy's hesitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So am I, my lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Micky looked surprised. That this dashing young -blade in whose person were apparently embodied all -the manly virtues, at least from the lad's point of -view, should stand in dread of such a soft-eyed, -red-cheeked little bundle of femininity as his schoolmistress -was a matter beyond his juvenile comprehension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why, sir?" asked the boy curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She 's very pretty," replied Moore. "When you -are older you will understand what it is to be in awe -of a trim little miss with the blue sky in her eyes and -a ripple of red merriment for a mouth. In the -meantime you shall show me the way to the brook."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But she 'll lick me," objected Micky, numerous -ferulings keenly in mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not she, my laddybuck. To-day I 'm coming to -visit the school. Tell her that and she 'll not whack -you at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, she will be so pleased, she will more than -likely kiss you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why don't you go and tell her yourself? -You would like the kiss, would n't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Micky," said Moore solemnly, "you have -discovered my secret. I </span><em class="italics">would</em><span>. Ah me! my lad, how -little we appreciate such dispensations of Providence -when we are favored with them. Now you, you -raparee--you would much rather she did n't practise -osculation upon you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Micky nodded. He did not understand what his -companion meant, but he was quite convinced that the -assertion made by him was absolutely correct.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What a beautiful thing is faith!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A pretty teacher beats the devil, Micky, and you -have the prettiest in Ireland. I wish I could be taught -by such a preceptress. I 'd need instruction both day -and night, and that last is no lie, even at this day, -if the lesson were to be in love," he added, a twinkle -in his eyes, though his face was perfectly sober.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure," said Micky, "she don't think you nade -lessons. I heard her tell Squire Farrell's daughter -blarney ran off your tongue like water off a duck's -back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that?" said Moore. "I 'll have to -investigate this matter thoroughly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment the metallic clang of an old -fashioned hand-bell sounded faintly down the hillside -mellowed into comparative melodiousness by the -intervening distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Moore, "your absence has been reported -to Mistress Dyke, and she has tolled the bell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed as though the young Irishman's execrable -pun decided the ragged urchin that the way of the -transgressor might be hard, for, without further -hesitation, he took to his heels and fled in the direction -of the schoolhouse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a moment's thought Moore followed him, -beating time with the willow fishing-rod to the song -which half unconsciously issued from his lips as he -turned his steps in the direction of the headquarters -of Mistress Bessie Dyke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom Moore was going angling, but not for trout.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="certain-happenings-in-mistress-dyke-s-school"><em class="italics large">Chapter Two</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">CERTAIN HAPPENINGS IN MISTRESS DYKE'S SCHOOL</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Over her desk, waiting for developments, -leaned Mistress Dyke. A moment passed, -then the tousled head of the tardy Micky -appeared above the level of the bench behind which -he had secured shelter after carefully crawling on -hands and knees from the door, having by extreme -good fortune, made the hazardous journey undetected. -Only the fatally unwelcome interest displayed in this -performance by the red-headed boy on the front row -prevented the success of Micky's strategy. As it was, -the blue eyes of Bessie met his with a glance of reproof -as he slid noiselessly into his place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Micky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy rose reluctantly to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie looked at him severely. To his youthful mind -she appeared very stern indeed; but, if the truth were -known, to the ordinary adult eye she presented no -fiercer exterior than that ordinarily produced by a -slight feeling of irritation upon the aspect of a kitten -of tender age. Smiles always lurked in Bessie's big -blue eyes, and little waves of mirth were ever ready -to ripple out from the corners of her mouth at the -slightest provocation, so it can readily be understood -that it was no easy task for her to sternly interrogate -the freckle-faced youth who, beneath her disapproving -gaze, shifted uneasily from one bare foot to the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mistress Dyke ruled by love, and if she did not love -by rule, it is merely another instance where exception -can be taken to the old saw which so boldly and -incorrectly states that a good maxim must of necessity -be reversible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why are you late, Micky?" demanded Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure, mistress, I dunno," was the hopeless response.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't know, Micky? How foolish!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis 'm," assented Micky. "I was foolish to be late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie smiled and then tried to deceive the school -into the belief that it was only the beginning of a -yawn by patting her mouth with a dimpled palm. The -school knew better and anxiety grew less.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there must be some reason for it," she persisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," said a little lad with long yellow curls, -which were made doubly brilliant by the red flannel -shirt that enveloped him, materially assisted by -diminutive trousers, with a patch of goodly proportions upon -the bosom. "I saw him goin' fishin' wid Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tattle-tale! Tattle-tale," came in reprimanding -chorus from the other pupils. Dicky, quite unabashed -by this disapproval, made a gesture of defiance and -returned to his place. Unfortunately the copper-tipped -brogan of one Willy Donohue, who chanced to be -sitting immediately in the rear of the youthful -informer, was deftly inserted beneath Dicky as he started -to seat himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The result of this was that the cherubic Richard -arose, with an exclamation of pain and surprise, much -more quickly than he sat down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dicky, you may remain after school. I want no -tell-tales here," said Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Teacher, Willy Donohue put his foot in me seat," -expostulated Dicky, on whom the lesson was quite -thrown away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Willy shall stay after school, also."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah-h-h!" remarked Dicky, mollified at the prospect -of his unkind fate being shared by an old-time -enemy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you wuz big enough to lick," growled -Willy, under his breath. "Your own mother would n't -know you after the flakin' I 'd give you. I 'd snatch -you baldheaded, baby."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dicky turned his head far enough over his shoulder -to prevent Mistress Dyke from observing the -protrusion of his tongue, and was so unlucky as to be hit -fairly in the eye with a paper pellet, amply -moistened, propelled with all the force the vigorous lungs -of the prettiest girl in school, aided by a tube of paper -torn from the back of her geography, could impart -to it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Teacher, Milly O'Connor hit me in the eye wid -a spit ball," snivelled Dicky, who, being of tender -years, did not share in the general masculine scholastic -worship of the youthful belle, who was admired and -fought over by the larger boys, on whom she bestowed -her favors quite impartially.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh dear!" sighed Bessie. "Was there ever such -a lot of children? Milly, rise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Milly stood up without any visible sign of -contrition or embarrassment. She was a pretty, -dark-curled lassie of ten, dressed neatly and becomingly, -which made her doubly prominent in her present -surroundings, for most of the children were of such -poverty-stricken parentage that the virtue possessed -by their wearing apparel consisted almost entirely in -sheltering and hiding rather than ornamenting their -small persons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall I do to punish you?" asked Bessie, -wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might ferule her, teacher," suggested Dicky, -good-humoredly coming to the rescue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dicky, mind your own business," said Bessie -severely, "or I 'll ferule you. Now I shall punish -you both. Milly, kiss Dicky immediately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to kiss a tattle-tale," said Milly, who -placed fully the proper valuation on her caresses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly," said Bessie. "This is a punishment, -not a reward of merit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for Dicky," corrected Milly. "He will like -it, teacher."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But here the little lady was in grievous error, for -when she, resignedly obedient, approached the small -rascal, he promptly burst into tears and, dropping on -the floor, hid his head under the bench. This was -more than Bessie had bargained for, and she was -about to motion Milly to return to her seat when -Patsy, a youth with carroty red locks already mentioned, -rose from his place on the front bench, burning -with the noble flame of self-sacrifice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She can kiss me instead, teacher," he announced -heroically, "and you can let Dicky off this time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie laughed outright in spite of herself, but Milly, -regarding Patsy's suggestion as nothing short of -positive insult, turned her back on the admiring gaze of -the gallant youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think we will excuse you, Patsy. Dicky is punished -sufficiently, and I fancy Milly will behave herself -in the future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Patsy sat down with a gulp of regret, not comforted -by Milly's whisper:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd do anything rather than kiss that red-headed -monkey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Micky, to whom she had imparted this welcome -information, nodded approval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till I catch him after school," he murmured -hostilely. "I 'll dust his jacket for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Bessie had rescued Dicky from his grief -and apprehension, and, when the curly-headed youth -had had his nose blown and resumed his seat, school -assumed its wonted quiet until the sight of a tiny -mouse nibbling a bit of cracker under an unoccupied -bench drew forth a scream of terror from Milly, who -considered herself entitled by age to the enjoyment of -all the follies peculiar to her sex.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A mouse!" she shrieked. "Oh, teacher, teacher, -save me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she immediately sought a position of safety -upon the seat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pandemonium broke loose. The other little girls -not to be outdone became equally as frightened, and -followed Milly in her ascent, an example which was -most shamefully emulated by Bessie herself, with her -desk as the base of operations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Patsy plunged headlong in the direction of the small -disturber bent on demolishing it with his geography. -The other boys were equally prompt in following the -chase, with the exception of Micky, who, realizing this -was an excellent opportunity for administering a -rebuke to his latest rival's amatory ambition, stepped -quickly behind his enemy and kicked him in the place -handiest at the time with an enthusiasm worthy of -a better cause. Patsy, justly aggrieved, abandoned -the pursuit, and, rising to his feet, smote Micky in the -neck with a force that jarred him mentally as well -as physically. Retaliation followed in a swinging blow -on Patsy's snub nose, and a clinch ensued which -continued in spite of Bessie's desperate remonstrances -until Tom Moore put his head in the window, -realized the necessity for prompt action, ran to the door, -entered, and, seizing the combatants by their collars, -tore them apart by main strength.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-entertains-teacher-and-pupils"><em class="italics large">Chapter Three</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE ENTERTAINS TEACHER AND PUPILS</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Moore held the boys at arm's length, thus -frustrating their desperate attempts to -continue the battle, and glancing up at Bessie, -who was still perched on the desk, favored her with -a look of mingled astonishment and admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a nice quiet time you have been having! -Quite like a baby Donnybrook," he remarked cheerfully. -"Are you trying to fly, Bessie, that you are -up so high?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Tom, you came just in time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a habit of mine," replied Moore, and then, -turning his attention to his prisoners, he continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, my bully gladiators, what is the cause of -this gentle argument?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Misther Moore, he said I looked like a monkey -the other day," answered Micky, harking back to an -insult that had long rankled in his memory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He kicked me, he did," said Patsy, "and I gave -him a oner in the neck for it, I did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Red-head!" ejaculated Micky in tones of scorn. -"He wanted Milly to kiss him, the puckorn!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which is Milly?" inquired Moore, scanning the -other scholars interrogatively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am," answered that young lady, delightfully -free from embarrassment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't blame you at all, Patsy," observed the -poet regarding the youthful belle with approval. "Are -you desperately fond of her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure," responded Patsy, valiantly. "I 'm -going to marry her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As though I 'd marry </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>," remarked Milly, in -accents by no means admiring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind that, Miss Milly! An honest man's -love is not to be scorned even when it's in short -breeches," said Moore, reprovingly. "So it is -jealousy that is at the bottom of this quarrel? Faith, -I 'll settle it right here. Neither of you lads shall -have Milly. I 'll marry her myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Milly, cocking her eye at Bessie, -"if teacher has no objection, I haven't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What an idea!" ejaculated the schoolmistress, -descending from her desk. "Tom, how can you talk -such nonsense?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't mind her, Milly. It's only jealousy," said -Moore. "Boys, this fight is postponed till after -hours." Then he added, in a whisper, "I 'll referee -it myself. Go to your seats."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Each of you boys will remain in an hour after -school is dismissed," said Bessie, severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore stepped quickly to the desk where she had -seated herself preparatory to continuing the session.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh murder, no!" he expostulated in an undertone. -"How can I talk to you, Bessie, if they are here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you wish to talk to me, Mr. Moore?" asked -the guileless maiden, as though surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am dying to, Bessie," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On second thoughts, boys," she announced, "since -Mr. Moore has interceded for you, you need not stay -in, but there is to be no more fighting after school. -I don't like quarrelling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you have made up your mind to be an old -maid, have you?" murmured Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie tossed her head disdainfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure the mouse is gone?" she asked, -evading the question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I see it there," exclaimed Moore. "Look -out, Bessie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" cried the girl, relapsing into fright and -seizing hold of her companion for safety's sake. -"Don't let the horrid thing come near me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore chuckled and released himself from her -appealing grasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please be more respectful, Mistress Dyke," he -said reprovingly. "I 'll not have you seizing hold of -me like this. It is entirely too familiar treatment for -a young unmarried man to submit to at such short -notice and unchaperoned. Have you no bringing up -at all? What do you suppose my mother would say -if she thought I permitted you to take such liberties?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, never mind your mother," said Bessie pettishly, -deciding that she was in no particular danger -at the present moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is nice advice to give a young lad," -commented Moore, drawing a rose from his button-hole. -"See, Bessie, I have brought you a posey, the last -blossom on the bush. Some day, if I have the time, -I shall write a poem on the subject."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke, Bessie put the flower in a glass of -water on the desk that already held a bunch of clover -plucked for her by the grimy fingers of one of her -pupils.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dicky stood up and raised his hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, teacher," he lisped, "is Mr. Moore going -to sing for us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure as life," said Moore, his vanity tickled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A murmur of approval came from the children. The -young Irishman had amused them with his fine voice -more than once, extracting in return from their -evident enjoyment quite as much pleasure as his music -afforded them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What shall it be, teacher?" he asked, turning to -Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, anything but one of those odes from Anacreon, -Tom. They are simply terrible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you read them all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I blush to admit it," answered the girl, frowning -at his lack of tact in recalling such an indiscreet -proceeding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Bessie," he murmured tenderly, "I'd admit -anything for the sake of seeing the roses steal in -and out of your dear cheeks. Why, it is like watching -the sunset sweeping over the clouds in the west on -a summer evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sing, Thomas Moore," commanded the girl, but -a softer look came into her eyes as she settled -comfortably back in her chair to listen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd like to pass my life singing to you, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all very well, Tom, but the notes from your -throat are not taken at the bank."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," retorted he, cheerily, "to get even, it is -not many bank-notes I take."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore, after fetching a high stool from a distant -corner of the room, perched himself upon it and began -to sing, the school-room echoing with the clear -ringing voice that was destined in after years to be the -delight of the most fashionable circle in Europe. -He had selected an old ballad setting forth the -emotions felt by a world-worn traveller as he threaded -the streets of his native village after years of -wandering abroad, and, as the chorus was composed of -the various song-game rhymes sung by the children -in their play, it was quite familiar to the pupils of -Mistress Dyke, who joined in heartily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ready," cried Moore, beckoning the children from -their places. "Now, all together.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'I came to see Miss Jenny O'Jones,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Jenny O'Jones, Jenny O'Jones,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>I came to see Miss Jenny O'Jones,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And how is she to-day?'"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 90%" id="figure-103"> -<span id="ready-cried-moore-now-all-together"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'Ready,' cried Moore, 'Now, all together.'"" src="images/img-020.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'Ready,' cried Moore, 'Now, all together.'"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Hand in hand the children, their shrill voices raised -tunefully under the leadership of Moore, marched -gayly forward and back, the poet prancing as -joyously as any of them, as he beat time with a ruler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Second verse," he said, and, enjoying every note, -sang it through to the huge delight of his audience, -who, when the chorus was reached a second time, -danced around him in a circle, their pleasure proving -so infectious that Bessie herself deserted her desk to -take part in the wind-up, which was both uproarious -and prolonged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will do you," said Moore, mopping his face -with his handkerchief. "Faith, it is great fun we -have been having, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it appears," she replied, rapping on the desk -for order.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have a fine lot of pupils, Bessie. I 'd like -to be father of them all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Moore!" exclaimed the girl, horrified at such -a wish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I mean I 'd like to have a family as smart as they -look," explained Moore, helping himself to a chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would not require much effort," replied the -girl, coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it would take time," suggested the graceless -young joker. Then he continued, as Bessie gave him -a freezing glance, "I mean, never having been -married, I don't know, so I will have to take your word -for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You deserve to be punished for your impudence, -Tom Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since I 'm a bachelor, that is easy brought about, -Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who would marry such a rogue as you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not going to betray the ladies' confidence in -my honor by giving you a list of their names," replied -Moore, virtuously. Then he added softly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know something--I mean </span><em class="italics">some one</em><span>--I deserve, -whom I am afraid I won't get."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sooner or later we all get our deserts," said -Bessie, wisely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want her for more than dessert," he answered. -"For three meals of love a day and a light lunch in -the evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is time to dismiss school."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not sorry for that; send the darlings home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And another thing, Tom Moore, you must never -come here again during school hours. It is impossible -to control the children when you are around."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had them nicely controlled when I arrived, -didn't you?" said he. "Oh, well, I'll come later -and stay longer. Dismiss them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie rang the bell, and school broke up for the -day immediately.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-blackmailing-of-tom-moore"><em class="italics large">Chapter Four</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">THE BLACKMAILING OF TOM MOORE</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>After bidding good-bye to the visitor most -of the children crowded noisily out of the -door, rejoicing at their resumption of -freedom, but Patsy, he of the red hair, seated himself -deliberately on the front bench and immediately -became deeply interested in his arithmetic, his -presence for the moment being completely overlooked by -Moore, whose attention was attracted by the attempt -of a ragged little miss to make an unnoticed exit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Little girl," said Moore, gently, "why are you -going without saying good-bye to me? What have -I done to deserve such treatment from a young lady?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child thus reproached, a tiny blonde-haired -maiden, dressed in a faded and ragged frock, looked -timidly at her questioner, and flushed to her temples.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you would n't want to say good-bye -to me, sir," she answered, shyly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not, alanna?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Cause I 'm poor," she whispered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tender look came into Moore's eyes and he crossed -to the side of the child, his generous heart full of pity -for the little one's embarrassment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm poor, too," he said, patting her yellow curls. -"Where do you live, my dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Down by the Mill, sir, with my auntie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And is this the best dress she can give you?" he -asked, trying the texture of the little gown and finding -it threadbare and thin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child looked down at her feet, for the moment -abashed, then raising her eyes to the young man's -face, read only sympathy and tenderness there, and, -thus encouraged, answered bravely:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is better than </span><em class="italics">hers</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then we can't complain, dear, can we? Of course -not, but is n't it very thin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, but I would n't mind if it was a bit -more stylish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore looked at Bessie, smiling at this characteristic -manifestation of femininity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The size of her!" he said. "With a woman's -vanity already."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, turning to the child again, he continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we poor people must stick together. I 'll -call on your aunt to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you?" cried the girl in delight. "And you 'll -sing to us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I will," said Moore, heartily. "Now run -along like a good girl, and mind me, dear, never be -ashamed of your honest poverty. Remember that the -best man of us all slept in a manger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," responded the child, happily, "I 'll not -forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she started for the door Moore called her back -and put a shilling in her little pink palm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do with it?" he asked, chucking -her under the chin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buy a ribbon, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A ribbon?" echoed Moore in imitation of her -jubilant tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For me auntie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bless your generous little heart," said Moore, -drawing another coin from his pocket. "There is -the like of it for yourself. Buy one for each of you. -Now off you go. Good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child ran lightly to the door, but, as she reached -the steps, turned, as though struck by a sudden -thought, and beckoned to Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You may kiss me, sir," she announced with as -much dignity as though she were bestowing upon her -benefactor some priceless gift, as indeed she was, for -certainly she possessed nothing more valuable. Then, -after he had availed himself of her offer, she courtesied -with childish grace and trotted gayly off, her two -precious shillings tightly clutched in her hand. -Believing himself to be alone with Bessie, Moore -hastened toward her with outstretched arms, but was -suddenly made aware of the presence of a third party -by Patsy, who discreetly cleared his throat as he sat -immersed in his book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore turned to Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that lad doing there?" he whispered. -"Does n't he know school is over?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How should I know?" she answered, though a -glint of fun in her eyes showed she was not without -her suspicion as to the reason of Patsy's presence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might ask him what he wants," she suggested -encouragingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will," said Moore, approaching the interrupter of -his wooing with a disapproving expression upon his -face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here, my son, don't you know school is -dismissed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis, sir," replied Patsy, loudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet you are still here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bad luck to you, can't you say anything but 'Yis, sir'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir," responded Patsy, not at all intimidated -by Moore's glowering looks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is better," said Moore. "You are going -home now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There you go again! Faith, I wish you would say -'Yes' and stick to it. What are you doing here at this -unseasonable hour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish to study me lessons," replied Patsy, -enthusiastically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fairly dashed, Moore returned to Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never saw a lad so fond of his books before," -said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a new thing for Patsy," said Bessie with a -laugh. "There is no bigger dunce in school."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that so?" asked Moore. "Faith, I'm beginning -to understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Patsy looked sharply over his book at the young poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you study at home, my lad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you never say 'Yes, sir,' again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now look here, my young friend, if you say -'Yes, sir,' or 'No, sir,' again I 'll beat the life out of -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">All right</em><span>, sir," responded Patsy, plunging his face -still deeper into his book.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore regarded his small tormentor with a look of -dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will strain your eyes with so much study, -Patsy," he said, warningly. "That is what you will -do,--and go blind and have to be led around by a -stick, leaning on a small dog."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A suppressed giggle from Bessie drew his attention -to his mistake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It 's the other way round I mean. Are n't you -afraid of that sad fate, my bucko?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Patsy shook his head and continued his energetic -investigation of his arithmetic, while Moore sought -counsel from the schoolmistress, who was keenly -enjoying her admirer's discomfiture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will I say to the little tinker, Bessie?" he -asked, ruefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How should I know, Tom? I am his teacher and -will have to help him if he wishes it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it troubles you?" demanded Moore, -looking down on Patsy's red head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A sum, sir," replied Patsy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Show it to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy designated an example with his finger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'If a man sold forty eggs at one ha'penny an -egg,'" read Moore from the book, "'how many eggs--'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shutting up the arithmetic, he put his hand in his -pocket and jingled its contents merrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the answer to this problem sixpence?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, sir," replied Patsy ingenuously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is, then?" demanded Moore, baffled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two shillings," announced the graceless youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll give you one," said Moore, suggesting a -compromise, but Patsy was not to be so lowered in his -price.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Two</em><span> is the answer," he replied in a determined tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore yielded without further protest and produced -the money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are, you murdering blackmailer," said -he. "Now get out before I warm your jacket."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Patsy seized his books, and, dodging a cuff aimed at -him by his victim, ran out of the schoolhouse with a -derisive yell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie," said Moore, solemnly, "that little -spalpeen will surely come to some bad end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And be hanged?" asked the girl, taking a -handful of goose-quills from her desk preparatory to -sharpening them into pens with an old knife drawn -from the same storehouse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Or get married, my sweet girl, though they say -death is better than torture," replied Moore, approaching -the schoolmistress. "Do you know it cost me -two shillings to get a talk with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie smiled and finished a pen with exquisite care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Talk is cheap," she observed, carelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whoever said that never called at your school, -Bessie Dyke," said Moore, perching himself upon her -desk. "Turn your face a bit the other way, if you -please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he took the girl's round chin in his -hands and moved her head until only a side view of -her pretty face could be obtained from his post of -vantage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you like my profile so much, Tom?" she asked, -submitting docilely to his direction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's not that, Bessie," answered Moore, "it's -because I can't stand two such eyes at once. Now -there is but one of them looking at me. And such -an eye! My heart's jumping under my jacket like -a tethered bullfrog with the glance of it. Ah, Bessie, -there is only one in the wide world like it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And where is that?" asked the girl, a shade of -jealousy perceptible in her inquiry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just around the bend of your nose, mavourneen," -laughed Moore. "Filled with melted moonshine are -both of them. Sure, one soft look from those eyes -would make a cocked hat out of starlight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would it?" murmured Bessie, charmed in spite -of herself. "Do you really mean all you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mean it? It's poor justice my words do your -beauty, Bessie dear. You have the sauciest, darlingest, -scornfullest nose, and such a mouth! Why, to -look at it makes my lips pucker."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lemon would do the same," observed Bessie, -foiling Moore's attempt to snatch a kiss by sitting -back in her chair. "You need not think I believe -all your nonsense, Thomas Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you believe what I have just said, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I. You need n't flatter yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why needn't I? Will you do it for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have something better to do," replied Bessie, -paring another quill with much vigor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is what I call a cutting remark," said Moore, -looking at the knife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie sighed, and temporarily abandoned her labors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom Moore," she said solemnly, "why will you -make such awful puns?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Practice makes perfect, my dear. If I keep on, -some day I may make a good one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if there ever was a good pun?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep on wondering. You look like an angel -pondering over the fit of her wings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, that is sacrilegious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're wrong, Bessie, it's only poetry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie frowned. Like all good women, she did not -like to hear religion spoken of lightly, so she rebuked -the erring Thomas with a glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are pretty even when you frown, Bessie," -remarked the unregenerate versifier.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie attempted to look doubtful as to the truth of -this last statement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should n't you believe me? Has n't your -mirror showed you day after day what I am telling -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke Moore took her hand in his, not -noticing that one slender finger was wound round by a -bandage. Bessie gave a little cry of pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You hurt me," she answered, exhibiting her finger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm more than sorry, Bessie, but what ails your -pinkie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I burned my hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I burn the other for you?" asked Moore, -extending his in invitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could you?" she demanded, suspecting a trap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why," said Moore, "with a kiss half as warm as -my heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie giggled, then tried to resume her dignity, but -Moore had no intention of letting such an advantage -pass unutilized, and, seizing her uninjured hand, -planted a hearty smack in its warm palm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Mr. Moore!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Dyke!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shan't allow you to stay here if you cannot -behave in a sensible manner," she threatened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not sensible?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, if I am not sensible, I am unconscious, and, -if I am unconscious, I am not responsible for what I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore with this justification made a sudden attempt -to embrace Bessie, who, always prepared for such -lawlessness, evaded his outstretched arms and retaliated -by pricking him with her knife, a proceeding which -resulted in the instant removal of the poet's person -from her desk, accompanied by an ejaculation that -sounded suspiciously like profanity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you say, Tom?" asked Bessie with a -gurgle of satisfaction. For once she had the better of -her resourceful admirer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have to guess that, Bessie," he remarked. -"Do you think that is a nice way to treat a young man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it was only a joke," said Bessie, quite unrepentant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your jokes are too pointed," said Moore. "After -this please refrain from any that are sharp enough to -go clean through doe-skin breeches and I 'll thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened suddenly and Dicky, still resplendent -in red shirt and golden curls, appeared, carrying -a book. He halted on the threshold and looked -inquiringly at his teacher.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad, it's the cherub!" exclaimed Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Taking courage, Dicky toddled in, book in hand, and -approached Moore, who gazed wonderingly down at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, my lad, what do you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir," piped Dicky, "I wants help wid me -lessons," and he held up his book. Bessie stuffed her -handkerchief into her mouth to smother her laughter, -while a look of understanding came into Moore's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you want help, do you?" said the latter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis, sir, wid me aris'metic," announced Dicky, -laboring earnestly to bring forth the big word and -catching some of the edges with his teeth in spite of -the exertion. "It's a sum, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A sum indeed?" echoed Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis, sir, and the answer is one shillin', sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore looked over at Bessie, who almost choked -and had to seek relief in coughing. Then he regarded -the recently arrived blackmailer with a glance that he -vainly endeavored to make severe, but Dicky perceived -the twist of mirth at the sides of his victim's mouth, -and took heart accordingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A shilling, my young Jack Sheppard?" said -Moore, feeling in his pocket. "I 'll give you a six-pence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Patsy said it was a </span><em class="italics">shillin'</em><span>," insisted Dicky, -stamping his feet by way of emphasis.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore yielded in shameful defeat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are, you highwayman, and you tell -Patsy I 'll flake him when I catch him again," he said, -handing out the desired coin. "You see that door? -Well, get through it as quickly as you can, or I may -do you bodily injury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dicky fled wildly across the school-room with Moore -galloping at his heels, then the door shut with a bang, -and the pair were alone again.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-gives-mistress-dyke-an-inkling"><em class="italics large">Chapter Five</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE GIVES MISTRESS DYKE AN INKLING</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Moore regarded Bessie with a glance of -reproving indignation, which was quite -lost upon the young lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm in a den of thieves, I am," he remarked, -sternly. "Bessie, I half believe you put those lads up -to that same game. What share do you get? Half, -I 'll wager."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When do you go back to Dublin, Tom?" asked -the girl, waving aside his insinuation with a flirt of her -handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," responded Moore. "I should be -there now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Should you, Tom? What is keeping you, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Simple child! She, of course, had not the slightest -suspicion that she was in any way concerned in the -poet's prolonged tarrying at Dalky. Innocence is a -truly beautiful thing, and that it is not more popular -is much to be regretted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keeping me?" repeated Moore. "Nothing but -my heart, mavourneen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed? Who has it in their possession, if it is no -longer in yours?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Bessie," answered Moore, earnestly. "And -pray do not return it. After being in your keeping, -no other woman would satisfy it, and I 'd have no -peace at all. Ah, alanna, when I left Dublin, weary -and discouraged at my failure to sell my poetry, and -came to this quiet country place in search of rest, it -is little I dreamed I would run across such a girl as -you. You have put new thoughts in my head, Bessie. -My soul is not the same at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Touched by the tenderness of his tone, the girl grew -sober in her turn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> go, Tom?" she asked, regretfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have my fortune to make, Bessie. Why, mavourneen, -I have n't a penny of my own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And no pennies of anybody else's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore smiled broadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How could I have?" said he. "I never went to -school here. I don't know the system like your pupils."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie laughed and looked so tempting in her mirth -that Moore made another attempt to kiss her, with no -better success than had rewarded his previous efforts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poverty is a common complaint," she observed, -shaking her head at the disappointed youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had rather be poor than a miser," said Moore, -sitting down on a stool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A miser? Am I one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, with your kisses. Faith, they are spoiling -to be picked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am the best judge of when and by whom they -shall be picked, good sir," replied Bessie, pensively -nibbling on the end of a brown curl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is hard to be poor, Bessie," sighed Moore, -resting his feet on a rung of the stool, his elbows on his -knees, and his chin in his hand, this being a favorite -attitude of the poet's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you would marry Winnie Farrell you would -have slews of money," suggested Bessie, leaning on -the back of the bench with affected carelessness of -demeanor, but there was a gleam in her eye, hidden -'neath drooping lids and long lashes, that seemed -indicative of no little interest in the forthcoming answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore looked inquiringly at his fair companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winnie Farrell is it?" he said, laughing at the -idea. "Not for me, Bessie. I have picked out another -lassie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I 'm told you often call at Squire Farrell's," -persisted the girl, not wholly reassured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure I do, Bessie," replied Moore frankly. -"And no wonder. The Farrells are pleasant people. -Winnie is nice to chat with, and I like her brother. -He is the cleverest lad in the country."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie shook her head doubtfully, and a sunbeam -that, slanting in the window, had comfortably nested -in a coil of her bonny brown hair was rudely thrown -forth to find no better resting-place than the floor, for -the girl moved nearer to Moore as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is too clever for his own good, I fear," she -said. "The fewer dealings you have with Terence -the better it will be for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before Moore could reply the door opened, and -Patsy, Micky, and Willy Donohue filed in, each -clutching an arithmetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look, Tom," said Bessie, pointing out the new-comers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore regarded the little party with wide-open eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad, Bessie," said he, "it's a committee. What -do you lads want now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, sir," said Patsy, acting as spokesman, -"these two boys wants help wid their lessons. They -each has a sum, sir, and their answer is sixpence -apiece."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here, then," said Moore, sweetly, "and I 'll -hand it to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boys, made confident by past successes, came -forward without hesitation as their victim put both -hands in his pockets.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a long worm that has no turning," remarked -Moore, seizing Patsy by the collar with one hand, -while with the other he picked up the ruler from the -desk. "This is where Thomas Moore worms--I -mean turns. There is sixpence where you won't lose -it, my lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dust flew from Patsy's breeches, while from his -mouth proceeded vigorous objections to his present -treatment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now run, you divil, or I will repeat the dose," -cried Moore, throwing the ruler at Micky's bare shins -as that youthful conspirator sought safety in headlong -flight with Willy before him and Patsy close at his -heels. A moment later they appeared outside the -window and retaliated with derisive gestures for their -recent defeat until Moore ran towards the door as -though about to give chase, when the lads, squealing -with fright, fled across the fields, disappearing in the -distant trees.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you like teaching?" asked Bessie, -mischievously, as Moore returned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fine," he said. "Fine, and it's I that pays the -fines, little limbs of Satan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember, you are speaking of my pupils, Mr. Moore," -she said threateningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said Moore, "little limbs of Bessie Dyke!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did n't mean it that way, my dear. Far be it -from me to make such indelicate remarks intentionally."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not so sure," said Bessie, suspiciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did n't think what I was saying, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you always say what you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you want me to be arrested?" demanded -Moore. "I conceal my thoughts almost as often as -you do, mavourneen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can omit that 'Mavourneen,'" said Bessie, -refusing to be so soon cajoled into good humor. "I 'm -not to be blarneyed so easily."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Moore, "it's a terrible thing to be -haunted by a girl's face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it?" asked Bessie, mollified.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think so," responded Moore. "I can't -work for thinking of one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is her name 'Laziness'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll get no more information on the subject -from me. Do you know, Bessie, I have half made -up my mind not to go back to Dublin at all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No? Where else would you go, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To London," announced Moore, dramatically. -"To London, Bessie, and once there I 'll take Dame -Fortune by the throat and strangle the hussy till she -gives me what I deserve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," cried Bessie, "that would be splendid, Tom!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd go to-morrow only I dare n't leave you, darlin', -for fear you will be stolen from me in my absence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" asked Bessie, looking at -him in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As though you did not know, Bessie!" answered -Moore, rising to his feet. "I mean this Sir Percival -Lovelace, who is seen so often in your company of -late. Lord Brooking's friend. Don't I know what he -is after when I see a great gentleman like him, the -odor of Court still in his ruffles, walking and talking -with a pretty bit of a school-teacher like you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie flushed a little, but her tone was sad instead -of angry when she answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, have you no faith in me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it is precious little I have in Sir Percival," -he replied, turning away angrily, "and the less you -have the better it will be for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie's eyes twinkled maliciously. Here was her -chance to pay her lover back for some of the -plaguements he had practised upon her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't like Sir Percival?" said she, calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I," said Moore. "I see through his fine -manners easy enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He says I would make a good actress," continued -Bessie, as though flattered by the idea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore bit his lip in anger, but spoke calmly enough -when he answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did n't say you would make a good wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Bessie's turn to lose her temper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Tom," she snapped crossly. "I shall be angry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore sat down on the bench previously ornamented -by Patsy's youthful form.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather you would be angry than sorry," he -said, moodily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a short silence. For a moment Bessie -hesitated between anger and apology, then her real -regard for Moore triumphed and she decided not to -torment him further.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she said softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore showed no sign of having heard her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she said as sweetly as a deliciously -modulated voice could sound the word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still no reply. She stepped lightly towards him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, dear, don't be sulky," she said, laying -one hand upon his sturdy shoulder. "Why I care -more for your little finger than I ever could for Sir -Percival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you tell him so?" asked Moore, taking her -hand as he rose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was asking entirely too much and Bessie raised -her head very haughtily, indignant that her -condescension in making so confidential a statement had -led to such an extravagant request.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, I will not," she declared, defiantly, -returning as she spoke to her chair behind the desk at -the front of the schoolroom. Moore followed her and -they stood face to face, the desk between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," he said determinedly, "if you won't, -I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you dare, Thomas Moore," cried Bessie, shaking -one pink forefinger at the poet, admonishingly. "</span><em class="italics">If -you dare!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, I dare do anything," he replied, and, seizing -her hand, plunged the lifted finger up to the second -joint in the contents of the inkstand, thus effectually -ending the argument.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" cried Bessie, holding her hand, so the jetty -fluid would not fall upon her gown or apron. "You -horrid, horrid thing, see what you have done!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore laughed heartily at her discomfiture, and in -so doing recovered his usual cheerful spirits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, the ink will wash off," he chuckled. "That -is more than the mark you have left on my heart will -do, for that is indelible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie stamped her tiny foot in her rage and made -as though she would wipe her hand on Moore's coat, -which caused the triumphant young man to seek -sudden shelter behind the benches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't wash it off, Tom Moore."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 59%" id="figure-104"> -<span id="i-can-t-wash-it-off-tom-moore"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""I can't wash it off, Tom Moore."" src="images/img-040.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"I can't wash it off, Tom Moore."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you never been taught to perform your -ablutions, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stupid! My other hand is burned and water will -make it smart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder if water would make me smart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I 'd</em><span> like to," said the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've always tried wine when I thought I needed -intellectual stimulation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think you would be drinking all the time," -said Bessie, spitefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> the time," corrected Moore. "Part of -it I spend earning the price. There, now, don't worry, -I 'll scrub your little fist for you if you will let me. -Will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie's anger cooled as rapidly as it had warmed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will be very gentle, you may."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust me for that," said Moore, going to the -bucket that stood in the corner with a basin covering -it. "It's empty, Bessie. There is not as much water -here as would make a foot-bath for a flea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can fetch it from the well," said Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you come with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can go alone, Tom Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can, but I don't want to, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would be almost there now if you had n't -stopped to talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you come, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose I will have to do it to please you," said -the girl, yielding with a little sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't it please you, too?" said Moore, stopping her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Tom--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't it?" he insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes,--yes,--</span><em class="italics">yes</em><span>!" she replied, with increasing -emphasis on each reiteration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore let her pass, and she paused at the door, -looking over her plump shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a child you are, Tom Moore!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Child," he repeated. "Child? Maybe I am, -Bessie, but when you are called 'Mama' it won't be -by me, though I think I 'll not be far off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she cried, and slammed the door.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="two-gentlemen-of-wealth-and-breeding"><em class="italics large">Chapter Six</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TWO GENTLEMEN OF WEALTH AND BREEDING</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is doubtful if a search prosecuted through the -entire extent of the United Kingdoms over which -the Prince of Wales ruled as Regent would have -brought forth a more debonair or contented individual -than Sir Percival Lovelace, gentleman, libertine, -and chosen comrade of His Royal Highness. In the -eyes of this gallant, morals were a mark of ancient -barbarism that gentle breeding and a long line of -ancestors should be expected to remove or render -forgotten. As these views coincided almost exactly with -those cherished by the First Gentleman of Europe, it -is not to be wondered that the Prince found in the -baronet an agreeable and, more than that, an amusing -companion. But even London may pall upon one and, -not being hampered by the restrictions limiting the -peregrinations of royalty, which were often the cause -for much princely profanity at Carlton House, Sir -Percival sought change and diversion in a jaunt -through Scotland and Wales, finally ending in a tour -of Ireland, where, much to his surprise, he stumbled -upon certain persons destined to furnish him with more -or less food for thought for the next year or two. His -companion on his travels was none other than Lord -Brooking, nephew of Lord Moira, already known as -one of England's most capable statesmen. The young -gentleman first mentioned was quite popular in the -Regent's set, but more widely known in the circles from -whence the various arts drew encouragement and -patronage. But, in spite of his leanings toward the more -cultured pursuits scantily patronized by the profligate -society immediately surrounding the Regent, Lord -Brooking was much more popular with that noble -gentleman than many whose daily and nightly labor was -the effort to curry favor with England's ruler. Lord -Brooking was no ordinary personage. There was -small flavor of the roué in his character, though it -cannot be denied that, following the general current -of fashion, he had not hesitated to play his part in the -masque of dissipation offered as entertainment to the -middle and lower classes by the aristocracy whom -they were expected to envy and admire. But in his -heart he felt only regret for his own participation in -such unworthy extravagance, and, in most instances, -a profound contempt for those who found diversion -and contentment in such existence. There were two -conspicuous exceptions to his lordship's general -condemnation. The first was Richard Brinsley Sheridan, -poet, dramatist, and statesman, now in his decadence, -who still sought and furnished entertainment in -society, a garrulous, drunken, and witty old gentleman, -with a heart as young and a thirst as dictatorial as -when Fame first brought him well-merited reward. -The only enemies owned by this lightsome veteran -were those foolish enough to expect eventual settlement -of bills or loans that they were so unwise as to allow -him to add to his long list of personal indebtedness. It -is almost unnecessary to mention that disappointment -was the subsequent conclusion of all such hopes of -his deluded creditors, for Mr. Sheridan was consistent -in one thing to the last--entire lack of financial -responsibility.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The other exception was Sir Percival, who was so -gay, so generous, so witty that Brooking, blinded by -the glitter of a sparklingly brilliant personality, neither -saw nor felt the hideous moral imperfections that this -winning gentleman hid beneath his splendid exterior. -The several peccadilloes really beyond all extenuation -or apology of which the baronet had been guilty had -never been brought to the attention of his younger -friend and so at the time of which this tale is a -chronicle it would have been difficult to find two closer -cronies than this pair of young noblemen, who were -strolling leisurely in the direction of the schoolhouse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival looked at Brooking quizzically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not approve, lad," he said with a little -laugh. "You 're too good a fellow, I am afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could be as timid about you," replied -Brooking, pleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you, dear boy? No? Pray, why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you really wish to know?" asked Brooking, -hesitating a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival treated himself daintily to a pinch of -snuff and brushed the dust from his coat with an -embroidered handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you wish to tell me," he answered, smiling. -"It amounts to the same thing between friends, -doesn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think we may as well understand each other -now," said Brooking, in a serious tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I quite agree with you," remarked Sir Percival, -inwardly wondering what this introduction would -lead to.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been postponing this conversation from day -to day for the last week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed? And why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is rather a delicate subject."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would prefer one that is indelicate, if it is not -inconvenient," suggested Sir Percival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For once in your life, Lovelace, be serious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Even </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> I will not deny you. Proceed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have been pals since boyhood. As little lads -we blacked each other's eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We did," admitted Sir Percival, laughing gently, -"and bled each other's noses, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We licked the same stick of candy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gad, yes. My favorite was peppermint. I remember -it as well as though it were but yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We grew up to manhood together," continued -Brooking, half sadly. "A pretty couple of rakes -we were, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> still, dear lad," corrected Sir Percival. -"Two very pretty little libertines, upon my honor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In London, where we were well known as an -unworthy couple, I have no fault to find with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No?" said the baronet in surprise. "To tell the -truth, that statement causes me some little astonishment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We sailed under our true colors there--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," interrupted Sir Percival, "the same flag -is still flying, old man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said his lordship, "while that is true, it -must be remembered that they do not understand its -meaning down here. I haven't much to brag of in -the way of morals, more is the pity, but no woman -has ever wept of shame from my wrong doing, nor -will a woman ever do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival gave his companion a smile of interrogation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not so sure about you," responded Lord -Brooking, deliberately, "but in London, where you -are known, the folly of a girl in trusting you would -be so inexcusable that indiscretion upon your part -might be readily condoned; but here in this peaceful, -simple old town it is very different."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come to the point, Brooking. You are almost -tiresomely wordy to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It amounts to this, Percy. I have done some -things I 'm heartily ashamed of and I intend in the -future to be a better fellow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very commendable, indeed," observed the baronet, -a trifle bored, "Does my approval encourage you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you intend to do with Bessie Dyke?" -demanded the younger man, halting as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival paused and pensively cut down a weed -or two with his walking stick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hum," he said slowly. "As I thought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you mean honestly by the girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your last words are quite correct," said the -baronet, coolly. "Buy the girl--I mean to do that, -Brooking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You frankly avow that is your object?" began -Brooking, genuinely shocked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut--tut!" interrupted his companion, good -humoredly. "She is a pretty creature, is n't she? -Clever, too, in her own innocent, foolish, little way. -For her smiles and bread-and-buttery love--a -welcome change, by the way, from the London brand of -petulant passion--I 'll give her a carriage, horses, -fine dresses, a necklace or two, and lastly my own -charming self for--er--for probably as long a time -as several months."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And </span><em class="italics">then</em><span>, what will become of her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, I don't know," answered Sir Percival. -"Can't imagine, and I shan't bore myself by -wondering. Perhaps she will marry some clodhopper like -this Tom Moore. No doubt he would think her doubly -valuable when I have finished with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not in earnest," stammered Brooking, -incredulously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite in earnest, my dear old chap. Ah, you think -that I will not succeed? Pshaw, Brooking! Not here, -perhaps, in this deliciously moral atmosphere, but -elsewhere, yes. And I intend that she shall be elsewhere. -Brooking, I shall fetch this rural beauty to London."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She will not go," asserted his lordship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No?" returned the baronet. "Who, think you, -will prevent her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom Moore, or I am much mistaken," answered -Brooking, confidently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut!" said Sir Percival, incredulously. "You -do not give my tact sufficient consideration. I 'll -wager the objections Mr. Moore may see fit to make -will prove of no avail in influencing the lady. In fact, -if I do say it myself, my plans are clever enough to -discount the efforts of a dozen bogtrotters, let alone -one and he a rhymester. To begin with I have read -and gone in raptures over old Robin Dyke's verses. -Egad, I have pronounced them beautiful, and really -they are not half bad, Brooking. If they were not -so crammed with anarchy they would sell in London. -The old boy is a socialist, you know. Yes, i' faith, -he bastes the Prince and Castlereagh soundly," and -this ardent royalist chuckled gleefully at the memory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you have broached the subject to Mr. Dyke?" -asked Lord Brooking, as they continued their -stroll in the direction of the schoolhouse. Sir -Percival nodded his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Brooking, the old scribbler is half persuaded -already. I have promised him my support and -patronage in London if he comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the girl?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am tempting Bessie with the promise of a place -at Old Drury, where, as you know, I am not without -influence. Stab me! with her eyes and rosy red -cheeks she would need neither paint nor powder to -make her an ornament to the boards. Like most clever -women, she has ambitions of a histrionic nature. She -will come to London, Brooking, and once there!--once -there--she is mine, dear lad, she is mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brooking's anger and disgust refused to be longer -pent up beneath his calm, almost indifferent, demeanor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a low scoundrel you are!" he ejaculated, -much to Sir Percival's surprise. The baronet for a -moment regarded him quizzically, as though suspicious -that this uncomplimentary description of his character -was intended as a humorous remark, but seeing -severity in his lordship's face, he smiled pleasantly and -refused to take offence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be so serious, old cock," he drawled. -"Earnestness is so tiresome. Ah, life at its best bores -me. My friends bore me. </span><em class="italics">Even you</em><span>, Brooking, bore -me at times. Toss me, if I know anything that does -not bore me sooner or later."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Percival," said the younger gentleman, "if I -whispered one half that you have said to me in Tom -Moore's ear he would choke the life out of you and -sink your body in the pond."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And spoil the drinking water? Well, such treatment -as you describe would not bore me at all events. -'T would be exciting, even unpleasant, 't is true, but -interesting in the extreme, and anything which is not -tedious is worthy of all consideration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brooking laughed, amused in spite of his disapproval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are incorrigible," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Permit me to explain my view of the matter," -continued Sir Percival, amiably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means, Percy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This piquant country damsel pleases me rarely. -She is a sweet little thing whose view of life is about -as comprehensive as that of a day-old kitten. She -shall be educated, Brooking, and I will serve as tutor. -You saw me stoop and pluck a primrose from beside -the road as we walked this way, did you not? Here -it is in my button-hole. This girl is a primrose, -Brooking; I 'll wear her till she is faded,--then, like -this wilted blossom, I will toss her aside. And why? -Because there are other primroses as fair and sweet, -unplucked and unfaded, that grow beside my path -farther on, and I like fresh flowers and new faces."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This very pretty gentleman helped himself to snuff, -and then beamed benevolently upon his companion. -Brooking saw the baronet was in sober earnest in spite -of his pleasant manner and humorous tone. A new -comprehension of his friend's real character dawned -upon his mind, and for the first time in the long years -of their acquaintance and fellowship he was able to -strip from the libertine the exterior of the winning -and courtly gentleman that had hitherto served to -conceal his imperfections. In that one moment vanished -the affection and admiration the younger man had felt -for the elder, leaving only the colder and less exacting -friendship existing between men of the same circle -in society, who find much to interest and amuse in -each other's company, but nothing to love or respect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a slight pause before his lordship spoke, -but when he did so there was a new ring to his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you harm this little girl, I 'll never take your -hand in mine again. You hear, Percy? Do as you -have said, and we are strangers forever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why?" demanded his companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I 'll not own friendship with so filthy a -rogue as you will have proved yourself to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hum!" murmured Sir Percival, thoughtfully. -"Then you will probably constitute yourself her -protector?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If necessary, yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And will no doubt seek to balk me by telling her -what a villain you think me, lad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know better than that," replied Brooking, a -reproachful tone perceptible in his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I do," assented the baronet. "What do you -say to making it a game? One hundred guineas I win."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The instinct of the gamester, without which no buck -of the times was considered completely a gentleman -in society's interpretation of the word, stirred in the -blood of his lordship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Done," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good lad," commented Sir Percival. "My cards -are wealth and fame, London and Drury Lane."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine are the girl's honesty and Tom Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom Moore?" repeated the other, inquiringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," answered Brooking, "for if Bessie Dyke -does go to London with you as her patron, I 'll bring -Tom Moore there and be </span><em class="italics">his</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just as you like," said Sir Percival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Reaching the door of the schoolhouse a moment -later, the two bloods knocked vigorously and stood on -the stone threshold, waiting patiently for a response -from the interior. As this was not forthcoming, after -another moment's delay, Sir Percival opened the door -and led the way into the schoolroom.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-obliges-a-friend-and-gets-in-trouble"><em class="italics large">Chapter Seven</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE OBLIGES A FRIEND AND GETS IN TROUBLE</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Can it be Mistress Bessie has departed for -the day?" said Sir Percival, surveying the -deserted room with no little disappointment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not," replied his lordship, imitating his -companion's look of investigation. "As I thought, -Sir Percival! There is her hat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, Brooking pointed to a dainty affair -composed of some complicated combination of white -straw and blue ribbons, from which peered inquisitively -forth a bunch of pink posies. This charming -creation hung pendant by the strings from a nail in -the wall behind the desk, making plain that the -school-mistress intended to return.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True, Brooking," said Sir Percival, and taking it -down he pressed one of the ribbons to his lips. -"Almost as sweet and pretty as its owner. Egad, -how tuned in harmony with her own charm are the -belongings of a dainty and tasteful woman. Like the -scientists of the Museum who from a bone construct -a skeleton, so could I from this little hat draw the -portrait of the lady whom it might become."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are dangerously near sentimentality," said -Brooking, as though warning the baronet of peril -unperceived.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I sometimes forget that I am no longer a lad of -two-and-twenty, though Heaven knows I lack not -reminders. Impossible as it seems, it is nevertheless -true that I found a gray hair this morning. A silver -messenger from approaching Age. I plucked the -rascally thing out and breathed more freely when I was -rid of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A knock sounded on the door by which the pair -had entered, and Sir Percival, peeking slyly through -a convenient window, gave an exclamation of dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pluck me, Brooking, if it is not old Robin Dyke -himself. Devil take the old bore!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brooking pointed to the other exit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps we can escape this way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival, followed by his lordship, tiptoed across -the room, but before they reached the other doorway, -Mr. Dyke, weary of waiting, entered briskly, and their -plan of evasion was abandoned as hastily as it had -been adopted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, if it is not Mr. Dyke," cried Sir Percival, -cheerily, quite as though he were overjoyed at the -meeting. "Good-day to you, sir. I hope it finds you -sound in health."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dyke flushed with pleasure at the heartiness of the -great gentleman's greeting. He was a pleasant-faced -old man, simple and good-hearted, too prone to trust -in the honor of others, but erring only by giving them -credit for benevolence and honesty equal to his own. -He was quite a portly old person, with a face strongly -lined in spite of its placid expression. His hair, worn -rather long as became a poet, was a wavy, shimmery -gray, and he walked with a rambling sort of gait that -suggested vaguely a compromise between a stride and -a toddle. Sir Percival's quick eye caught sight of a -suggestive roll of manuscript sticking out of the -new-comer's pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed the baronet, tapping the paper -with his cane. "I see a paper peeking from your -coat, Mr. Dyke. Another poem, I 'll be bound. -Come now, sir, out with it. I swear, we </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> hear it, -eh, Brooking?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm </span><em class="italics">afraid</em><span> we will," murmured his lordship -beneath his breath, but he bowed in pleasant assent in -reply to the old gentleman's inquiring look.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" continued Sir Percival. "Too modest, -eh? Then I will read it myself," and, with a gesture -gracefully apologetic for the liberty, he drew the roll -from Dyke's pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Sir Percival," stammered the old man, in -pleased embarrassment. "My poor effort--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your </span><em class="italics">poor</em><span> effort," repeated Sir Percival, scanning -the first page through his eyeglass, as he spoke. "If -this be his poor effort, Brooking, what would his -best be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God knows!" murmured Brooking to himself, -"I hate to think of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival's quick ear caught his lordship's -muttered remark, so, as the flustered poet crossed to the -window in hope of obtaining a glimpse of the absent -schoolmistress, the baronet turned to Brooking with -a laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps God knows," he whispered, "or perhaps -it is better known in the </span><em class="italics">other</em><span> place. Look at it, -Brooking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Must I?" replied the younger man, reluctantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course you must," asserted Sir Percival. Then -more loudly he continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Genius in every line, and more between them. -My dear Dyke, we must have you in England."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think so, Sir Percival?" said the old -gentleman, greatly flattered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sure of it," answered the other as though -convinced, returning the poem to its author. "But -once you are there, no seditious political versifying -like this. Why, sir, the Prince would foam at the -mouth if he saw this. Love lyrics, sir, for the ladies. -That must be your game, dear man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dyke hardly knew which to regard as the -greater compliment, the implication that he had but -to exert himself to write poetry that would be -pleasing to the fair sex of London, or the assertion that -the satire of his latest production was sufficient to -cause annoyance even to Royalty itself. Still not quite -decided in regard to the matter, he blew his nose -resoundingly and modestly replied:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would restrain my opinions, since I cannot -change them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival winked wickedly at Brooking to draw -the latter's attention to his next remark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you thought over my proposal, Mr. Dyke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have given it much deliberation," answered that -worthy, in a tone that but ill concealed the delight -occasioned him by the mere suggestion of such an idea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Mr. Dyke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel most favorably inclined, I must confess," -replied the old gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said Sir Percival, in an undertone to Lord -Brooking, "d' ye hear that, lad? He must confess."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you had to, Percy. It would save me trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is decided?" said Sir Percival, looking -triumphantly at his friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dyke hesitated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, "not exactly decided. It now rests -with my daughter. If she agrees with me, I will be -pleased to do as you have suggested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then Bessie shall say 'Yes,'" responded the baronet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Chancing to look out the window at this moment, -Sir Percival caught a glimpse of a familiar figure -passing on a path running near the schoolhouse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, what?" he laughed. "There goes young -Farrell. Who is the petticoat in tow?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is his sister Winnie," replied Mr. Dyke, -peering through his glasses. "A nice girl, Sir -Percival, with a proper admiration for literature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too dumpy, by far," responded that gentleman, -surveying the lady with anything but approval. "By -the way, I 've something to say to Terence. Brooking, -while I run after them, you may tell Mr. Dyke -your opinion of his poetry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And hastening to the door, the baronet gave chase -to the couple, already at quite a distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Farrell chanced to look around and, -beholding the approaching macaroni, halted his -companion and stood waiting, his sister feeling quite giddy -with the thought of meeting so great a beau as Sir -Percival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've a word or two to say that may interest you, -Terence, if you can spare me a moment," began the -baronet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My time is quite at your disposal, Sir Percival," -replied Farrell. "Permit me to present you to my -sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival bowed with graceful formality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"La, Mistress Farrell," he sighed, prettily, "your -father is indeed fortunate. With such a son and such -a daughter his old age should be crowned with -happiness and content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father finds much to criticise," said the girl. "I -fear he takes no such flattering view of his children -as you insinuate he should."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Criticise?" repeated Sir Percival in a tone of -astonishment. "What can he wish for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Much, if one may judge from his complaints," -answered Winnie, not a little puffed up by the baronet's -condescension and approval. "I 'll not keep you from -your business with my prattle, sir. Terence, I will go -on to Mrs. McCloud's and stop for you at the -school-house on my way back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are most amiable, Mistress Farrell," said Sir -Percival, gratefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl courtesied in what she hoped was a good -imitation of the London manner, and continued on her -way, leaving the two gentlemen to stroll toward the -schoolhouse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Sir Percival," said Farrell knowingly, "what -is afoot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he gave the baronet a searching look, -which drew forth a pleasant smile by way of answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never lose time in getting to the point."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except when it's a sword," replied Farrell. "Then -I can be devilish slow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival's face wore a pensive look as he -regarded his friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For a country squire you present a wonderfully -fashionable appearance," he remarked, his eye travelling -approvingly from the bell-crowned beaver on the -youth's well-shaped head to the carefully tied stock -and thence to the immaculately polished boots which -ornamented feet both small and neatly turned. "Your -costume would not be out of place on Pall Mall, -Terence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With characteristic cunning the courtier had detected -young Farrell's weak point. The youthful Irishman's -fondest wish was that he might some day be acknowledged -as a beau in no less a place than London itself; -a city which dictated fashion to the rest of the -kingdom, drawing its own inspiration from the finicky -fancy of George Brummell, now at the height of his -power as dictator of society.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell flushed with pleasure at Sir Percival's -commendation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I' faith," he answered, "even in Ireland we are not -entirely lacking in taste."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not entirely," observed the baronet. "And -the cards, Terence? Does Fortune smile upon you -these days?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so frequently as my pocket demands, sir. To -tell the truth, I 've played in most villainous luck this -last week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then possibly you would regard the opportunity -to earn one hundred pounds with favoring eye?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would I? Try me, Sir Percival," answered -Farrell eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Terence," replied the baronet, "but -whether you accept or refuse my proposition you bind -yourself as an honorable man to repeat to no one what -I shall suggest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," answered Farrell. "You may confide -in me, Sir Percival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have work for that infernally clever brain of -yours. One hundred pounds if you will devise a -scheme that parts Bessie Dyke from this Tom Moore -who annoys me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It cannot be said that Farrell was astonished at the -words of Sir Percival. Nevertheless, that such a great -and clever man should consider it advisable to obtain -assistance in outwitting so comparatively rustic an -individual as Tom Moore, was, in the youth's eyes, -rather a damaging admission of weakness. At least -so he regarded it, for the moment not realizing that -to a gentleman of large fortune it was far more -satisfactory to busy another's brain than to greatly exert -his own, even though the result of the latter might be -more pleasing in the end.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One hundred pounds," repeated Sir Percival, -languidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Tom Moore is my friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said the baronet, "in that case one hundred -and </span><em class="italics">one</em><span> pounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell laughed a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, Sir Percival," said he, "I will -undertake to earn the sum you mention. I must admit the -airs and graces with which Moore sees fit to conduct -himself are extremely offensive to me. His manner -is one of extreme condescension, and more than once -I have felt myself to be upon the verge of resenting it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said the baronet, "it is agreed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell nodded pleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How will you do it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Easily, Sir Percival. You leave the affair to me -and I 'll fix it so Bessie Dyke will never look at Tom -Moore again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you succeed, I 'll make it one hundred and fifty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Farrell, lifting the latch of the school-house -door, "I like dealing with you, Sir Percival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At almost the same moment Bessie Dyke entered at -the opposite side. Sir Percival bowed in his most -courtly manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here is the missing damsel at last," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore pushed the half-closed door open and stepped -in, bucket in hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is more to follow," he announced, setting -his burden in an out-of-the-way corner as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More?" echoed Sir Percival, questioningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Tom Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A villainous pun, upon my honor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A pun upon </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> honor might well be such," said -Moore, coming forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival allowed an expression of surprise to -pass over his handsome face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad," he said, gently, as though in veiled -wonderment. "Wit, and from such a source."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A sauce of wit makes game more savory," returned -Moore, not at all irritated at the baronet's accent of -superiority. "And I know your game," he added in -an undertone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In deed and in thought, too," answered Moore, -cheerfully. "You will not succeed, my good sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you prevent me, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fancy so, Sir Percival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The baronet raised his voice, so that the conversation, -hitherto inaudible to the others, who were clustered -at the side of the room, could be easily heard. -He did this intending to overwhelm this youth, whom -he despised both as a rustic and as an Irishman, with -the apt and stinging wit that had made him famous -even in London drawing-rooms accustomed to the -sparkling sallies and epigrams of Sheridan and Rogers. -He regarded the conversational defeat of Moore as an -easy task, and proceeded to attempt it with a confidence -born of many hard-fought victories won in the brilliantly -flippant circle surrounding the Prince of Wales, -a society that could only be described as -pyrotechnically witty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand that you write poetry, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you would not understand the poetry I write."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I might buy some of it. I am not over -particular as to merit, you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very particular, you see, to whom I sell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" demanded Sir Percival, taking snuff with -a graceful flourish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I write for the masses and classes, not for -the asses," replied Moore, as pleasantly as though -paying a delicate compliment to the nobleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival recognized that the first point had -been scored by his hitherto despised rival, and rallied -gamely, as became a gentleman of blood and breeding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That last accounts for your unpopularity with -your fellow-countrymen," he suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, they are not the asses I alluded to, Sir -Percival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you intended that for me, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does a fellow feeling make you wondrous kind?" -asked Moore, innocently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hum. Rather clever, Moore," said Sir Percival, -planning a particularly nasty retort, which he was -prevented from delivering by Bessie's approach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is my little schoolmistress to-day?" he said, -winningly, to the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore, loath to relinquish his victory, decided to -continue the battle of wits, and thus brought about -his undoing in the moment of his triumph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your little schoolmistress?" he repeated. "Have -you become a scholar, Sir Percival?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be taught by Mistress Dyke, I would become -anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except honest," suggested Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir!" exclaimed his rival, angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, sir, if you are honest already, there is surely -no need of change."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He had you there, Percy," said Lord Brooking, -joining the group.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary, Brooking, Mistress Dyke has me -</span><em class="italics">here</em><span>," replied Sir Percival, his anger cooled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We all have our troubles," observed Moore, plaintively, -"even Mistress Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was the baronet's opportunity, and he made -good use of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad," he drawled, "have you been reading your -own poetry, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie laughed merrily as Moore tasted the bitterness -of defeat and allowed himself to be led away to -the organ by Lord Brooking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A song, Mr. Moore. I 've heard such reports of -your singing that I am more than eager to listen to -one of your ballads. Mr. Dyke and our friend Farrell -join me in the request."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, my lord," objected Moore, casting an -inquiring glance towards where Sir Percival was talking -glibly to the little schoolmistress, "I--er--really -I 'm not in voice to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense!" said his lordship. "We will not be -denied, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then since I 'm not Saint Peter, I 'll have to yield. -What shall it be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A short discussion followed at the organ, and when -this had been settled by Dyke and Farrell choosing -"The Shamrock," Moore, calmly paying no attention -to such a detail as that, proceeded to sing his latest -poem, written only that morning in honor of Sir -Percival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing could have been more to the point, for at -this very moment the baronet was urging the girl to -ratify her parent's decision in regard to the proposed -move to London, painting for her in vivid words what -a Successful career at Drury Lane Theatre would -mean, at the same time dwelling upon her father's -opportunity for advancement as poet and scholar.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"Oh! weep for the hour,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>When to Eveleen's bower</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The Lord of the Valley with false vows came;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The moon hid her light</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>From the heavens that night,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"The clouds passed soon</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>From the chaste cold moon,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But none will see the day</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>When the clouds shall pass away,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"The white snow lay</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>On the narrow pathway</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>When the Lord of the Valley crost over the moor;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And many a deep print</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>On the white snow's tint</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Showed the track of his footsteps to Eveleen's door.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"The next sun's ray</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Soon melted away</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Every trace on the path where the false Lord came;</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But there's a light above</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Which alone can remove</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Moore's voice died away melodiously in the last -plaintive note.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A very pretty song, Mr. Moore. It tells a -beautiful story and points a splendid moral," said Lord -Brooking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my lord," answered Moore, glancing toward -Bessie. "It shows the folly of a poor girl in believing -aught told her by a nobleman. It is as true nowadays -as it was then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Tom," said the girl, tremulously. "It is -beautiful. Is it not, Sir Percival?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very, very," replied the baronet. "Extremely -so. I congratulate you, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you reason to do so, Sir Percival?" asked -Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His question was answered immediately, for Bessie -turned toward the gentleman addressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you, Sir Percival," she said, "but I fear -London is not for such as father and me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Moore gave a sigh of relief and turned away, -satisfied that he had foiled the baronet in his attempt -to entice Bessie from Ireland, Farrell touched him on -the arm and led him to one side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you meet me here, Tom, in half an hour?" he -asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it important, Terry?" demanded Moore, who intended -to devote the rest of the afternoon to courting -Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may mean money enough to start you in London."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil!" exclaimed the poet. "I 'll meet you -then, for to London I am bound to go, sooner or -later."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Lord Brooking, who had been -chatting in a corner with Mr. Dyke, came forward, -followed by the old gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Percival," said his lordship, a malicious twinkle -in his eye, "Mr. Dyke has invited us to try a little -wine of his own manufacture. You will be charmed, -I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A rare variety of grape, Sir Percival," said -Mr. Dyke, delightedly. "In fact, I venture to assert that -you have never tasted such a vintage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very likely not, Mr. Dyke," replied Sir Percival, -quite convinced that such was the case, and not at all -sure that he might not regard himself as favored by -fortune on that account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will honor me?" asked Mr. Dyke, eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival saw he could not refuse without wounding -the pride of his would-be host, and therefore -yielded politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall be delighted, I am sure," he answered. -Then, lowering his voice, he murmured in Brooking's -ear:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I owe you one, my lord."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brooking laughed and took the baronet's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come, then," said he, pointing to the door with his -walking-stick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps Mr. Dyke will read us another poem," -said Sir Percival, hopefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven forbid!" whispered his lordship.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Could anything be more appropriate?" continued -the baronet. "We drink the wine pressed from our -friend's own grapes, while we listen to the poetry his -muse has sipped from the fountain of the gods upon -Parnassus."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should write poetry, Sir Percival," said Mr. Dyke, -much flattered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll leave that to Mr. Moore," answered the baronet, -advancing towards Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are several other things I wish you would -leave to me," said the poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt," replied Sir Percival. "My arm, -Mistress Dyke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must decline that honor," said Bessie. "My -duties require me to remain here for a while -longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry for that, Mistress Dyke. You will join -us, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never drink, Sir Percival," replied Moore, -endeavoring to look virtuous without much success.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" said the baronet. "You had better -begin, sir. Then perhaps you would write less -poetry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore failed to find a suitable retort, and therefore -mounted the little platform on which stood the blackboard, -as Mr. Dyke, Lord Brooking, and Farrell moved -towards the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Dyke," said Sir Percival, "if you can -spare a thought this afternoon, perhaps you will -oblige me by reconsidering your decision in regard to -London?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have quite made up my mind, thank you," -answered Bessie, dusting off her desk with her apron. -"Simple country folk would be out of place in so -great a city."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brains and beauty are made welcome everywhere," -answered the baronet. "Moreover, it is a woman's -privilege to change her mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you be long, my daughter?" asked Mr. Dyke, -turning at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not very long, father," she answered, demurely. -"The--the arithmetic is very difficult for to-morrow, -and I must be prepared for the lesson."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore helped himself to a piece of chalk, and began -figuring on the blackboard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you doing?" asked Sir Percival, eying -the poet through his glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am preparing the arithmetic," replied Moore, -marking a huge six upon the board. Then turning -he counted those present. "Six," said he. -"One--two--three--four."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he checked off all but Bessie and himself -upon his fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Four from six," he continued, doing the subtraction -with the chalk, "leaves two, Bessie and me. Good -afternoon, gentlemen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every one laughed but Sir Percival, who contented -himself with a faint smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so," said he, "quite a joke. My time for -laughing will come later."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The later the better," said Moore. "He who -laughs last laughs best. Delay it as long as you can, -and you will enjoy it the more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt, Mr. Moore. Good afternoon to you, -Mistress Dyke. Sir, I 'm your most obedient."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day, Sir Percival," said Bessie, dropping a -courtesy as the baronet turned again at the door. -Then, as his tall figure vanished from the threshold, -she faced her lover with a little sigh of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she said reprovingly, "you must not speak -as you do to Sir Percival. For a little while I feared -you would have a real quarrel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps that would be the easiest way out of it, -after all," said Moore, belligerently. "I 'd ask nothing -better than to get a chance at him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't have you fighting with every stranger that -comes to Ireland, Tom," said Bessie, assuming that -slight air of proprietorship that is so soothing to an -eager lover, implying as it does a regard not only of -the present moment, but apparently keeping in sight -possibilities of the future. Moore felt this subtle -influence and yielded to it gradually.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks be to St. Patrick, they are gone at last," -said he in a sulky tone. "Now you can do your -arithmetic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, you are cross," said Bessie, reproachfully. -"This is what I get for staying here to please -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What was Sir Percival saying to you so confidentially -just now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was coaxing me to go to London."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knew it," cried Moore, angrily. "I 'll do that -gay lad an injury if he keeps on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, Tom," said Bessie, reprovingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll do something desperate to him," continued -Moore, striding up and down the room in his rage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," said the girl, in her most persuasive tone. -"Tom!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll punish him terribly if he don't let you alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie seized him by the arm and compelled him to -halt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom dear," she asked, "what will you do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I--I--I 'll dedicate a volume of my poems to -him, if he don't look out," declared Moore, yielding -to the girl's calming influence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I am not going to London," laughed Bessie, -"so you 'll let him off this time, won't you, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You promise you will not go, Bessie?" asked -Moore, earnestly, taking her hands in his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promise that while you are as true and kind as -you have been to-day, I 'll not even think of it again,"' -she answered, soberly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True?" repeated Moore, tenderly. "Why, every -thought of mine has been faithful since first I met you. -Kind? The devil himself could n't be anything but -sweet to you, I 'm sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie drew her hands away, satisfied that she had -made sure of the public peace continuing unfractured -so far as her lover was concerned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now," she said, in pretty imitation of his previous -cross speech, "now you can do your arithmetic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can I?" answered Moore, laughing. "Then the -first sum will be an addition. One added to two. One -kiss to two lips."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the second?" asked Bessie, at a safe distance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Subtraction. Two kisses from two lips."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would leave nothing, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing but a taste of heaven," replied he, -hopefully approaching her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A kiss is not right," objected Bessie, in her most -moral accents.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then give me one that is left," urged Moore. "I -see you have plenty, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Time enough for that when you have been to -London. You might see some girl there whom you -would much prefer, and I 'll not run the risk till I know -that it is n't so," she answered wisely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Bessie, Bessie darling, why will you doubt -me so? Oh, I love you, dearest, I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes," she answered in a softer tone, "sometimes -I almost believe you mean what you say. Ah, -Tom, if I could only be sure!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An eager light came into Moore's fine eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What can I do to make you sure?" he whispered, -his voice vibrant with love and tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will tell you, Tom. Wait till time has proved -your heart beyond all doubting. We are both young, -and the world is all before us. For you, dearest Tom, -it holds fame and fortune--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Bessie," he interrupted, "do you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will come a day," she answered, proudly, -"when in all Ireland there will be no name so boasted -of, so loved and reverenced, as Thomas Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet if this be true, I 'd throw it all away -gladly, if by so doing, I 'd be sure of you," Moore -answered, sincerity written on his face. "Bessie my -darlin', why won't you believe in me? Won't you love -me, Bessie? Can't you love me, Bessie, dear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment the girl hesitated. In her heart she -yielded, but before the words of surrender left her lips -she rallied and remained outwardly true to her resolve. -Had Moore taken her in his arms and kissed her, -reading aright the soft glowing eyes bent on him with -so loving a glance, she would have faltered in her -determination, but he did not realize that the time had -that second come when she would have sacrificed to -her love for him her preconceived and carefully -cherished idea of what was right and best for them both, -and so he failed to take advantage of the one -opportunity to have his own way that capricious fortune -granted him. Had he been wiser, his whole future -life might have been changed. London might never -have known the sweetest poet ever brought forth by -Ireland and the afterwards First Nightingale of -Fashion's drawing-room might have lived and died -an obscure rhymer in some country town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like a knowing lass, Bessie, finding herself on the -verge of a tear, sought safety in the relaxing influence -of a laugh, and extending an ink-besmeared finger in -reproach, demanded if Moore intended to make good -his promise to remove the stain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore chuckled and the tenseness of the situation -was removed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith," said he, abandoning his attempt to -persuade Bessie from her way of thinking, "I 'll wash -your hands for you, for fear, if I don't, you 'll wash -your hands of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning on his heel, Moore crossed to the corner -where he had left his bucket of water, and, picking it -up, placed it beside the basin that lay on the bench.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come here, Bessie, and I 'll scrub you clean as a -whistle," he announced cheerfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie held her hand over the basin obediently, and -Moore poured over it the water from the pail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh--h!" cried the schoolmistress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ails you, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My, but that water is cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True for you," replied Moore, rubbing her hand -with a cake of soap he found in the basin, "but you -have so often thrown cold water on my heart it is only -fair I should pour some on your hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I see, Mr. Moore," replied Bessie, "and now -that you have given me so much soft soap, you think -you will try hard soap for a change."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore lathered her fingers vigorously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have guessed my secret. It is a lovely little -hand you have, Bessie, but your nails are too long, -darlin'."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you behave yourself, they won't bother you, -Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Each finger a lily with a rosebud for a tip," -poetized Moore, presuming to kiss the bouquet. Bessie -snapped her finger, sending a shower of tiny drops -in the youth's face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A water lily?" asked she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" cried Moore. "Murder! Murder! You -have put the soap in my eye," and he forthwith -proceeded to dance around in a manner more vigorous -than graceful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie was conscience-stricken at the result of her -joke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a shame, Tom. I am so sorry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh--h!" exclaimed Moore, sitting down on the -bench with his face in his handkerchief. "Help! -Thieves!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Tom," said Bessie, full of regret, "does it -hurt you dreadfully?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I am so sorry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you kindly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Kneeling down beside Moore, Bessie drew aside the -handkerchief and kissed him soundly on the eye thus -brought into view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who did that?" demanded Moore, as though in -doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did," answered Bessie, boldly. "Is it better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied Moore, "but the other eye is full of -soap. Cure that, too, like a darlin', Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There," said the girl, decisively. "I don't -believe it hurt you at all. You have made a fool -of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Feeling himself detected, Moore abandoned his -pretence of suffering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said, with a broad smile, "I am a kiss -to the good at all events. Many thanks, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, I am very angry with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe it, Bessie. You ought to be -complimented to see how hard I am willing to work for a -kiss."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll not believe you again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is nothing new, Bessie, darlin'. You are a -most unbelieving young female at best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is some one at the door, Tom," said Bessie, -her quick ear hearing a foot on the doorstep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," said Moore, in answer to Farrell's -knock, and that young gentleman entered, carrying -himself in so evident an imitation of Sir Percival -Lovelace that the poet roared outright.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the joke?" asked Farrell, not at all -pleased at Moore's laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are, Terry," replied the other. "Faith, it is -too bad entirely that we have n't a glass so you could -see. My, but you are a macaroni, Terence. Is -Lovelace pleased with his pupil?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket in -emulation of Farrell's manipulation of his, Moore -proceeded to swagger up and down the schoolhouse -in so accurate an imitation of Farrell's recently -adopted manner of comporting himself that even Bessie -laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell grew red with anger, but, deciding this was -not the time to resent Moore's fun, apparently took -the performance in good part.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are in fine spirits, Tom," he observed, laying -his hat on a convenient stool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never better," replied Moore, jovially. "Can I -do anything for you, Terry, my boy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you forgotten our engagement?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, I had that, Terence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, turning to Bessie, Moore continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see, alanna, how you drive everything but -yourself out of my head?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is as it may be," remarked Bessie, sagely, -taking her hat from the nail in the wall supporting it. -"I must be going. There is my arithmetic, Tom. -You can carry it for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore took the book she held out to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll not be long," he said, as though in excuse. -"I promised to have a bit of a confab with Terry. -When that is over with, I 'll join you at your house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie nodded pleasantly and walked over to the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," she said, looking out as she opened it, -"I shan't lack for an escort. There is Sir Percival -now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a minute," said Moore, hastening towards her, -but she bid him good-bye, laughingly, and shut the -door behind her as she stepped out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore, ill pleased, returned to Farrell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you hear that?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell admitted that he had, and flicked an -imaginary speck of dirt from his ruffle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have her arithmetic to comfort you," he suggested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's little comfort I ever get out of such books," -said Moore, laying the volume down on Bessie's desk. -"Now tell me what ails you, Terence?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I do," said Farrell, cautiously, "you 'll never -repeat it to a soul?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I cross my heart, lad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell shook his head gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll leave that for Mistress Dyke to attend to," -he answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Troth," said Moore, smiling, "she made it all -criss-cross long ago. But go on, Terry. Unbosom -yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's this, Tom. My sister Winnie is secretly -engaged to Captain Arbuckle of the Ninth Dragoons."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Engaged to an Englishman!" ejaculated Moore, -as though horrified. "And secretly. That adds insult -to injury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, secretly," repeated Farrell, dolefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">That's</em><span> how you came to know, doubtless," -remarked Moore. "Oh, it is awful, Terence, but cheer -up, lad. </span><em class="italics">You</em><span> won't have to be Arbuckle's wife. Let -that comfort you, Terry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not all, Tom. I am poorer than you are, -and I have a debt of honor of fifty pounds due to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whew!" ejaculated Moore, in astonishment. -"Well, whose fault is that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yours, Tom," replied Farrell, boldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine? How the devil can that be?" asked Moore, -leaning against the desk for comfort and support.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very simple. I thought you were sweet on -Winnie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me? Never!" cried Moore. "Not for a fraction -of a minute. Not that Winnie is n't a dear girl, for -none knows that she is such better than I, but we -would never do for a couple."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unfortunately I thought otherwise," responded -Farrell. "That is the trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You interest me very much," said the poet, helping -himself to a seat on the desk. "Go on with your tale -of woe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was so sure of it," continued Farrell, "that I -bet Lieutenant Cholmondely you would propose to -her before the first of the month."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A nice performance," commented Moore, swinging -his feet. "Then what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Arbuckle heard me, and, like a sneak, went off -quietly and asked Winnie the next day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And was accepted? Serves him right, Terry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the bet stands," persisted Farrell, sorrowfully. -"And to-morrow is the first of the month. I have n't -a penny to pay Cholmondely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is too bad, Terry," replied Moore, sympathetically, -"but you should never have made such a bet. -It shows lack of respect for Winnie. At least some -people would think so, though I am sure you never -meant to convey any such impression."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you might help me," said Farrell, -disconsolately. "Can't you, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have n't quarter the money, Terry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you are wanting to go to London, are n't you? -Remember you are n't supposed to know Winnie is -promised."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, why can't you ask her and be refused? -Cholmondely would pay me the money, and there -would be fifty pounds to divide between us, for I 'll -give you half if you help me out of the scrape."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would n't be honest, Terry," he said severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was it fair for Arbuckle to propose before the first, -knowing, as he did, that I had till then to win?" -demanded Farrell, in an injured tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Moore, "it was n't, though, of course, -if he had waited a thousand years, I would n't have -proposed in sober earnest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you'll do it in fun?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is already engaged?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is crazy over the captain," said Farrell, -enthusiastically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then she would be sure to refuse me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She would, and, Tom, you 'll have saved my -honor," said Farrell, pleadingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a shame for Cholmondely to get your money -and Arbuckle your sister. I 'll do it to oblige you, -Terry," said Moore, "but I want none of your -winnings. What I do is to help you out of a bad scrape, -for friendship's sake, my lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I thank you, Tom?" said Farrell, -inwardly exultant, but to all appearance almost -overcome at his friend's willingness to come to the rescue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By being more careful in the future about your -betting," said Moore, kindly. As he spoke he drew -nearer the window and caught a glimpse of Mistress -Farrell approaching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the powers, here comes Winnie now," he exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True for you, Tom, and headed this way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now you get out of here, Terry, and we will have -my rejection over with at once. I 'll be through in -a jiffy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be too precipitate or she will suspect -something," advised Farrell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave it to me," said Moore. "You stand just -outside the door there and you can listen to it all. -Oh, it will be fine, Terry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, 'Will you have me?' Tom," said Terence, -going to the door opposite to the one which his sister -was now approaching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't try to teach me," said Moore. "It's myself -that's to do this proposing, and I need no instruction. -All you have to do is to listen. Don't go away -now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I," said Terence. "I won't be easy till it's -over," and, laughing under his breath, he shut the -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Truly fortune favored him this day, for coming -up the hill was Bessie, not more than a moment or -two behind Winnie Farrell, who by this time had -entered the school.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day, to you, Winnie," said Moore, politely. -"Sure, it is blooming you are this afternoon. Like -a whole bouquet of blossoms, let alone a single -flower."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winnie looked pleased at the compliment and smiled -upon its bestower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How gallant you are to-day," she said in a flattered -tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I </span><em class="italics">said</em><span> it this day, but I </span><em class="italics">think</em><span> it all the week," -replied Moore, placing a stool for the lady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is Terence?" she asked, seating herself. -"He promised to wait for me here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I expect him back in a little while," replied Moore, -casting a furtive glance in the direction of the door -behind which he believed his friend to be concealed. -"You can wait for him, Winnie. I have n't seen -much of you lately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know the road that leads to Farrell's, Tom," -said the girl with a laugh. She was a plump little -morsel with a soft voice, and a saucy tip-tilted nose; -a pleasant, generous-hearted little soul, decidedly good -to look upon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have not forgotten the road," said Moore, meaningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, why don't you come to see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For fear that I would n't be as welcome as Captain -Arbuckle," said Moore, trying to look knowing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winnie looked surprised.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Captain Arbuckle?" she said, wonderingly. "What -do you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know what I mean, Winnie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do, too, you artless creature," said Moore, -laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> you driving at, Tom?" asked Winnie, -genuinely puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At you, Winnie, dear," replied Moore, and then, -conscious that his courage was rapidly leaving him, -he proceeded desperately with his performance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winnie Farrell, I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" cried the girl, rising from the stool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you, Winnie. Say you won't marry me," -said Moore, relieved that he had finished. His -satisfaction lasted only a moment for Winnie threw her -arms around his neck with a little, joyous cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she whispered, "I 'll be your wife gladly, -for I 've loved you for weeks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" cried Moore. "Oh, Winnie, you are -only joking? You don't mean it, Winnie? You don't, -do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie gave a little sob. She had quietly opened -the door in time to hear Moore's declaration, and, -thunderstruck, had stood there, unperceived until now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Winnie, abashed at Bessie's look of scorn and -hatred, did not linger. The door closed behind her, -and Moore, just beginning to realize his predicament, -stood facing his angered sweetheart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie," he said, chokingly. "Bessie, I can explain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not wish you to explain," she answered, her -voice all a-tremble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hear me, Bessie," he began, desperately, but she -turned a deaf ear to his words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll never believe you again, Tom Moore," she -said, flinging from her bosom the rose he had given -her. "I am done with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, turning, she closed the door in his face, and -left him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="introduces-montgomery-julien-ethelbert-spinks"><span class="large">Book Two</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line noindent"><span>"</span><em class="italics">New hope may bloom,</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">And days may come</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">Of milder, calmer beam,</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">But there's nothing half so sweet in life</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">As Love's young dream:</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">No, there's nothing half so sweet in life</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">As Love's young dream.</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics large">Chapter Eight</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">INTRODUCES MONTGOMERY JULIEN ETHELBERT SPINKS</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the attic of an old house in Holywell Street, -London, a frowsy-headed, freckled-faced youth -was peering from the gabled window that fronted -on the busy thoroughfare below. This lad was -conspicuous for his lack of beauty. He had a round jolly -face, a turned-up and rather negatively developed nose, -and eyes of a neutral shade that might be described as -gray or green with equal correctness. His mouth was -capable of stretching to a length almost awe-inspiring -when first beheld, but could be forgiven for this -extravagance, because the teeth thus exposed were white -and regular. His chin was square and slightly protruding, -imparting a rather pugnacious expression to a face -that in other respects seemed to indicate that its owner -was of a decidedly good-humored disposition. He -was stockily built, so thick-set, in fact, that a quick -glance would incline one to the belief that he was -rather plump than otherwise, but a closer examination -would have revealed that he owed his size to the -possession of an unusual amount of bone and muscle. -This young gentleman rejoiced in the sobriquet of -Buster, though his real title was much more elegant, -while lacking entirely in the almost epigrammatic -terseness of his nickname. At the present time he -was anxiously waiting for the approach of an -old-clothesman who was slowly making his way down the -street, meanwhile inviting trade at the top of his lungs. -Buster and the old-clothesman were acquaintances of -long standing, though their relations were by no means -of a friendly nature, the eagerness with which the boy -awaited the man's coming being caused entirely by -a desire to drop a paper bag full of water upon -the latter's head from the height of three stories, a -proceeding which Buster was sanguine would be -productive of reason for unlimited merriment. He had -the bag, empty as yet, clutched tightly in one hand, -while the other was within easy reach of a cracked -pitcher full of water standing on the floor near the -window. A disreputable-looking bulldog, impartially -divided as to color between brindle and dirty white, -was inspecting proceedings in a most interested -manner from his seat on a rickety stool in the nearest -corner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster sighed with impatience and the dog yawned -in sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord Castlereagh, your rudeness is honly -hexceeded by your himperliteness, the both of wich is -hunsurpassed save by your bad manners. You should -put your bloomin' paw hup before that 'ole in your -phis'omy when you sees fit to hexhibit your inards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Castlereagh cocked one dilapidated ear in -token of attention and wagged his apology for a tail -vigorously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You feels no remorse, eh?" demanded Buster, -severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Woof!" remarked Lord Castlereagh, in extenuation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're a sinner, that's wot you are," announced -the boy, decisively, "and Hi 'as grave fear that you 'll -never git to the dog-star when you are disceased."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bulldog seemed depressed at this prediction, -and, as though resolved to convince Buster of the -injustice of his statement, leaped off the stool and -approached him with various contortions supposed to -be illustrative of regret and a desire to obtain -restoration to a place in the youth's approval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment the old-clothesman paused beneath -the window, and putting his hand trumpet-wise to his -mouth, shrilly declared his ability and willingness to -purchase whatever cast-off garments those dwelling in -the vicinity might desire to sell. Buster promptly -filled the paper bag with water from the pitcher, and, -leaning out as far as he dared, dropped it with precise -aim on the head of the old-clothesman. It landed fair -and square upon the crown of the dilapidated beaver -ornamenting his head, and burst with a soft squash, -drenching his shoulders and scattering a spray all -around him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dealer uttered a stream of oaths, and, mopping -his face with a handkerchief of dubious hue, looked -around for the author of this apparently unprovoked -attack. As the missile had come from above, the -fellow naturally looked upward in search of an enemy, -but found nothing more suspicious in view than the -head of a bulldog which was thrust from a window -in dignified contemplation of the scene. Unfortunately -the old-clothesman was well acquainted with the -forbidding countenance of the dog, and promptly -attributing his recent ducking to the usual companion -of the animal, proceeded to vigorously announce his -doubts as to the respectability of Buster's immediate -ancestry and his subsequent intentions when he should -be so lucky as to encounter the aforesaid youth. It is -almost needless to say that these plans for the future -were scarcely of a nature to meet with the boy's -approval, involving as they did complete fistic -annihilation. At once the head of Buster appeared in the -window, an expression of surprise lighting his round -face only to give way to one of gentle gratification -when his eye fell upon the irate peddler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did Hi 'ear some one mentioning of my name?" -he demanded pleasantly. "Oh, 'ow do you do, -Mr. Bekowsky? His your 'ealth bloomin'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll bloom you, you imperent little villain," -responded Bekowsky, threateningly, shaking his fist in -his anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot's that, dear sir?" inquired Buster, in a polite -tone. "You seems hexcited, Mr. Bekowsky. Hits -very dangersome to get so over'eated, hand the summer -his 'ardly went yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll overheat you if I lays my hands on you," -responded the old-clothesman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then Hi 'll 'ave to be a cooling of you fer -protection," announced Buster, cheerfully, and without the -slightest warning he emptied the contents of the pitcher -he had been concealing behind him over the enraged -Bekowsky, drenching him thoroughly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cool happlications is to be recommended when -feverish," he remarked, carefully lowering the pitcher -to the floor of the room without withdrawing his head -from the window, for, like all wise generals, he -considered it unsafe to lose sight of the enemy even for a -moment while the rear was unprotected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You murdering little devil, I 'll pay you for this," -yelled the peddler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hat the usual rates, hor special price?" asked -Buster, looking interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A crowd began to gather, but this did not interfere -with the boy's pleasure in the slightest degree.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's that little rat again," said a red-faced, -bull-headed cobbler. "He 's the pest of the neighborhood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You houghtent to let your disapintment carry you -so far, Mr. Smirk," said Buster, reprovingly. "'Cause -your shoes don't just suit my cultivated taste in the -way of feet, it don't follow nobody helse 'll buy 'em. -They 're doosed poor stuff, o' course, but no doubt -there is some foolish enough to wear 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cobbler cursed him enthusiastically, and, -encouraged by this support, the bespattered Bekowsky -borrowed a rattan of a bystander, and announced his -intention of favoring Buster with a call, for the -purpose of inflicting a castigation which he described as -much needed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well!" exclaimed the lad, who was to be -thus favored. "Ham I to be so honored? Why -did n't you let hit be known before, so Hi could pervide -refreshments suitable for such a guest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll be up there in a minute," answered Bekowsky, -flourishing his stick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi can 'ardly wait so long. Har you a-going to -bring your missus?" inquired Buster, quite -unintimidated. "Hi understands that common report says -she is the best fighter in the family. Did she lick you -last night, Hikey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This last was too much to be endured, so with -another volley of oaths, the infuriated peddler took a -firm grip on the rattan and entered the hall, the door -of which stood invitingly open. The rabble assembled -in front of the house gave a cheer and waited eagerly -for developments. Meanwhile Buster continued to -survey the crowd below with a critical glance, quite -oblivious to the danger brought near by the approach -of the peddler. A minute passed and then another, -but the boy was still looking out the window, so it was -evident that Bekowsky had not yet reached the garret. -The crowd began to get uneasy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were the 'ell is the bloomin' ragbag gone ter?" -asked one seedy individual. "Don't 'e know 'ee 's -keeping us gents waiting?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't get himpatient, friends," advised Buster. -"Bekowsky 's lost 'is wind and the 'all is so dark he -can't see fer to find hit. Hi 'll send 'im a bit o' candle -in a minute to 'elp 'im."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has fell and busted his neck, maybe," suggested -a butcher's apprentice, in a tone that seemed to indicate -he would not regard such a happening entirely in the -light of a calamity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps 'is 'art 'as been touched hand 'ee can't -bear to lay 'is 'and in hanger on a poor horphing like -me," said Buster, almost tearful at the thought of such -tenderness. "Perhaps 'ee 'as a noble nature hin spite -o' that 'orrible phisomy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What d' ye's mane by congregating in front of me -door like this?" cried a harsh voice, flavored by a rich -Milesian accent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit's Mrs. Malone," exclaimed Buster. "Hi'me -that glad to lay heyes hon 'er. Come pertect me, -Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A burly Irishwoman, dressed in her best bib and -tucker, as becomes a lady out making a few neighborly -calls, elbowed her way through the crowd, sternly -exhorting them to disperse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it's you, you satan?" she remarked wrathfully, -gazing up at the freckled countenance of the -lad. "Wot shenanigans have you been up to now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi can't discuss my bizness hin front of a vulgar -mob," responded Buster, loftily. "Hif you 'll come -hup, Mrs. Malone, Hi 'll be pleased to hinform you. -Hotherwise Hi 'll be forced to maintain an 'aughty -silence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I 'll come up alright," declared Mrs. Malone, -bent on getting to the bottom of the trouble at once.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi 'opes so," replied Buster, doubtfully. "Shall -Hi come to meet you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi don't mind, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Malone vanished in the hall and proceeded -upstairs at so rapid a gait that she failed to perceive -on the dimly lighted stairway the figure of Bekowsky, -who had been brought to a standstill by the sudden -appearance of Lord Castlereagh in fighting array at -the head of the stairs. The dog so strongly resented -any movement, whether up or down, on the part of the -old-clothesman, that that individual had remained -stationary, not daring to stir a foot in either direction -until Mrs. Malone collided with him, forcing him to -advance upward on his hands and knees several steps, -a performance that brought Lord Castlereagh leaping -down upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bekowsky gave one yell of terror and flew down the -stairs in three bounds, the dog yelping furiously at his -heels, while Mrs. Malone escaped a bad fall only by -hanging on to the banisters, against which she had -backed herself in an effort to regain the breath rudely -expelled from her lungs by the collision.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster, you omadhaun, what devil's work is this?" -gasped Mrs. Malone, as Lord Castlereagh disappeared -below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Receiving no answer, the good woman prudently -decided to abandon her visit to the garret until the -bulldog should have returned to his domicile, leaving the -stairs free from peril, and therefore turned her steps -to her own headquarters on the floor beneath.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-receives-calls-from-mrs-malone-and-mr-dyke"><em class="italics large">Chapter Nine</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE RECEIVES CALLS FROM MRS. MALONE AND MR. DYKE</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Meanwhile Lord Castlereagh, having -failed to overtake the terror-stricken -old-clothesman before the lower door was -reached, discreetly abandoned the pursuit, as -experience had taught him it was not best for a bulldog to -engage in public altercations when not accompanied -by his master. So he came trotting upstairs, beaming -with doggish good nature, the result of a gratifying -realization of duty well done. As the door to the -room from the window of which Buster was still -surveying the rapidly diminishing throng clustered in -front of the house was closed, the bulldog scratched -vigorously with his claws for admittance, his request -being speedily gratified, for, in spite of the -old-clothesman's voluble explanations, the crowd refused to -regard him as anything but a defeated contestant and, -turning a deaf ear to his indignation, quietly dispersed -to their various affairs, leaving Buster a complete -victor in the recent battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You done noble, Lord Castlereagh," said Buster, -approvingly, at the same time seating himself upon -one of the rickety chairs with which the attic was -furnished. The comfort of this seat was immediately -increased by his tipping it back on its rear legs, balance -being maintained by the elevation of his feet to the -top of the table near by. This was the lad's favorite -position, but his enjoyment was speedily eclipsed by -disaster, as the bulldog, for the moment quite carried -away with exultation at his master's unqualified -commendation made a violent effort to climb up in that -worthy's lap, a manoeuvre resulting in both going over -backwards with a crash.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You willain!" ejaculated the boy, in great disgust. -"Wot do you think Hi am? A hacro-a-bat, or wot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Castlereagh apologized violently with his -stumpy tail and seemed quite overwhelmed with regret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Has you means well, Hi forgives you, sir," said -the Buster, rubbing his elbow, "but don't never turn -no more flipflops in partnership wid Montgomery -Julien Hethelbert Spinks, Esquire, or you may -hexpect your walking papers. Hunderstand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as Buster regained his feet, he remembered -his master was in the adjoining bedroom asleep.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My heye," he muttered. "We must 'ave disturbed -'im, hand 'im so tired and discouraged, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He listened for a moment, then, reassured by the -silence reigning in the next room, nodded his head in -satisfaction.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ee 's still asleep," he remarked to the dog. -"Dreaming no doubt. Hof wot, Hi wonders? -Publishers? Not much, or 'ee 'd be a cussin'. Hof that -'aughty dame hover at Drury Lane, who won't kiss -and make hup? That's hit, I 'll bet. Well, this his n't -polishin' 'is boots, his it, Pupsy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Seizing a brush from the table, the boy began to rub -a dilapidated topboot vigorously, meanwhile humming -in cheerful discord a verse of a song, as yet unknown -to the general public, but destined to become a -permanent favorite with all lovers of music and poetry.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Twas the last rose hof summer left bloomink alone."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A knock on the door interrupted his song, but before -he could reply to it, in marched Mrs. Malone with -arms akimbo, and a determined expression making -grave a face naturally good humored.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, hit's you, his it?" said Buster, regarding the -woman with disapproving eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you t'ought it was the Prince of Wales," -replied Mrs. Malone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Hi didn't, 'cos w'y? 'Cos 'is Royal 'Ighness -never hopens the door till Hi says come hin. 'Ee 's -got better manners, 'ee 'as," replied the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The landlady, not at all impressed, snapped her -fingers scornfully</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That for you and the prince," she said, her nose -in the air.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Malone, you 're a hanarchist," declared -Buster, shocked beyond expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Buster, you 're a liar," replied the landlady, -promptly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're no judge, Mrs. Malone. We honly puts -hup with hanarchy from Mr. Dyke, the poet, who -comes 'ere and reads 'is treason reeking verses to -Mr. Moore. One hanarchist on hour calling list is enough."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You call me that name again, and I 'll smack you," -exclaimed Mrs. Malone, pugnaciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Smack me!" echoed Buster, in trepidation. "Hif -you kisses me, Mrs. Malone, Hi 'll scream."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kiss you, indeed!" snorted the landlady, scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you dare," warned Buster, getting behind -a table for greater safety.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is your good-for-nothing master in?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi am not hacquainted with no such hindividual. -Hif you means Mr. Moore, 'ee 's hout."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Malone looked her disbelief, and pointed -grimly to the boots, which Buster had dropped upon -the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Buster, a trifle dashed, but rallying -immediately, "these is souvenirs of the great poet. This -goes to 'is Reverence the Harchbishop of Canterbury -to be used as a snuff box, and this his to stand on the -dressing-table of Mrs. Fitz'erbert 'erself. She will put -'er combings hinto it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thot jezebel?" ejaculated the woman, with a sniff -of disdain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Mrs. Fitz'erbert does n't 'ail from Jersey," -corrected Buster. "She 's from Wicklow, Hireland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She 's not," cried Mrs. Malone in a high dudgeon. -"We don't raise her kind there. Only dacent people -like me comes from the Vale of Avoca."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster looked interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say, tell us, his there hany more like you there?" -he asked anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is," replied Mrs. Malone, proudly, "but -none betther."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit's a good thing Hireland is so far horf, is n't -it?" said the boy in a tone of cordial congratulation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Malone threw a boot at him by way of answer, -but, instead of striking Buster, it flew through the -entrance to the adjoining room and was heard to strike -noisily on the head board of the bed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh--h--h!" came from within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, you 'as done it, Mrs. Malone," said the boy -reproachfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo, there," said the voice, sleepily. "Much -obliged, I am sure. Who hit me with a boot? Eh? -Buster, I 'll have your British blood to pay for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you do," responded Mrs. Malone, emphatically, -"it will be the first thing you 've paid for in many a -day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" said the voice. "Do I hear the dulcet -tones of my lovely landlady?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Malone gave a sniff of concentrated scorn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind your blarney, Tom Moore," said she. -"Where is the rint?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would I be doing with it?" came from -behind the curtain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I knows," replied Mrs. Malone, indignantly. "You -would be sending flowers to some actress at the theayter -over on Drury Lane, instead of paying me. Thot's -what you 'd be doing, young sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've guessed it the first time," admitted Moore, -"and that is all the good it would do me. She won't -look at me, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Small blame to her since that shows she 's a dacint, -sensible colleen," replied the landlady, in tones of -conviction, as her lodger drew aside the curtains of the -doorway, and stepped out into the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tom Moore it was, but such a different youth from -the one who in Ireland had pestered the little -school-mistress with his loving attentions. Trouble and -privation had thinned and hollowed his jolly face; lines of -worry and disappointment were crossed round his eyes. -His mouth was as sweet and tender as of yore, but -the impertinent nose stood forth much more sharply. -He looked ten years older, but the same winning smile -played around his lips, and in its light the shadows of -want and hopelessness vanished from his face like -fog 'neath the warming touch of sunbeams. He was -only half dressed, the absence of coat, vest, and stock -being concealed beneath the enveloping folds of an old -brocade dressing-gown, which undoubtedly had once -been a magnificent affair, but now was only too much -in harmony with the surrounding squalor.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Sweet Mistress Malone, with your eyes deep and blue,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Don't ask me for rent, for I 'm telling you true,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>'T would make me a bankrupt if I should pay you,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>So let the rent slide like a darling,--Now </span><em class="italics">do</em><span>."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As Moore extemporized he laid his hand insinuatingly -upon the landlady's muscular arm, but she threw -it off roughly as he finished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't plaster me, Tom Moore," she declared, -loudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster and Lord Castlereagh retired to a safe -distance and watched proceedings with eager eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Plaster you?" repeated Moore, meditatively, then -suddenly laying hands upon her, he twirled the old -lady gently around. "Why should I plaster you when -nature has covered your laths so nicely?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't touch me, you young divil," Mrs. Malone -ejaculated. "How dare you take such liberties?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine is only a friendly interest," protested Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wants no impudence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who said you were wanting in impudence?" demanded -Moore. "Tell me the wretch's name, and I 'll -attend to his business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nivir mind," replied the landlady, picking up the -mate to the boot she had hurled at Buster. "It's -high time you had new boots. I 'll have no tramps or -ragbags lodging here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Malone," said Moore, cheerfully, "I quite -agree with you. I am pleased to say I shall have a -new pair to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will, will you?" retorted the old woman. -"We hear ducks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't hear either ducks or geese. Do you, Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi 'ears Mrs. Malone, sir," replied the lad, stepping -behind the bulldog for safety's sake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The mistake is natural," answered Moore. "You -were saying--?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is not a shoemaker in London who would -trust you, Tom Moore, nor any other tradesman," said -Mrs. Malone, on whom the foregoing piece of -impudence was quite thrown away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nevertheless, I 'll bet you the back rent--the all -the way back rent, Mrs. Malone--I have a grand new -pair to-day," declared Moore, defiantly. "Am I right, -Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir, that we will," asserted that staunch ally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind thot," replied the landlady, extending -her palm. "Misther Moore, I 'll thank you for the -rint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore took her hand and pressed it warmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No thanks are necessary," he said briskly, "since -I have n't it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old woman snatched her fingers away with a -vigor that nearly upset her lodger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll have thot rint," she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I sincerely hope so, Mrs. Malone, though how -you 'll get it I can't see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll make you see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is very accommodating, I am sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must raise it, Misther Moore, or I 'll have to -have me attic."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore looked at her admiringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Mrs. Malone, surely such a face never went -with any but a kind heart," he said gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thot 'll do you, young sir," replied the landlady, -quite unimpressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" continued the poet, with a sigh. "You are -not true Irish, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know betther, Tom Moore. Was n't it my old -man, God rest his good soul in peace, that taught you -your A-B-C's in Ireland? Yes it was, and many 's the -time he said to me, 'Thot bye would blarny the horns -off a cow's forehead if he cud spake her language.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! those were the good old days!" began the -poet, hoping to touch a sentimental spot in the old -lady's memory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yis, I know all thot," she interrupted. "You -almost worried the poor man to death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Moore, half seriously, "you are -getting even with me now, are n't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind thot. If you don't pay me, out you -walk this day, me bucko."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you let me run if I prefer it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No impudence! When will you pay me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore turned to Buster, interrogatively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When, my lad, will it be most convenient for us to -pay Mrs. Malone?" he asked, gravely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster scratched his head and pondered, but no -answer was forthcoming, so Moore decided to depend -upon his own resources for a satisfactory reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After I am dressed," said he. "Come back in half -an hour when I am dressed and I 'll pay you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then," replied Mrs. Malone, "I 'll come -up again in half an hour by the clock. And no tricks. -I 'm watching the hall, so you can't get away. Do you -hear? </span><em class="italics">I'm watching</em><span> the hall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore nodded his head approvingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite right, Mrs. Malone," said he. "It's nice to -know there is no danger of the hall being stolen. Sure, -what would we do without it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah!" exclaimed the landlady, and with her head -held scornfully high, she marched out, slamming the -door by way of rebuke to the levity of her lodger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My heye!" exclaimed Buster, breathing more -freely. "She 's more wicious than usual to-day, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, lad, but we can't blame her," replied the -poet. "She is a good old soul, and, as she says, it was -her husband who first whacked knowledge into me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi suppose 'ee were a fine scholard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Moore, "he was all right when he -was sober, but he was never sober that I remember. -He was always in high spirits as a result of the spirits -being high in him. However, that has nothing to do -with the rent. Is the ladder that leads to the roof of -the house next door out the window?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir," said Buster. "You can go hout the same -way you did yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," said Moore, "then I won't have to disturb -Mrs. Malone's watch on the hall."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir, that you won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore looked at the boy gravely and got a smile in -return which in extent could compare not unfavorably -with one of Lord Castlereagh's most expansive yawns.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster," said the poet, slowly and sadly, "there is -something I feel it my duty to say to you. Let us be -in sober earnest for once, my lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," assented the boy uneasily, stooping to -pull the bulldog's ragged ear. "Hat your service, -Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore was silent for a moment, and when he did -speak it was with an effort quite apparent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster," he said, softly, "it is time we came to an -understanding. I am head over ears in debt as you -know. I owe every tradesman in the neighborhood, -and as many out of it as I could get introduced to. I -am a failure as a writer, bitter as it is for me to -acknowledge it. Only a little while longer, and it will -be the streets and starvation, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't, sir, don't," said the boy, a queer little break -in his voice, but Moore continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm wronging you in keeping you with me, laddie. -Don't waste any more of your time with me. I am -only holding you back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hand if Hi went, sir," asked the boy, pitifully, -"wot would become hof </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I?" murmured Moore, choking back a sob. "There -is n't much doubt, is there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who 'd black your boots for you, hand 'eat your -shaving water, hand listen to your poetry, sir?" -demanded Buster, wiping his eyes with his shirt sleeve. -"Blow me hif I 'ave n't a cold in me 'ead. My heyes -is runnin' somethink hawful hall day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's best for you, Buster," insisted Moore, laying -his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit ain't hanythink o' the kind, hand I won't go, -sir," declared Buster in an apologetically defiant tone. -"No, sir, Hi </span><em class="italics">won't</em><span> go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't, Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot would that young lady hover at Drury Lane -think o' me, hif I left you halone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore sighed at the thought of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She would n't care, Buster," he murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wouldn't she? Then she 'as an 'eart of hice, -that's wot she 'as, sir, wid hall the beautiful pomes we -'ave sent 'er."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you are getting no wages, Buster," protested Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir," the boy answered, "Hi 'as a situation, -Hi 'as. That's more 'n you 'as, his n't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His voice died away in a snuffle, and he clutched his -master by the arm appealingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't send me away?" he asked, piteously. -"You won't, will you, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore, touched to the heart at the lad's generous -devotion, felt the tears gathering in his eyes, but forced -them back with an effort, though his voice shook as -he answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear, brave, little fellow, how can I doubt -Providence when there is one such loyal heart near -me? Stay, Buster. We will rise or fall together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he held his hand out to the boy, who -took it joyfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir, that we will, sir. You hand me, hand Lord -Castlereagh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bulldog, as though understanding the situation, -thrust his cold nose in Moore's hand, and wagged his -tail sympathetically as the poet crossed to the fireplace -after patting the ugly head, rough with the scars of -years of battling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster," continued Moore, without turning round.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May God bless you, lad," said the poet, bowing -his head on the mantelpiece to hide the tears that would -come in spite of him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then as Moore dropped into the old arm-chair -beside the hearth, the boy, resolved to wake him from -his unhappy mood, burst into song, rendering one of -his master's most recent productions in a style worthy -of a scissor-grinding machine.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Horf in the stilly night</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>H'ere slumber's chains 'as bound me,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>The shadows hof hother days</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Comes a-gathering round me."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Moore, roused to mental activity by the racket, sat -bolt upright in dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster!" he cried, reprovingly, but the boy -continued at the top of his lungs as though he had not -heard.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"The smiles, the tears,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Hof boyish years--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Bang! came a book against the door from across the -room, missing Buster, who had dodged, by a few -inches.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Heaven's sake stop that caterwauling," cried -Moore. "You put my teeth on edge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Castlereagh became victim of a hallucination -that the book thrown by Moore was a rat of -large size, and was fast shaking the life out of it -when Buster descended upon him and effected a -rescue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blow me, Lord Castlereagh, if you hain't a knocking -the stuffin' hout of 'The Rivals,'" he remarked -reprovingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out of the rivals?" said Moore, with a laugh. -"Faith, I 'd like to try the same game on mine, Buster. -It's the simplest way, after all; isn't it, doggie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Castlereagh became quite giddy, and, possessed -by a puppyish fancy, decided upon an immediate and -vigorous pursuit of his stumpy tail as the proceeding -next in order, prosecuting his endeavor with such -enthusiasm that he collided violently with everything -in the room, including Moore and Buster, in the space -of a moment, abandoning his enterprise only when -winded as a result of running broadside on against a -wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you heat your dinner now, sir?" asked Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dinner? What have you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leaving hout the rest of the bill of fare, there 's -a slice hof 'am hand 'arf a loaf of bread, hand a little -hof that Hirish wisky your sister sent you from -Hireland fer your birthday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Rummaging in the cupboard, Buster speedily -brought to light the little stone jug containing what -was left of the girl's gift, and as Moore seated himself -at the table, which also served as desk when needed, -the boy placed the whisky before him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said the poet, his eyes glistening as he -uncorked it. "That's the real old stuff. That's what -puts the life into a man, eh, lad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, Moore held up the jug, and shutting an -eye endeavored to peer into it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is n't much life left in it, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, taking a whiff, the poet smacked his lips, -but placed the jug upon the table, its contents -untouched.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, shaking his head, "it is too precious -to waste. I must save that, laddie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir," said Buster, "fer some joyous hoccasion. -'Ave hanother smell, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," exclaimed Moore, waving the boy away. -"Get thee behind me, Satan. Don't tempt me, Buster, -for I am not over strong in that direction. Cork it up -tightly. They say it evaporates and it's too good to -have even a drop wasted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster stowed the little jug in the depths of the -cupboard and returned briskly to where Moore was -eating his dinner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi 've seen the shoemakers, sir," he announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, did you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir. The boots is hall done hand ready to be -delivered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good enough," commented Moore. "Did you -appoint a time for them to come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi did that, sir. One will be 'ere at four, the -hother at twenty minutes past the hower," replied the -youth, shaking his finger warningly at Lord Castlereagh, -who manifested more interest in the eatables -than was in strict accordance with good manners.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First rate, Buster," said Moore, approvingly. "Is -there any other news?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy hesitated a moment, but with an effort -continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir, that ain't hall. Hi 'as a confession to make, -sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have?" said Moore in a surprised tone. -"Well, let's have it, my lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, Buster," exclaimed the poet, an -expression of alarm coming over his face. "One moment -in which to compose myself. Now I am calmer. Tell -me, Buster, tell me you have n't secretly married -Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Married </span><em class="italics">'ell</em><span>!" exclaimed the lad, his nose turning -up in disdain at the idea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'T would be much the same thing, I 'm thinking," -chuckled Moore. "Well, that is one peril escaped. -Go on with your confession."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know that pome you sent me with to the -</span><em class="italics">Times</em><span>, sir?" began Buster, still ill at ease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The Last Rose of Summer,' wasn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir. Hi did n't take it to the </span><em class="italics">Times</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You did n't? Why not, Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit was this way, sir, just 'as Hi wuz a coming -by Carlton 'Ouse, who should Hi see stepping hout 'er -carriage but Mrs. Fitz'erbert 'erself, looking that sweet -and beautiful has would make your mouth water."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So there is a woman in it, after all?" observed -Moore. "'T was ever thus, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir, so wot does Hi do but rip horf the wrapper -hand run hup to 'er with the poem, hand sticks hit into -'er 'and. 'That's for you,' ses Hi, hand tips me 'at -hand is horf through the crowd like a hantelope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nicely done, Buster," said Moore. "It may come -in handy for her ladyship. She can make curlpapers -of it. Well, you are forgiven, my boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, sir," said Buster, greatly relieved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was my name signed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir, hand your haddress too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very good, Buster. Perhaps she 'll come to call -and bring the Prince of Wales with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir," replied Buster, "hit's my hopinion -has 'ow neither hov 'em is one bit too good for hus."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sounds like treason, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does it, sir?" cried Buster, apparently delighted -to hear it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A knock at the door disturbed both servant and -master, as well as arousing suspicions of the worst -nature in the bosom of Lord Castlereagh, who growled -ominously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Moore, rising hurriedly -from the table, which was saved from an upset by the -quick hand of Buster. "Is it the rent again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster tiptoed to the door as the knock was repeated, -and whispered, after listening:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit's all right, sir. Who is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's Mr. Dyke," declared the person desirous of -entering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore's face fell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With another treasonable poem, I suppose," he -muttered. "Worse luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot does you listen to 'em for?" asked Buster, -disgustedly, leaving the door as Moore crossed to -open it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, that is the question," said the poet, softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi knows," remarked Buster under his breath. -"'Cos 'ee 's 'er father, that's why."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in, Mr. Dyke," said Moore, opening the door. -"How are you to-day, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well, Thomas," replied the old gentleman, -entering with a self-satisfied air. "How do you, -my boy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dyke's dress showed that he was enjoying prosperity. -His coat and hat had hardly lost their appearance -of newness, while the rest of his costume, though -evidently not of recent purchase, was of good quality, -greatly exceeding in costliness the apparel in which -he was wont to garb himself in Ireland.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have nothing to complain of so far as health -is concerned, Mr. Dyke. Buster, a chair for the -gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have come to read you a poem, Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" said Moore. "Buster, two chairs for -the gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have your joke, Thomas," observed -Mr. Dyke, with an indulgent smile, as he seated himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have n't much else, sir," said Moore, "that's -why I value it so highly. How is Bessie, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is well and working hard on her new part. -The new piece is produced at Drury Lane in a week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," said Moore. "Bessie is getting on, is n't -she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed she is, Thomas," replied Mr. Dyke, proudly. -"The manager says if she does as well as he expects -in the next piece, he will allow her to play Lydia in a -revival of Mr. Sheridan's great comedy, 'The Rivals.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So they revive Dicky's play? They do well, for -they have had nothing since to equal it except 'The -School for Scandal.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old gentleman cleared his throat modestly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite true, Thomas, and for that very reason I am -preparing to write a comedy myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bravo, sir. Surely it is a shame only one Irishman -should wear laurels for play-writing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know Mr. Sheridan, Thomas?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, sir, though both of us received our education -at the same school some thirty years apart. -Dr. Whyte taught us both, and admits even now that he -considered Sheridan but little better than a dunce."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I have heard Mr. Sheridan himself declare," -observed Mr. Dyke. "A great man, Thomas, a great man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know him, sir?" asked Moore, a shade of -envy for a moment perceptible in his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I met him a fortnight ago at Sir Percival's house. -Needless to say I was honored, Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite needless, sir. Was he sober?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Part of the time," answered Mr. Dyke, reluctantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Moore, "that must have been early in -the evening. Does Bessie know him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Thomas. He was so kind as to give her his -personal opinion of the airs and graces suitable as -business for the character of Lydia, for he will have no one -even mention the possibility of her not obtaining the -part."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here now," said Moore, quickly. "You just -bear in mind what sort of a killer that same gay old -lad is with the ladies. I 'll not have him making love -to Bessie, if I have to tell him so on the street. He is -an old rake, sir, and there is no more dangerous man -in London, for all his years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut, Thomas," said Mr. Dyke in benign -reproof. "Mr. Sheridan is a married man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," replied Moore, doubtfully, "but I have -often heard that they are the worst kind. By the way, -how is that distinguished philanthropist, Sir Percival -Lovelace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not sneer at him, Thomas. Bessie and -I owe everything to him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never fear. He expects to be paid one way or -another," growled Moore, full of suspicions but -absolutely lacking in proof.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks to his influence, my verses are much in -demand. No doubt you have seen a number of them -published?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have that, and read them eagerly. Ah, you too -are getting up in the world, Mr. Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I flatter myself it is so," replied the old gentleman -pompously. "Shall I speak a word to Sir Percival in -your favor, Thomas? He could help you much, being, -as you know, an intimate friend of the Prince himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, no," answered Moore, savagely. "I 'll -get where I aim without his assistance or rot where -I am contentedly. You don't see Sir Percival as I do, -sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Evidently not," replied Mr. Dyke, blandly. "I -find in him a firm and powerful friend, who has -exerted himself much in my behalf, while you regard -him as--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My view of him is n't fit for such lips as yours, -Mr. Dyke," interrupted Moore. "We will say no -more about him. I only hope you may be correct in -your opinion of the gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you heard the news from home?" asked -Mr. Dyke, polishing his glasses, preparatory to -unrolling the manuscript, which he had placed upon the -table between them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, sir. It's a fortnight since I have heard -from my mother, though I write to her twice a week. -Father is ailing, no doubt. He is getting on in years, -you know. But then their news is only of Dublin. I -have heard nothing from Dalky at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winnie Farrell was married to Captain Arbuckle -last Wednesday week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore gave a start.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't say so, sir? Are you sure?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure as man can be. They are off on their -honeymooning now. I had a letter from Squire Farrell -himself. By the way, Terence has come to London -and is studying law."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope the rascal will keep out of my way," -said Moore, viciously. "A sneak, if ever there was -one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You quarrelled with him, Thomas?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did, sir, and licked him well, too. Tell me, -Mr. Dyke, is Bessie still angry with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old gentleman sighed and put on his glasses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am afraid so, Thomas," he said, gravely. "She -never mentions your name, though I do my best to -interest her in your doings. Now for the poem, lad. -It is a satire, Thomas, a satire on the Prince of Wales. -Oh, I cook him to a turn, Thomas. Ah, how he would -squirm if I dared to have it published."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore leaned over the table and took the manuscript -from his guest in a manner more vigorous than polite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you did have it published, you 'd be dropped -by society like a hot potato, and Bessie would lose her -position at Drury Lane," he said. "You would be -in a nice fix then, would n't you, Robin Dyke, Esquire?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If worst came to worst, even then I would still -have the pension guaranteed me by Sir Percival," -replied the elder poet, obstinately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would," assented Moore, emphatically, "</span><em class="italics">for -about five minutes</em><span>. Mr. Dyke, Irishman and patriot -that you are, you do wrong every time you write a -line that compromises your position here in London. -Thanks to the efforts of Sir Percival, you have -been nicely received; your verses are purchased and -printed; success such as you have never known before -is yours, and yet in spite of all this that old taint in -you leads you to write in secret poems which would -be your ruin if they ever saw the light. Good God, -sir! Have you no thought of Bessie at all? You -must think of Bessie. </span><em class="italics">You must</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dyke, thus forcibly rebuked, grew red in the -face, and seemed for a moment about to hotly point out -the disregard paid by his young friend to the difference -in their ages, but his better nature prevailed as his -sense of justice showed him plainly that Moore was -in the right; so, after a short silence, he accepted his -host's criticism in the same spirit it was offered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right, Thomas," said he, reluctantly, -"quite right, my lad; but remember that I never read -such verses to any one but you. I must admit I -thoroughly enjoy giving occasional vent to my real -feelings. It's like throwing a load off my heart, -Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know how you feel," replied Moore, sagely, -"but take my advice, and throw off no more loads that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thomas, I won't. I promise I 'll not write another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good, Mr. Dyke," exclaimed Moore, gladly. "It -is delighted I am to hear you say that. Ah, sir, if -I were where you are, I 'd run no such danger, I can -tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I read it to you, Thomas?" asked the old -gentleman, resolved to extract all possible enjoyment -from this bit of treason, since it was to have no -successor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave it with me," suggested Moore, endeavoring -to postpone its perusal to the last moment possible. -"I 'll read it to myself and study your method -thoroughly. It will be a greater help to me that way, -you know, and I am anxious to learn, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dyke gave a flattered cough or two and rose to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must not be discouraged, Thomas," he said -in a kindly patronizing tone, "your verses have merit, -real merit. I 'll stake my reputation upon it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's kind of you to say that," said Moore, gratefully, -though in secret vastly amused, "a successful -man like you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I mean it, Thomas, I mean it. Why, some -day I 'd not be surprised if you were rated as a poet -almost as high as Robin Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't mean it, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Almost, I said </span><em class="italics">almost</em><span>," repeated the old gentleman, -fearful lest he had raised hope too high in his fellow -author's breast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard you," said Moore, dryly, while Buster and -Lord Castlereagh shared their indignation at the -fireplace to which they had retired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must get along now," announced Mr. Dyke, as -though desirous of gently breaking the news of his -approaching departure. "Oh, you will laugh your -sides sore when you read that poem, Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will I?" asked Moore, doubtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dyke turned at the door with a chuckle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I almost envy you the fun, my lad. Oh, it's -monstrous witty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And fairly shaking with merriment at the mental -contemplation of his own humor, the old gentleman -toddled down the stairs, quite at peace with the world -at large and even more satisfied with himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My best love to Bessie," Moore called after him, -leaning over the banisters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you the rint?" came from below in the -unmistakably Hibernian accents of Mrs. Malone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I have n't, have you?" shouted the disgusted -poet, and hastening back into the room, he shut the -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rank halmost as 'igh as 'im," exclaimed Buster, -indignantly. "Well Hi likes 'is himpudence. Say, -Mr. Moore, Hi thinks that hold cove is daffy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say genius is akin to madness," replied -Moore, stowing the poem away in the drawer of the -table, where he kept many productions of his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then 'ee 's been achin' a long time," replied the -boy, misunderstanding the meaning of his master's -remark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore laughed gently and did not correct him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="in-which-the-landlady-is-played-a-trick"><em class="italics large">Chapter Ten</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">IN WHICH THE LANDLADY IS PLAYED A TRICK</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the meantime Mrs. Malone, having pounded -upstairs, halted in front of the door, not from -politeness, but to regain her breath. Having -paused, she decided to knock, unconsciously mindful -of Buster's scathing rebuke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is there?" asked Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me, for me money," responded the landlady, -determinedly. "Is there any sin in asking for what is -due me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As much sin as there is use," muttered Moore. -"I can't go over the roof like this, Buster. I have it. -Tell her I am taking a bath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir," said the boy, starting towards the door -as Moore sought shelter with pail and pitcher of water -behind an old screen standing in the corner of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My </span><em class="italics">cold</em><span> bath, Buster," whispered Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And, Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You get out when she comes in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi will, sir," responded Buster preparing to open -the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I to die of old age in my own hall?" -demanded Mrs. Malone, waxing indignant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'as your choice hof complaints, </span><em class="italics">madam</em><span>," -replied Buster, opening the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You limb!" said she, misunderstanding the lad's -unusual politeness. "I 'll not have any half-baked -omadhaun cursing me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curse you, Mrs. Malone? Himpossible, hon my -word of honer. W'y Hi 'as narthin but blessin's fer -you, </span><em class="italics">sweetheart</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Malone aimed a blow at Buster's ear, and, as -he dodged successfully, swung half around with the -misspent energy of her effort. Buster sought safety -in the hall, but thrust his head in the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Moore his taking 'is cold bawth," he announced, -loudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A splashing of water coming from behind the screen -corroborated the lad's statement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Taking his bath, is he?" said Mrs. Malone. "It's -the only thing he can take widout getting arresthed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit's 'is </span><em class="italics">hown</em><span>, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you sure of thot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"W'y h'are you so suspicious, Mrs. Malone? 'Ave -</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> missed one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver you mind prying into the secrets of me -toilet. I 'll have you to understand--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment a ragged towel, soaking wet as the -result of its immersion in the pail, sailed over the top -of the screen and landed with a gurgling squash, fair -and square on the back of the landlady's neck, -dampening her collar and best cap so thoroughly that the -starched linen immediately subsided into floppy -limpness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merciful powers!" ejaculated Mrs. Malone, -jumping a foot at least. "Phwat 's thot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster fled downstairs fearful of impending -massacre, while Moore behind the screen began giving an -imitation of a man in the throes of an ice-cold bath, -bursting into musicless song punctuated with -exclamations of discomfort and shivery comments on his -condition.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"She is far from the land,"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>he shouted, slopping the water from pitcher to pail -and back again, adding sotto voce, "But not from the -landlady, worse luck--Oh! I 'll die of the cold! -I know I will. Oh, mother, it's a cake of ice your -beloved Thomas is fast becoming.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Where her young hero sleeps,</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>--Only her young hero is freezing instead of sleeping. -Help! Help! Whew-w-w! Murder, murder, I 'm -dying of the chill!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Malone in speechless rage had unwound the -wet towel from around her neck.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You divil!" she remarked, with the calmness of -despair. "You red-handed rapscallion. You 've -spiled me best Sunday Get-Up-and-Go-to-Early-Morning-Mass-Cap. -Oh, you haythen!--you turk! -Hanging is too good for the likes of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore, bawling and singing at the top of his lungs, -heard nothing of the landlady's desperation.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"And lovers around her are sighing,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>But coldly she turns--</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Faith, the dear girl must have been taking a cold bath -herself, I 'm thinking. Oh, murder! No! For, if -that were so, how could the lovers be around her? -No, indeed, no lady decent enough for Tom Moore -to immortalize in song would be guilty of such -immodesty, I am sure.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>For her heart in his grave is lying.</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>A beautiful sentiment, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, where is that soap?" and then again bursting -into song, he warbled:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Where </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> that soap?</span></div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Where</em><span> is </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> soap?</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Oh, </span><em class="italics">where</em><span> in Blazes </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> that so-o-o-ap?</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Buster, you devil, bring me the soap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll do nuthing of the kind," replied Mrs. Malone, -ferociously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In half a jiffy I 'll come out there and give you -the leathering you deserve for insubordination."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" cried the landlady. "And me here, Bridget -Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" exclaimed Moore, as though suspecting -her presence for the first time. "Are </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> there, -Mrs. Malone? Whew! but this water is cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His head, with hair, wet and tousled, sticking up -every which way, appeared above the top of the screen, -being elevated just enough to keep his shirt band out -of sight, thus preventing the betrayal of his subterfuge -to the landlady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you do, Mrs. Malone?" said he, courteously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm sopping wet, thanks to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So am I, Mrs. Malone. We are twins in that respect. -Me teeth are chattering as you can see-e-e-e!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll have thot rint now, you blaggard."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I come and give it to you, Mrs. Malone? -Oh, Lord, it is freezing to death I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you are; when you die you 'll git a change," -answered Mrs. Malone, sitting down by the table, -decisively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you going to stay?" asked Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll sit right here till I git me rint, Tom Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will, eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thot I will, you water t'rowing spalpeen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said come back when I am dressed, did n't I? -Well, I 'm </span><em class="italics">not</em><span> dressed, am I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How should I know?" observed Mrs. Malone, -loudly, meanwhile mopping her neck with her -handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," responded the poet, "you </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> know, if you -don't get out of here mighty quick, I can tell you. -I 'll not be turned into a lump of ice for any old lady, -Irish or no Irish. Whe-ee! Oh-h-h! G-r-r-r-h! -When I get into the market the price of ice will drop -a penny a pound."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wants me rint," reiterated the landlady, quite -unconcerned as to her lodger's personal temperature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I have it in the tub with me?" demanded -Moore, growing desperate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've no doubt you have as much of it there as -anywhere," replied Mrs. Malone, unconsciously -hitting the nail on the head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll give you till I count twenty to quit the -premises."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twenty or twenty t'ousand is just the same to me, -Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you have no head for figures, Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, Tom Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there is one figure you 'll know more about -if you don't skip, and that is the one of Thomas Moore, -Esquire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you do, I 'll have you arresthed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Mrs. Malone. My frozen blood be upon -your head. No, by St. Patrick, I 'll not ice myself -even to oblige you. Out you go, my lady. -One--two--three. Will you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, sorr!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eight--nine--ten-- Are you going?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Divil a fut will I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Twelve--thirteen--sixteen-- Now are you ready?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not, sorr."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eighteen--nineteen--!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh-h!" cried Mrs. Malone, intimidated at last -by the poet's determination, "I will, Misther Moore, -I will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And gathering up her skirts she rushed for the door, -reaching it just as Buster entered, the collision sending -that young gentleman sprawling on the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank ye very kindly, ma'am," he remarked, -saluting her in military fashion from his lowered -altitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thot for your t'anks," she sniffed, and made her -exit, signifying her scorn and dissatisfaction by the -vigor with which she shut the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore emerged from behind the screen with a sigh -of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Buster, my boy," he said breathlessly, "there -is nothing like cold water for starting the circulation. -What would I do without my tubbing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She 'll be back hagain, sir," said Buster, sighing -at the thought. "Hi wish 'er hold man was halive. -'Ee would n't be so 'ard hon us, would 'ee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I am not so sure about that," answered -Moore. "He was very fond of the bottle, was -Mr. Malone. Usually he 'd not get up till noon, leaving -us to fight and play around the schoolroom till he -got over the effects of the night before. Then -he 'd wallop the lot of us for waking him up so early."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was she fond of 'im?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She was, Buster! Much more, probably, than she -would have been if he had been a better husband."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just himagine Bridget Malone a-courtin'. D'ye -suppose has 'ow the hold gal remembers it, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would n't be surprised, Buster. Such memories -grow dearer as old age approaches. By the Saints, -lad, you 've given me an idea!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'As I?" said the boy in surprise. "Hi didn't -know has I 'ad one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have fixed it so I can stand her off for the -rent or my name is not Thomas Moore," answered the -poet cheerfully. "We 'll not have to move this day, -Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, that's fine, sir. Me and Lord Castlereagh -'ates moving. Does n't we, pup?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bulldog barked exultantly catching the key of -hope from his master's voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hof corse," said Buster, "when worst comes to -worst we can keep the place by setting Lord Castlereagh -to watch the stairs. No landlady hor bailiff -wud hever git by 'im, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would be what is known as a dogged -resistance of authority," said Moore, chuckling at his -bad joke. "We must n't come to that, lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hall right, sir, we won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore returned to his temporarily abandoned repast -and speedily ate his fill, Buster and the dog sharing -alike in the debris, which was more than enough to -afford satisfaction to them both.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, I 'll try to work," said Moore, arming -himself with a huge quill, the feathered end of which -being well chewed, seemed indicative of having -furnished food for reflection to its owner in the immediate -past. He sat down at the table, scrupulously cleaned -and dusted by Buster after he had removed the dishes, -and, drawing a blank sheet of paper towards him, -dipped the pen in the ink, preparatory to calling upon -his inspiration. But that was as far as he got, for the -desired idea failed to materialize.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hang it!" he said, throwing down the pen in -disgust, "I can't write a line. How can I expect to -when nothing is in my mind but Bessie? Ah, Bessie, -Bessie, you 've taken my heart; now you rob me of -my fancy. It will be my life next, if I 'm not careful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't you think hof nothin', Mr. Moore?" asked -Buster, anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm thinking of the greatest thing in the world, lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, Hi knows wot that is: love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think so, Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir, but you does. W'y, sir, gals gives me -pains. Hi would n't swap one paw of Lord Castlereagh -for the 'ole sex. Wot good is they? They can't -fight--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is evident, Buster, that you have never been -married," interrupted Moore. "However, continue -with your oration. I am interested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His yer?" said Buster, much delighted. "Well -that his fine. Hi 'll continyer. They can't fight, that -is not with their fisties, hat least not hin accordance -with the rules o' the ring. They is timid, hand selfish! -My Lord, hain't they selfish! Halways thinking about -'ow they look; hand eating!--W'y, sir, a girl is -nine-tenths happetite and the rest 'unger. Clothes and -vittles his all they thinks is worth while, hand the -devotion hand effort to please with wich we honors them -hain't naught but about 'arf wot they thinks they -deserves. A gal, sir, thinks has 'ow she does the earth -a service, w'en she puts 'er footsy down hupon it. -'Arf of 'em himagines they consecrates the ground -they walk on. Hexcuse me w'en it comes to gals. Hi -could n't 'ave 'em squallin' and complainin' hany where -Hi 'm at. Hand then, sir, they is sich fearsome liars. -They never 'ad no hintroduction to truth, sir. W'y -they can honly tell it w'en they 'ears it, hand w'en they -repeats it they halways dresses it hup with himaginations -like they 'd pile fancy clothes hon their hown -hanatomy previous to hattending some bloomin' -masquerade. Facts halways assumes a disguise hafter -a hincounter wid females. Believe 'em we could n't -and we would n't, would we, doggie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Woof!" remarked Lord Castlereagh, playfully -nipping at Buster's shoestring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite right, pupsy, you halways agrees with -me; there, sir, that's one thing a wife won't do, -his n't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could forswear dependence as you have -done, Buster," said Moore with a sigh, "but it's no -use. I have n't the strength of mind. By the way, lad, -did you sell the empty wine-bottles?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir, but Hi'll tend to it very soon, sir. Hi'll get -'em hout right away," replied Buster, suiting the action -to the word. From the cupboard he took six bottles -which once upon a time, though not very recently, had -contained sherry. These he stood upon a stool and -was about to ransack the depths of the closet in quest -of more when there came a rapping at the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit's Mr. Dabble from the wine-shop, sir," -announced Buster, after opening the door a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell Mr. Dabble I didn't order any wine," said -Moore, crossly. "Will I never get started on this poem?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster conveyed the mentioned information to the -clerk and received a reply in return that he felt -justified in delivering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Dabble says has 'ow hit's a cursed lucky thing -you did n't horder hanythink, and has 'ow it would n't -do you hany good hif you hordered till Kingdom -Come, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He said that, did he?" said Moore, angrily, rousing -from his labors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir. Shall Hi mash 'im in the phisomy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Buster, I can't blame Mr. Porter for being -angry, for it's a dog's age since I have paid him -anything," answered Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall Hi let 'im hin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Buster. First ask him what </span><em class="italics">ails the stout -Mr. Porter</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster snorted with merriment and repeated his -master's question to the fellow in the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ee says has 'ow you knows confounded well wot -hails 'im. 'Ee 's got no 'ead for hewmer, sir. Better -let me mash 'im, Mr. Moore. The practice hand -hexercise would do us both good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Buster, we 'll have no violence. Admit Mr. Dabble -with appropriate solemnity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Step hin 'ere, you sour-faced cockney," said Buster, -throwing open the door. "Turn your noble footsies -hin this direction, han don't kick the nap hoff the -brussels carpet with your feet stools or Hi will lift -you one in the phisomy, which his 'igh Henglish fer -that ugly face o' yourn, you willain."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-receives-visits-from-two-cobblers-and-a-clerk"><em class="italics large">Chapter Eleven</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE RECEIVES VISITS FROM TWO COBBLERS AND A CLERK</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mr. Dabble was a slender, sharp-featured -young man of six-and-twenty. His face -was sour and suspicious, an expression that -was heightened by his wispy yellow hair that bristled -up not unlike the comb on a rooster. He was long and -lank, and afflicted with an overweight of good opinion -as to his own merits which may have been the cause of -his stooping shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After giving Buster a squelching glance, intended -to reduce that impudent youth to a proper degree of -humility (a result which it conspicuously failed to -produce), this worthy person entered briskly, carrying -on his arm a basket covered with an old cloth. Dabble -believed in system, and in this instance having an order -of sherry to deliver in the neighborhood took advantage -of his being in the vicinity to dun the poet for his -long over-due account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Setting down the basket on the floor near the door, -the clerk drew a bill from his vest pocket and advanced -with it to the table at which Moore was pretending to -be busily scribbling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Dabble, sir," announced Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore did not look up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell Dabble to go to the devil," he remarked, -absent-mindedly, continuing his writing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Moore, I refuse to go to the devil," exclaimed -Dabble, indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then don't go to the devil," answered Moore, still -scribbling. "Call on some other relative."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My employer says it is high time you paid this -bill," persisted the clerk, thrusting the statement of -Moore's account beneath the poet's nose, as Buster -quietly investigated the contents of the basket the -newcomer had brought with him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must n't believe all you hear, Mr. Dabble," -replied Moore. "Many casual statements are grossly -incorrect. Really, the aggregate amount of misinformation -current these days is most appalling. Just consider -it for a moment if you have never given it -thought before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have no time for consideration, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you had more consideration for time--that is -my time--and its value, you would not be delaying -the completion of this poem in this manner," Moore -answered, laying down the quill with a sigh of -endurance. "Sit down, Mr. Dibble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is Dabble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it would n't bend your name if you sat down, -would it, Dibble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dabble, sir, Dabble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite true, sir. I frequently do in literature, but -how did you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," said the clerk impressively, "time flies and -time is money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, Mr. Dibble? Let me make a suggestion -then. You should take time, build a flying machine -and make money. Then you would n't have to bother -me for mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Dabble stood for a moment quite disconcerted by -the poet's remarkable advice, Buster, with exquisite -care that no noise should be made to frustrate his -design, extracted two of the full bottles from the -deserted basket, and with equal caution replaced them -with two of the empty ones he had set out preparatory -to offering them for sale in the neighborhood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So carefully did Buster execute this manoeuvre, that -the attention of neither the clerk nor Moore was -attracted to his performance, which was successfully -repeated by the lad until only one full bottle remained -in the basket, this being left deliberately for a certain -purpose, not because the opportunity to purloin it had -not been afforded him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you intend to pay this bill, sir?" demanded -Dabble, waking up to the fact that he had been made -fun of, and waxing angry accordingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly I intend to pay it, Mr. Dibble," said -Moore impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I never pay bills on Tuesday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What day </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you pay them on?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I usually liquidate all indebtedness on the twenty-ninth -of February. If you will call around then I will -be pleased to settle and may perhaps give you another -order. Now you really must excuse me, as I am -obliged to finish this sonnet without further delay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"February is too far off," objected the clerk, not -comprehending the space of time that must necessarily -elapse before the date mentioned by Moore would -be reached by the calendar, for this was not a -leap-year.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, pay it yourself, Mr. Dibble, if you are -not satisfied with my way of doing it. Perhaps that -would be the best way, after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Moore, have done with joking. This bill--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hang it, Dibble, you make more noise with your -beak than you do with your bill," exclaimed Moore, -trying indignation for a change. "You 'll have me out -of my mind, if you don't look out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's evidently where our bill has been."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out of mind, Mr. Dibble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then if it has no mind it is unreasonable, and I -never pay unreasonable bills. Buster, the door for -Mr. Dibble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not going yet, and my name is Dabble, not -Dibble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore waved Buster back as that pugnacious youth -was about to lay violent hands on the clerk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your father is responsible for your name. He is -much to blame, Dibble. If I were you, I 'd sue the old -man for damages."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you have no intention of paying this bill, -Mr. Moore," said the clerk, abandoning hope of -collection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must be a mind reader," observed Moore. -"You could make a fortune exhibiting your gifts in -public, sir. Now, my dear fellow, before you go, just -to show there is no hard feeling between us personally, -even if I owe your employer, have a drink with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," began Dabble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll take no denial," said Moore, winningly. -"Come, sir, you shan't refuse me. Buster, bring -forth the precious liquor and we will do honor to our -guest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never drink a drop," expostulated the clerk, -telling an outrageous lie incidentally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Moore, with a laugh, "I never drop -a drink, so we cancel that objection. We will have -a tiny wet together socially as two honest gentlemen -should. We will drink health to Mrs. Dibble and all -the little Dubbles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no little Dubbles, sir," answered the clerk, -mollified in spite of himself by Moore's charming -manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What? No twins? That is an oversight, sir. -Oh, well, we 'll be sanguine, Dibble, for there is no -telling what may occur in the future. Accidents will -happen in the best-regulated families, and I am sure -yours is one of the best, so cheer up and don't despair. -Buster, you devil, what is keeping you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hall ready, sir, hall ready," replied the boy, who, -having extracted the cork from one of the stolen -bottles, had carefully wrapped a cloth around it, so that -the label would not betray his secret to the enemy -while he was filling the glasses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore, taking for granted that the beverage -decanted by Buster was the poteen he had previously -denied himself, watched Dabble eagerly as that -gentleman raised his glass to his lips, expecting the usual -cough and sputter to follow the first swallow of the -fiery liquid. In this he was disappointed, for the clerk -drank calmly and with evident enjoyment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think of that whisky, Mr. Dabble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whisky, sir? This is sherry," answered the clerk, -"and quite a respectable quality too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How 's that?" asked Moore, in surprise; then, -sipping the contents of his own glass, he found that -his guest was quite right. Meanwhile Buster, from -the concealment afforded him behind Mr. Dabble, was -making frantic gesticulations to his master, finally -succeeding in catching his eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ails the boy?" muttered Moore, rarely puzzled -to understand how his empty cupboard could have -furnished the refreshment Buster had just put before -them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Eh?" said Mr. Dabble, sipping his sherry in a -manner that gave the lie to his recent announcement of -total abstinence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sherry it is," said Moore. "Fault of the label, -Mr. Dabble. Your best health, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is very fair sherry, Mr. Moore, very fair," -declared the clerk, condescendingly, "but pardon me if -I say it is hardly up to our level of quality."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that so, Mr. Dabble?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir. Now I have some really superior sherry -in my basket there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, law!" exclaimed Buster in an undertone. -"'Ere is where Hi takes to cover."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he tiptoed out of the doorway unnoticed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't say so, Mr. Dabble?" replied Moore in -an interested tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I do, Mr. Moore. I think I have time to -show you," said Dabble, rising as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means do so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dabble pulled his watch from his pocket as he -crossed to the basket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gracious!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea it was -so late. I have n't a moment to spare. Good-day, sir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day," said Moore politely, as the clerk picked -up the basket, not noticing the difference in weight in -the hurry of the moment, and opening the door closed -by Buster in making his escape, nodded a last good-bye -to the poet before going.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Left to himself, Moore took another drink from his glass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where the devil," thought he, "did Buster get that -wine? That boy is certainly a wonder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A tremendous crash was heard in the hall below. -Moore ran to the door, and leaning over the banister -sought to discover the cause of the racket as up the -stairs came Buster, running lightly in his stockinged -feet as any cat. Moore seized him by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What happened?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Dabble 'as fell downstairs, sir," replied the -boy cheerfully. "His n't hit hawful. You never 'eard -such langwidge. Hi 'me shocked, Hi am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You little devil, you tripped him up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ee can't prove it, so wot's the hodds if Hi did?" -asked Buster, not at all abashed at his master's -accusation. "Hi think 'ee must 'ave fell hover -Mrs. Malone, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you hurt, Mr. Dabble?" called Moore over -the balustrade.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Mrs. Malone, from far below. "He's -not hur-ted, but he has broken all his bottles and the -stairs is running over with sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd like to lick up the stairs," answered the poet. -"Give him my sympathy, Mrs. Malone, and tell him I -send my love to the twins."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you the rint, Misther Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not dressed yet, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you going to dress to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am surprised at your indelicacy in asking such -an immodest question of an innocent and unmarried -young man," replied Moore reprovingly. "If you -keep on I 'll feel it my duty to mention your behavior -to Father O'Houlihan. Oh, it is shocked he would be, -Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind," answered the landlady. "You lave -Father O'Houlihan to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know whether the good man will be safe in -your hands after this morning's revelation, -Mrs. Malone. He don't look over strong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait till I get hold of you, you rapscallion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I can't wait," said Moore, slamming the door -as he returned to his own apartment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Explain this misfortune of Mr. Babble's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, 'ee 'll never know, sir, habout the sherry," -replied Buster, reassuringly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He won't?" said Moore, still in the dark. "What -do you mean, lad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi left 'im one full bottle, so hif 'ee should 'appen -to fall hon 'is way downstairs hit would be hall right. -Hi 've got hall 'ee 'ad with 'im hexcept that one -bottle wich Hi feels has 'ow hit was a cruel shame to -waste."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the boy spoke he threw open the cupboard and -exhibited his plunder neatly arranged in two rows on -the middle shelf.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore swore gently in his astonishment and sat down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster," said he, "have you no morals?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir, but Hi 'as the sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, there is no use in sending it back, I suppose. -It's six more bottles to be added to the bill when I -pay it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir, this his simply hour method hof obtaining -more credit, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster," said Moore solemnly. "You are a financier. -We 'll have a glass together."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Promptly at four a dapper little person, who moved -with such lively and mannered steps, even when -walking at his slowest gait, that his general demeanor was -highly suggestive of a dancing master in business -hours, entered the house which was honored by the -presence of Thomas Moore and his faithful servant. -This individual was a cobbler named Hypocrates Slink, -who hammered and sewed leather in a little store -perhaps a hundred yards farther down the street than the -house presided over by Mrs. Malone. He had red hair -and a nose gently tinted with another shade of the same -color. His eyes were small, blue, and not entirely -guiltless of a squint; in fact, his chief rival in the trade -was wont to describe him as a cock-eyed impostor. -This, being repeated to Mr. Slink, had caused him to -make remarks of a decidedly acrimonious nature in -reply, and as these had in their turn been faithfully -carried to the object that had drawn them forth, a -bitter feud was engendered, the result being that the -neighborhood was frequently provided with amusement -by the verbal combats of the two cobblers, for, -while physical encounters seemed pending, as yet there -had none taken place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having knocked for admittance, Mr. Slink was duly -announced and ushered in by Buster, whose manner -to one better versed in the youth's peculiarities would -have seemed suspiciously courteous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day to you, Mr. Slink," said Moore, pleasantly. -"Is your health salubrious?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite werry, sir," replied the cobbler, approaching -his patron with his usual mincing step.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And have you the boots, Mr. Slink?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have, sir," replied the cobbler, exhibiting a -paper-wrapped bundle, nestling beneath his arm. "Here -they are, sir, but the money, sir? You promised cash, -sir. That is to say, sir, I intimidated as delicatesome -as I could that I must have the coin, sir, before I -could let you have them, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I have been informed by my man," replied -Moore. "Really, my good sir, such suspicions are -unworthy of you. Believe me, it is with regret I -perceive the taint of cynicism in an otherwise charming -character."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," answered Mr. Slink. "Yes, sir. Them -is just my own sentiments, but I have a large family, -and one that I may say, proudly and truthfully, sir, -is on the steady increase."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My sympathy to you in your misfortune," said -Moore, hastily. "Ah, England owes much of her -advancement to her noble citizens. It is such men as -you make possible the Orphan Asylums, for without -the young and deserving what would become of such -worthy institutions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir, you take the werry words out o' my mouth. -Scarcely a day passes but I says much the same thing to -Matilda. You see, she being a mother and a woman--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The natural implication, believe me, Mr. Slink," -interrupted Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, quite, sir. One usually follows on the other. -Matilda is apt to become downcast when she compares -population with pocket-book, for as one goes up the -other goes down, so I made her a solemn promise after -the sixth that business should be placed on a strictly -cash basis in the future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," observed Moore, interestedly, "and did that -encourage the good woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think it must have, for our next blessing was -twins, boy and girl, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cause and effect is a most diverting study," -observed Moore. "Now that you have explained the -reason for your insisting upon immediate material -compensation for your labor, I cease to regard such -a stipulation as insulting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," replied the gratified cobbler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Mr. Slink, have you thought of the result -that might ensue if too much encouragement be -provided for so lofty an ambition as that which stirs your -wife's existence? Twins can be endured, but, sir, -think of triplets!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir, I holds that there is luck in odd -numbers," answered Mr. Slink, quite unimpressed by the -poet's argument and its obvious conclusions, "so, if -you 'll let me, I shall be delighted to enleather your -pedals, if I may make bold to so term your feet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just as you say, Mr. Slink; but, of course, before -I part with my money I naturally desire to be certain -that the boots fit me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right," said the cobbler, undoing his parcel. -"Sit you down, Mr. Moore, and I 'll exhibit my wares."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore took the stool brought to him by Buster, and -the cobbler, kneeling down, proceeded with sundry -pulls and pushes to inclose his foot in the new shoe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Easy, easy!" said Moore, clutching the bottom of -the stool, to keep from being shoved off it. "You are -not pushing a cart, even if you are driving a bargain, -Mr. Slink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There you are," exclaimed the cobbler, sitting on -his heels as he wiped the perspiration from his -wrinkled brow. "There you are. A beautiful fit, or may -I be unworthy of Matilda."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your merit, Mr. Slink, has already been proved if -your previous statements are authentic," said Moore. -"Statistics bear me out, my friend. I am quite -convinced you are a splendidly matched pair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir, this other boot is just as good a match -for the one you have on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Try it, Mr. Slink, try it. There is nothing like -doing things thoroughly. I know Matilda and you -agree with me there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Slink obediently started to fit the other shoe, finding -some little difficulty in doing so, for Moore contrived -to make the operation a very difficult one, and for a -purpose, as will be seen later.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an artist, Mr. Slink," said Moore, -approvingly. "Look at the boot, Buster. Did you ever -see better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never 'as 'ow Hi remembers. Oh, Mr. Slink his -a tiptopper when it comes to shoes heven if Mr. Smirk -hallows 'as 'ow 'ee 's a bloomink bungler," replied -Buster, winking at his master. "But, hof corse, -Mr. Smirk, being a bachelor, 'ee hain't as careful as 'ee -might be. 'Ee says 'ee 'as no wife to beat 'im as -hothers 'ee says 'ee knows hof in the same business 'as."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that baldheaded leather-spoiler means me, all -I have to say is that no decent woman would consider -matrimonially no such rum-soaked old ravellings as -that same Smirk," replied Mr. Slink, puffing at his -work. "He has no pride in his handiwork. His shoes -lack all soul, spirituously speaking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pride," repeated Moore, with a grimace of -discomfort. "That shoe will have to be pried before I -can wear it. Oh! It is tight, Mr. Slink, cursedly tight, -Mr. Slink. Were you yourself quite sober when you -made it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, I was. I always am sober, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it is the wind that tints your proboscis that -strawberry pink, is it?" said Moore. "Suppose you -have a gentle breeze with me. I 've a new lot of sherry -just sent me by Admiral Nelson. You must try it, -Mr. Slink. Just a little puff of wind? A squall more -or less won't affect the color of your nose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll be delighted, sir," replied the cobbler, getting -on his feet. "As I always says to Matilda--</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"A little wine now and then</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Is cheery for the soberest men."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Ah," said Moore, "I see you are a student of the poets?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That verse is of my own decomposition," answered -Mr. Slink proudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you," said Moore, suavely. "Your -health, Mr. Slink, the health of Mrs. Slink, and all -the little Slinkers!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cobbler emptied his glass and smacked his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We forgot to drink your own health, Mr. Moore. -We must repair that oversight instanterly, if I may -make so bold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm flattered," replied Moore. "Buster, fill the -glasses again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Splendid wine," remarked Mr. Slink, rather thickly -for, if the truth be known, he had treated himself twice -at the ale-house across the street before mounting to -the attic, and this unwonted indulgence in addition -to the hospitality of the poet made an aggregate -amount of intoxicants quite a little more than he could -comfortably contain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're a judge of liquor, Mr. Moore, a gentleman -and a scholar in the bargain. I 've always told -Matilda so, I assure you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am delighted to hear you say so, Mr. Slink. -Now if you will take this shoe that is tight back to -the shop and have it stretched, I 'll pay you for the -pair if the one that pinches suits as well as this I have -on, when I try it on again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so, sir," replied the cobbler, cheerfully, -meanwhile getting down on his knees to remove the -unsatisfactory boot. "I 'll not be long, sir. You can -rely on my return, sir, within the hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will be soon enough," said Moore. "Here -is your paper, Mr. Slink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, sir," said the now thoroughly -exhilarated shoemaker, wrapping up the boot, as Moore -resumed the well-worn slippers he had temporarily -discarded for the test of Mr. Slink's handiwork.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good day, Mr. Slink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good day, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, my best respects to Mrs. Slink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Matilda will be delighted, sir," replied the cobbler, -moving out into the hall with a step decidedly uncertain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore gave vent to a sigh of satisfaction as the -sound of feet died away upon the stairs below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir," said Buster, inquiringly, as he shut the -door, "wot use his one boot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore regarded his youthful retainer with a look -of mild astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you understand, Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not Hi, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well then, I 'll not tell you. Demonstration is -far more valuable than explanation. So just watch -me, my lad. A study of Thomas Moore when hard -up is a liberal education for the young and -unsophisticated. You shall be educated, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir. Wot his it, Lord Castlereagh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gr-r-r-g-h!" remarked the bulldog, warningly, at -the same time sniffing suspiciously at the crack of -the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is-s-s Mister-r-r M-M-M-oore in?" demanded a -husky voice, enthusiastically and persistently -hyphenated by a decided stutter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit's the hother shoemaker, sir," whispered -Buster, recognizing the thick utterance of the -newcomer. "The one who spits on his words, sir, before -'ee lets loose hof 'em."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith," said Moore, "it is a good thing the hall -is dark. They must have met on the stairs. It's a -wonder we escaped bloodshed, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I s-say, is-s-s Mr. M-M-Moore at h-home?" repeated -the shoemaker, with a hiccup that was plainly -perceptible within the attic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Phew!" exclaimed Buster in an undertone, -recoiling from the keyhole. "Hole Smirk his loaded -hup to 'is hears. You won't need to waste hany of -the Hadmiral's sherry hon 'im, sir. 'Ee 's fragrant, -sir, that's wot 'ee his, hand it hain't no bloomin' new -mown 'ay wot flavors 'im, Hi tells yer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Admit the gentleman," said Moore, opening the -windows to their widest extent. "A friend in need -is a friend indeed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A friend in soak his more like it," murmured the -boy, opening the door obediently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The big, bald-headed, redfaced man who had egged -Bekowsky on to disaster earlier in the afternoon -staggered in with an oath and a hiccup so entangled on -his lips that neither he nor his hosts made any effort -to translate his greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-day, Mr. Smirk," observed Moore, pleasantly. -"You are looking well, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"T-t-t-hat is-s n-no ex-c-cuse f'r keeping me -w-w-waiting a month in the h-h-hall," replied the -intoxicated tradesman, thickly, endeavoring to look -offended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We thought you were a publisher, my friend, and -we always make them wait a little while before we -admit them," said Moore. "It has a most beneficial -effect upon their opinion of me as a writer. -Independence is frequently accepted as indicative of -personal affluence, as you doubtless know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Smirk looked a trifle dazed, and then, abandoning -his effort at comprehension, proceeded to get to -his business without further delay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H-h-have you the m-money for the b-boots, -Mr. M-M-Moore?" he inquired, holding his parcel -behind him as though fearful that he might be -robbed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sir," replied Moore, suavely, "money fits any -hand, but my foot does n't fit every shoe. I 'll try -them on if you are not too tired."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Y-yes, s-sir," replied Smirk, with difficulty -unwrapping his package.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your words are as slow as my rent," said Moore, -sitting down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The cobbler dropped heavily on his knees, and -losing his balance, fell forward on Moore's lap almost -knocking him off the stool.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is n't time to lie down yet," said the poet, -restoring the tradesman to his equilibrium. "You -forgot your prayers, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Smirk succeeded in getting one of the boots on -without much difficulty, but the other stuck fast in -spite of the earnest endeavors of its maker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it a straight jacket you have there, Mr. Smirk?" -demanded Moore. "Don't trouble to answer me. It -will take too long. You will have to have that -stretched, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Y-yes, s-sir," replied the cobbler, "that will f-f-fix -it fine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take it along, Mr. Smirk, and have it attended -to immediately," directed the poet. "When I try it -on again, if it's all right, I 'll pay you for the pair. -How long will it take you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll be b-back in l-less than an hour, Mr. M-M-Moore, -and see you have your money r-ready."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ready money is a nice thing," assented Moore. -"Good day, Mr. Smirk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"G-g-good d-day," began the shoemaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Finish it outside," suggested Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I w-w-will, s-sir," replied Smirk, and as he -proceeded slowly and unsteadily downstairs, the -whisky-burdened tones of the cobbler died away in a murmur -and then ceased entirely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Observe me, Buster," said Moore, boots in hand. -"These boots are made of one style. From Mr. Smirk -I have procured one for my right foot; from Mr. Slink -one for my left. The two together make a pair, which -is the object I set out to accomplish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ooray!" shouted Buster. "Hi sees. Hi sees."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A trifle late, Buster, a trifle late," said Moore, -pulling on his recently acquired spoils.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, sir," said the boy, apprehensively, "they will -both be back in a little while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I 'll take pains not to be here then."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they 'll watch hand ketch you sooner hor later."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all the good it will do them," replied Moore, -cheerfully, regarding his feet with no little amount -of approval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi knows, sir, but you never breaks your word, -sir, hand you promised to pay--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">When</em><span> did I say I 'd pay, Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you tried on the other boot, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that is a simple matter, lad. I </span><em class="italics">won't</em><span> try the -other boot on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't yer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, and they will have a nice easy time making -me against my will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi sees, Mr. Moore," cried the boy, delighted at -the discovery of a means of discomfiting the cobbler -without breaking a promise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore sighed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Buster," he said sadly, "when luck comes -we will pay all these men. Till then they will have -to give us credit, and if they won't give it, we will -take it, but for every penny I owe them now, I 'll -pay them two when I can afford to settle. I can do -without wine, but without boots I 'd not earn the -coin to pay any of my debts. I don't like such trickery, -heaven knows, but I must get on. I must get on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hif they were n't crazy fools, they 'd be glad to -trust us," assented Buster. "We 'll pay 'em when -McDermot brings hout our book hof poems."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That reminds me," said Moore, "it must be -almost time for me to hear from that same gentleman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir. Say, does Hi get a hautograph copy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do, Buster," replied Moore, smiling. "No -one deserves it more than you, I am sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A hautograph copy," repeated Buster, delightedly. -"My, but that will be fine. Hand I wants yer to -write your name hin the front of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you know what an autograph copy is, -Buster?" asked Moore, his eyes twinkling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That Hi does," said the boy, confidently. "Hit's -one with gilt hedges hall around it. Hi knows."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="in-which-the-poet-warbles-to-mrs-malone"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twelve</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">IN WHICH THE POET WARBLES TO MRS. MALONE</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Rat-tat-tat!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you dressed, Mister Moore?" asked -Mrs. Malone, her ear against the crack of -the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore winked at Buster and motioned him to admit -the landlady, who entered with her accustomed -independence of carriage, apparently expecting and -prepared for contention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, ha," said she, triumphantly. "You didn't -thrick me this time, Tom Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary, I have been patiently waiting for -your coming, Mrs. Malone," replied the poet, politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The landlady looked incredulous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is the rint?" she inquired, belligerently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here in my dressing gown," answered Moore, -exhibiting a long tear in the garment mentioned. "A -big rip it is, too. Have you your needle handy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wants no fooling, Misther Thomas Moore," -declared Mrs. Malone, drawing her bushy brows low -in a ferocious frown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Were you ever in love, Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thot is none of your business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget your husband was my first instructor," -said Moore, reproachfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I 'll be your last teacher, and I 'll give you -instructions in how to get up and get out wid your -pile o' kit, bag and baggage, unless I gets me rint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are Irish, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind thot, sorr."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure, I don't mind, if you don't," replied Moore, -"and if Ireland don't object there will be no -discussion on that point at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whot are yez going to do? Thot's whot I wants -to know, Mr. Moore? Is it rint or run, me fine -bucko?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you sit down, Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll not sit down, I 'll stand up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, will you stand up till you get the rent, -Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll sit down," replied the landlady, suiting the -action to the words so vigorously that the attic rattled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you know, Mrs. Malone, I 've written you a song?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wants no song. I have no notes in me voice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith," said Moore, with a chuckle, "we are alike -then, for I 've none in my pocket."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wants me rint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be easy, Mrs. Malone," said Moore, in a conciliatory -tone and forthwith broke into song:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Oh, the days are gone when beauty bright</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>My heart's chain wove--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Where is the rint?" interrupted the irate landlady, -but Moore continued his singing, at the same time -helping himself to a seat on the table beside her.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"When all my dreams by day or night</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Were love, still love--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"The rint is no dream," exclaimed Mrs. Malone, -"and by gorry, I 'll have it, me canary-bird."</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"New hopes may bloom,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>And days may come</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Of milder, calmer beam--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Not till I have ivery penny due me," asserted -Mrs. Malone, turning a deaf ear to the pathos and sentiment -with which the poet's beautiful voice was investing the -simple words of the song.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"But there's nothing half so sweet in life</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>As Love's young dream--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I 'll prefer the rint a t'ousand times," observed -Mrs. Malone, quite unaffected.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"No, there's nothing half so sweet in life</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>As Love's young dream."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 90%" id="figure-105"> -<span id="there-s-nothing-half-so-sweet-in-life-as-love-s-young-dream"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""There's nothing half so sweet in life as Love's young dream."" src="images/img-148.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"There's nothing half so sweet in life as Love's young dream."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As the words of the song died away in a sigh of -sentimental melody, Moore leaned forward and touched -the old woman on the shoulder, hoping that he had -struck some responsive chord of memory in her -recollections of long-departed youth, but he was doomed -to disappointment, for she smote the table with one -calloused fist and called upon the saints to witness -and sustain her resolve to accept nothing but the whole -amount of the money due her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing daunted, Moore slipped off the table and -standing behind his determined creditor began -another verse, throwing even more feeling into his voice -as he proceeded:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"No,--that hallowed form is ne'er forgot</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Which first love traced--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I 'll have that rint, Tom Moore, song or no song," -interrupted Mrs. Malone, but her tone was not quite -so quarrelsome as before, and Moore from this drew -encouragement that lent double sympathy to his music -as he continued:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>On memory's waste--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I wants me rint," remarked Mrs. Malone, but her -voice had lost its assertive defiance.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'T was odor fled</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>As soon as shed--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"I 'll have me rint, Tom Moore," said the landlady -plaintively.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>"'Twas morning's wingéd dream;</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>On life's dull stream--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>An audible sniff came from beneath the frill of -Mrs. Malone's cap and she cleared her throat noisily. -Moore leaned over her and tenderly and slowly -breathed forth the last words of his song, the -mournful cadences stealing from his lips sweet and low and -laden with tears, supremely touching in their -plaintive harmony, for he sang as though it was to the -hopeless love that filled his heart's innermost recess -that he now gave utterance.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"No, there 's </span><em class="italics">nothing</em><span> half so sweet in life</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>As Love's young dream."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The last words died away, and for a moment the -old attic was silent. Then Mrs. Malone rose from her -seat with a stifled sob, and, wiping her eyes, started -toward the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the rent, Mrs. Malone?" asked Moore, timidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You--you rapscallion," she said, brokenly, "to -make an old woman like me cry. Ah, bless you, Tom -Moore, for it's the old days you 've brought back to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the rent?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May your voice never grow less, Tom Moore. -You--You--!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have me rint Satherday or there 'll be -throuble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, blowing her nose vigorously, the relenting -landlady left the attic to its inhabitants.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'O-o-ray! 'O-o-ray!" shouted Buster in a hoarse -whisper, seizing Lord Castlereagh by the front paws -and dancing around in a circle in his delight. "Till -Saturday, till Saturday! 'O-oray! 'O-oray!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster, from now on, we can never complain of -these apartments as expensive," said Moore, fanning -himself by the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir? Why not?" asked Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I got them for a song," replied the poet. -"A cursed bad joke, Buster, even if I did make it -myself."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-has-a-bitter-disappointment-and-an-unexpected-visitor"><em class="italics large">Chapter Thirteen</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE HAS A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT AND AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mrs. Malone opened the door suddenly, -accompanying this action with a vigorous -gesture intended to represent an apology -for the liberty she took in omitting the knock. By this -it can be easily seen that under Buster's tuition the -manners of the landlady were improving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A gentleman to see you, Misther Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Show the gentleman in, Mrs. Malone," said the -poet, adding in an undertone to Buster, "This must -be a reception we are giving. We have joined society -without knowing it, lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This way, sorr," announced Mrs. Malone, with an -elephantine duck, this being the best imitation nature -permitted her to give of a courtesy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Immediately a little, square-shaped man with an -expressionless face from which protruded two beady -eyes in much the same manner that raisins brighten -and decorate the exterior surface of a plum-pudding, -entered, striding as pompously as though his height -were considerably over six feet instead of but a trifle -under five. His face was clean shaven and consistently -grave and solemn down to the lower lip, where his chin -made a sudden and undignified attempt to obtain -complete concealment in the folds of his neckcloth. -However, all in all, he was a neat little man, though far -from a beauty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er--er--ahem," he began with a little cough, -meanwhile looking back and forth from Moore to -Buster as Mrs. Malone waddled out of the attic, -"</span><em class="italics">which</em><span> is Mr. Thomas Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am, sir," replied the poet, taking no notice of the -new-comer's intentional rudeness. "What do you -wish with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I--er--er--ahem--come from Mr. McDermot, -the publisher. My name is Gannon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" cried Moore. "Won't you have a chair, -Mr. Gannon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, thank you," replied the clerk, for such he -was, seating himself with much dignity, a performance -given a humorous tinge by the unsuccessful attempt -he made to cross his fat little legs. "I have called at -Mr. McDermot's request to see you about your poems."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are more than welcome, I am sure," replied -Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. McDermot has read the manuscript volume -you submitted, and takes great pleasure in saying he -has never read anything better; </span><em class="italics">great</em><span> pleasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore gave a sigh of relief and grew quite -light-headed with delight. Here was real appreciation. -Genius was about to be recognized at last. Ugly, -ill-tempered, little Gannon became in the poet's eyes -suddenly invested with the beautiful characteristics and -perfect exterior of a cherub, a little over-grown and -shapeless, perhaps, but nevertheless cherubic. He -wondered how he could for the moment have so greatly -disliked this herald of prosperity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Gannon, you are thirsty, I know," stammered -Moore. "You must be after such a walk. I insist -that you drink with me, sir. What shall it be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since you insist I 'll try a little port," said the clerk, -obligingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Unfortunately," replied the poet, "that is one thing -I have n't in my possession. I'm like a loaded ship, sir, -just out of port. But I 'll give you something better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've the finest drink in the world in that cupboard, -sir. One that will make life seem like a dream of blue -sky and roses to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er--er--ahem,--I am a </span><em class="italics">married</em><span> man," observed -Mr. Gannon, doubtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This will enable you to forget that," said Moore in -a reassuring tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope not," replied Gannon, suddenly waxing -confidential. "The only cloud in my domestic horizon -was caused by just such a slip of memory. What a -recollection women have for such lapses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For theirs or for yours, Mr. Gannon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For mine, Mr. Moore, for mine," hastily replied -the clerk. "Ah, women--er--er--ahem--are -angels, sir, angels."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt," said Moore, pleasantly, as he poured -out the whisky, "of one kind or </span><em class="italics">another</em><span>. This, sir, is -the dew of heaven. You 'll never beat this for tipple, -Mr. Gannon. When I place this before you I show -you the greatest compliment in my power. Believe me, -it is most precious, dear sir, for it is the essence of -Ireland. Each drop a tinted diamond. Your health, -Mr. Gannon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Mr. Moore, thank you," replied the -clerk in a flattered tone, raising his glass to his mouth. -But the first swallow of the fiery liquid sent him into -such a paroxysm of coughing that Moore felt -compelled to slap him on the back hastily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the way to drink such whisky," said the -poet, approvingly. "It makes it last longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Er--er--ahem," replied the clerk, taking -advantage of Moore's own imbibing to empty the contents -of his glass over his shoulder unperceived by his host. -Buster, being at this particular moment just behind the -little clerk, received the whisky full in the face, and -feeling compelled on his master's account to resist the -belligerent impulse which demanded he should obtain -immediate satisfaction from the cause of his -discomfiture, he sought with a smothered oath the seclusion -of the stairs, an exile into which he was immediately -followed by the bulldog.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ails the lad?" asked Moore in astonishment. -"I wonder if he is n't well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ahem--er--Mr. Moore," began the clerk in a -businesslike tone, "permit me to deliver to you the -message of my employer. I really am pressed for time, -sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go ahead," said Moore, seating himself on the -opposite side of the table near which his guest was -sitting. "You may command me, Mr. Gannon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr.--er--er--McDermot--ahem--wishes me to -inform you that your poetry is delightful. The -language is beautiful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" said Moore, interrogatively, now in the -seventh heaven of delight. "Really, Mr. Gannon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Each metaphor he declares is as delicate as it is -charming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your rhymes are perfect, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In fact Mr. McDermot wishes me to assure you -that the highest praise can be lavished on your work, -Mr. Moore, the highest praise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is too kind, Mr. Gannon, he is too kind," cried -the poet, rising in his excitement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was delighted with your book, but--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Gannon paused, and looked solemn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what?" asked Moore, eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He cannot publish it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore stood looking stupidly at the little clerk for -a moment quite dazed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't publish it?" he repeated slowly. "Can't -publish it! Why not, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your work is most worthy," answered Mr. Gannon, -"but who are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't--quite--know," faltered Moore, stunned -by the sudden casting down of his so recently raised -hopes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ahem--er--er--nor does any one else," -continued the clerk, pitilessly. "Mr. McDermot bade -me say that to obtain success at the present time -a book must be dedicated to some great figure of -fashion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I know none, sir," replied the disconsolate -poet, sinking limply back on his stool. "I know none, -sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just so,--er--er--ahem,--Mr. Moore," said -Mr. Gannon, gravely. "You know none; none knows -you, so here is your poetry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, he drew a bundle of manuscript from -his coat-tail pocket and tossed it contemptuously upon -the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good day, sir, good day, er--er--ahem,--Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And swelling out his chest with the importance -properly attached to the person of the bearer of bad news, -little Mr. Gannon sauntered leisurely out of the attic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment Moore sat motionless and dumb, -striving to comprehend that the sudden downfall of his -hopes was real. So quickly had he found himself -robbed of the triumph which seemed almost in his -grasp that the events of the last few moments were -temporarily blurred and blotted in his mind as the -fanciful weavings of a slumbering brain often are -when consciousness is rudely restored to the sleeper -and memory seeks to recall the dream.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Done again," he murmured, softly. "</span><em class="italics">Done again</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly a great sob shook his frame, but he -manfully choked back the others which would have -followed it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My courage is gone at last," he whispered, as -though he were not alone. "I 'm beaten--I 'm beaten. -Oh, it is bitter. All my bright hopes were conjured up -but to fade. A glimpse of Paradise shown to me, and -then this attic again. Ah, Bessie, Bessie, my heart is -broken this day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a second he seemed as though about to break -down completely, but, controlling himself with a great -effort, he dashed the tears from his eyes with the back -of his hand. Then as he turned, his eye fell upon the -manuscript lying on the table where it had been thrown -by the careless hand of Mr. Gannon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are there, are you?" he cried, seizing it -roughly. "You tempted me from beautiful Ireland--you -lured me here to this heartless, cruel London, with -a thousand sweet promises of hope and love and fame. -You 've tricked me. You brought me here to starve--to -die--to fail. Then, damn you, I 'm through with -you forever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hurled the written book to the floor and groped -his way to the window, blinded with the tears he would -not shed. The golden and salmon hued glory of the -sunset, painting the spires and house tops with a -thousand shades of flame, fell full upon his hopeless head, -and conscious of the horrible mockery of such a halo -at a time when only darkness and despair seemed to -surround his existence, the poor fellow buried his face -in his arms on the window-sill and sobbed like a beaten -child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a while, when the final bitterness of his grief -and disappointment had passed he left the window. As -he crossed the room his eye fell upon the rejected -poems, which lay on the floor bathed in the crimson -and yellow riot of a sunbeam. He stood for a moment -as though transfixed, then as his heart filled with a -sudden revulsion of feeling he knelt and clasped the -manuscript to his breast with a little cry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," he murmured brokenly, "I did n't mean -it, I did n't mean it, for </span><em class="italics">such</em><span> as you are you 're </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> I -have."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Buster opened the door a few moments later -he found his master sitting in his favorite arm-chair -in front of the fireplace in which flickered a tiny fire, -lighted for the sake of its cheering influence as the -chill of fall was still at least a month away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, sir?" asked the lad, hopefully. "Did he take 'em?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Buster, he came to bring them back," replied -Moore, quite calmly. Buster made a remark as expressive -as it was profane, which is saying much.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, blow 'is hugly face!" he cried, in righteous -indignation. "Hall that fuss hand then 'ands 'em -back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Hi wishes Hi 'ad a knowed it. Babble's tumble -wouldn't 'ave been a circumstance to the 'eader that -little pot-bellied cove would 'ave tooken. Hi say, -Mr. Moore, will you call me 'Pride' after this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" asked Moore, more cheerfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because 'as 'ow Hi goes before a fall hand returns -hafter it. Dabble will swear to that, sir. Aw, don't let -a measly publishing cove cast you down, sir. W'y hall -we 'as got to do is to cut McDermot dead when we -meets 'im on Pall Mall. That 'll ruin 'im socially."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a plucky little devil, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir," replied the boy, sagely. "You see, Hi -hain't got no gal to worry me, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my lad," said Moore, nodding his head with a -sigh, "that makes a world of difference after all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is some one hat the door, sir," said Buster. -"Shall Hi tell 'im you're hout?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, lad, I 'll be glad of company. Bid him enter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster obediently opened the door and a tall gentleman, -magnificently dressed, stepped over the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is this the residence of Mr. Thomas Moore?" he -asked, removing his hat politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the sound of the new-comer's voice Moore started -to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is, sir," he answered, advancing a step or two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, how are you, Mr. Moore? You remember me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord Brooking; Sir Percival's friend," said Moore -coldly. "I 've not forgotten you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he paid no attention to his lordship's -outstretched hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brooking seemed a trifle disconcerted at the coolness -of his reception, but, recovering himself, he continued -winningly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wrong me, sir. My intimacy with the gentleman -you named has declined to a mere acquaintance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are to be congratulated, Lord Brooking," -replied Moore more cordially. "Won't you sit down?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as the young nobleman was relieved of his -cloak and hat by Buster, the poet went on:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believed your lordship to be abroad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my custom to pass six months yearly upon the -Continent," answered Brooking, settling back at his -ease in the old arm-chair to which his host had waved -him. "To this, doubtless, your impression is due. As -it is, I only returned from there two days ago, so you -see, Mr. Moore, you are one of the first of my friends -to receive a call from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am honored," replied Moore, politely, sitting -down on the other side of the fireplace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt you are wondering what has brought -me to see you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't deny a slight curiosity, my lord," admitted -Moore, smiling back at the young nobleman, whose -charming manner was winning his confidence in spite -of his previous suspicions.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I 'll proceed to enlighten you without further -delay, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If your lordship will be so good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In Ireland a year ago Sir Percival offered little -Mistress Dyke a position at Drury Lane Theatre."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He did, curse him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Knowing the gentleman as I do, I promised my -better self that, if the young lady did come to London -as the protégée of Lovelace, I would fetch you here as -mine, so, if the time came when she would require a -strong arm and a loving heart to defend her happiness, -she need not go far to find it. That very day I left -Ireland and have since been abroad. Two days ago -I returned from Paris and found to my surprise that -Mistress Dyke </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> acting at Drury Lane. Surely, you -did not allow this willingly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, sir. I had nothing to say about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean she preferred Lovelace's advice to -yours, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We quarrelled, sir, and from that day--it was -the one on which you left the old country, my -lord--she has had no good word for me. Circumstances -placed me in an unfavorable light, and, believing me -faithless, she turned a deaf ear to my warnings. Her -father was daft to come to London, and in her anger -she consented to make the venture."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you followed her here, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir, I made a pretence of studying law in the -Middle Temple, but it was wretched work which I -soon abandoned. Since then I 've been scribbling for -a living and not achieving much success at it, though -I have done my best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Brooking, reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did Bessie give you my address?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not she," replied his lordship. "I 've not had the -pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with Mistress -Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She and her father go everywhere," said Moore, -proudly. "Thanks to Sir Percival's influence, they -have been received by society with open arms. The -old gentleman's poems sell, and Bessie is more than -ordinarily successful at Drury Lane."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not surprised at the young lady's success," -observed the young nobleman. "That of her father -in the world of letters would have seemed to me -problematical had I not your assurance of his prosperity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then if Bessie did not tell you where I lived, how -did you find me out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I lunched to-day at Mrs. FitzHerbert's. There I -saw a poem with your name and address attached."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore gave Buster a grateful glance which more -than repaid that young gentleman for his enterprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the way, Mr. Moore, the verses I spoke of were -charming. Mrs. FitzHerbert read them aloud to the -assembled company, who received them with every -mark of pleasure and appreciation. Mr. Sheridan was -particularly complimentary in his comments, while no -less harsh a critic than Mr. Brummell condescended -to express himself as delighted. Have you other -poems, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that, Lord Brooking?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you other poems?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore's laugh was not untinged with bitterness as -he opened the drawer in the table, lifting from it with -both hands a confused pile of manuscripts which he -dropped carelessly in front of his guest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A few, sir," he remarked grimly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But why are they not published?" demanded Lord -Brooking, scanning various poems through his -eyeglasses. "They seem of uniform excellence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are refused because I have no patron in the -world of fashion to accept the dedication. McDermot, -the great publisher, told me so himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" remarked his lordship, meditatively. "Hum!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, if your lordship would permit me?" began -Moore, eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll do better than that," interrupted Brooking. -"I 'll bring your work to the attention of the Prince -himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Prince?" cried Moore, dazzled at the mere idea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mr. Moore, the Prince. Wales, in spite of his -many faults, is a curst good fellow, and quite a judge -of poetry. He shall read specimens of your skill. -Fortunately Mrs. FitzHerbert, who still enjoys his -Highness's favor, is mightily at odds with Sir Percival. -Moreover, she was greatly pleased with the Rose poem -you favored her with. I 'll get her to exert her -influence with Wales. Egad, Mr. Moore, we 'll do our -best for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I thank you?" faltered Moore, hope -welling up in his heart once more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brooking rose from his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can repay me easily," he answered, placing -his hand upon his protégé's shoulder. "Marry sweet -Mistress Bessie and then keep her from Sir Percival. -The happiness your wedded life should bring you both -will amply reward me for any effort I may make in -your behalf. If the Prince permits me to dedicate -your book to him the publishers will fight for the -privilege of printing it and your fortune is made, Tom -Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we have quarrelled," said Moore, hopelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Capital!" cried his lordship. "No woman tiffs -with a man to whom she is indifferent. It is the sex's -sweet perversity. Then, again, Tom Moore famous, -for you 'll never be more than 'Tom' if success is -yours--the public loves a familiar diminutive, -sir--will be a different Moore from Thomas Moore -unknown."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, sir, you put new courage in my heart," said -Moore, catching the young nobleman's infectious -enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll put money in your purse, which is even better, -lad," replied Brooking, plunging his hand in his pocket, -from which he drew it forth filled with coins of various -denominations. "Write me a sonnet to send to my -lady love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll do it gladly," said Moore, seating himself at -the table and with feverish haste drawing towards him -pen and paper. "Is the lady blonde or brunette?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Brooking hesitated for a moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curst if I know," thought he, "since I have never -laid eyes on her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he continued, addressing Moore:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brunette, dark hair and blue eyes, and a devilishly -sweet and mischievous mouth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, sir," replied Moore, dipping his pen -in the ink.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One second, Mr. Moore. Here are five sovereigns -in advance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lordship dropped the coins upon the table as -Moore looked up at him, gratitude dumbing his tongue -for the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Finish the verses at your leisure," continued -Brooking. "I am in no hurry for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God bless you, sir," stammered Moore, finding -speech at last. "You have brought new life and -hope to me this day. I 'll never forget your generosity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut," said his lordship, hastily. "Never mind -thanking me. If all goes well you are to get married -and be happy if you wish to please me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I promise I 'll do my best," replied the poet, -smiling more cheerfully than in days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My hat and cloak, boy," said Brooking. "I 'll off -to Carlton House, where I am expected by Wales even now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can hardly believe I am the same man, my lord," -said Moore. "You have changed me completely, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll hear from me soon, Tom," said Brooking, -hat in hand, as he crossed to the door. "Be of good -cheer, my lad, for if Wales will have none of it, I 'll -accept the dedication, and I flatter myself that will be -enough to insure publication for you. Good-bye for -the present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-bye, my lord," answered Moore, closing the -door behind his benefactor with almost reverential care.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Moore," said Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, my lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was that Lord Brooking?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Buster. Why do you ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coz Hi thought as 'ow he was a bloomin' hangel," -said Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, lad, I 'm not sure that you are not right," -answered Moore, and there was no laughter in his voice.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sir-percival-lovelace-is-favored-by-fortune"><em class="italics large">Chapter Fourteen</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">SIR PERCIVAL LOVELACE IS FAVORED BY FORTUNE</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Moore lost no time before setting out to -make a little payment on account to all of -his creditors residing in the neighborhood, -so Buster, left to his own devices, extended a -broomstick towards Lord Castlereagh in a manner tempting -in the extreme. Being of a congenial and obliging -disposition, the bulldog secured a firm grip and then -endeavored to wrest it from his master's grasp. A -rough and tumble tug-of-war ensued, the finish being -an aerial performance by Lord Castlereagh, who made -a flying trip around Buster as that worthy youth, -exerting his muscle to the utmost, swung stick, dog and -all in a circle clear of the floor. Having exhausted -himself without accomplishing the release of the stick -from the bulldog's jaws, Buster had a brilliant -inspiration and outraged precedent by washing his face -and hands, it being his custom to perform ablutions -only on arising in the morning unless detected and -otherwise admonished by his master. Before he had -finished drying himself a warning growl from his -four-legged playfellow gave notice that some one was -approaching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster opened the door in answer to a loud knock -and found himself confronted by two elegantly attired -gentlemen, who willingly entered the room in response -to his hospitable greeting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hullo," said Sir Percival, coolly eying Buster -through his glass with an amused smile. "Who are you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster was distinctly pleased with the baronet. -Sir Percival's stalwart form was clad in the latest -fashion, which set off his handsome person to great -advantage, but in spite of his distinguished appearance, -his manner in addressing the boy was so genuinely -affable and good-natured that it placed them -in sympathy at once. Where Buster liked he was -prone to admire eventually; when he both liked and -admired at first sight he became like clay in the potter's -hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who am Hi, sir?" repeated he, "Why Hi 'me the -Reverend Doctor Buster of Hall Souls's Chapel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" observed Sir Percival. "Delighted to -make your acquaintance, Doctor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We want none of your slack," growled the -baronet's companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut!" said Sir Percival, "let the boy have his joke. -Is Mr. Moore at home?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir," replied Buster, giving a hard look at -Farrell, for Sir Percival's companion was none other. -"'Ee 's never 'ome at such times, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What times?" demanded Farrell, gruffly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Times wen 'ee is hout," replied the boy, delighted -at having entrapped the object of his dislike, for he -was as much displeased with the young man as he -was favorably impressed with his more amiable -companion. Sir Percival laughed gently at his -companion's discomfiture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am an old friend of Mr. Moore," he said to -Buster. "May I wait till he returns?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir," replied Buster. "You can make yourself -comfortibble in my habsence. I ham about to give his -lordship a breather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His lordship?" echoed Sir Percival. "May I ask -whom you so designate?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certingly. Come 'ere, Pupsy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bulldog gambolled across the room to the boy, -and standing up on his hind legs playfully attempted -to bite off one of his trouser buttons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sich manners, hand hin front o' comp'ny too," said -Buster, chidingly. "Down, sir. Hallow me to -hintroduce Lord Castlereagh, the champeen fighter of the -neighborhood. Say 'ow-dy-do, Pupsy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Castlereagh obediently threw up his great head -and barked cheerfully in welcome. This done, he sat -down on his haunches and extended his paw, which the -baronet shook heartily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who named the dog?" demanded Sir Percival, -helping himself to a seat on the stool nearest him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hasked Mr. Moore to suggest a suitable cognomy, -hand that's wot 'ee chose. 'Ee hallows has 'ow hit -was wonderously happropriate, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I quite agree with your master," replied the -baronet. "You said you were going out. Pray do not let -me detain you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hall right, sir," said Buster, taking his cap from -its nail behind the door. "Mr. Moore will return -from 'is drive in 'Yde Park in 'arf an hour. Hi won't -be very long. Come hon, Pupsy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Opening the door he hurried along the hall and -down the stairs with Lord Castlereagh yelping delightedly -in headlong pursuit as Sir Percival rose from his -seat and strolled carelessly around the attic, humming -softly to himself as he prosecuted his investigation. -Meanwhile Farrell, seated in Moore's arm-chair, -preserved a gloomy silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So," said the baronet, disdainfully, "this is the -abode of genius? Upon my word, as bare and -unattractive a kennel as I have ever explored."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You dragged me here against my will, Sir Percival," -responded Farrell, uneasily. "When you have -satisfied your curiosity let us go. I have no wish to -encounter Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut," said Sir Percival, reprovingly, "there is no -necessity for our haste, we saw the worthy gentleman -leave here, Terence. Walking at the rate at which he -started he must be half way to Pall Mall by this time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If he does not turn back," objected Farrell. "You -can't be sure how long he intended to continue in that -direction, Sir Percival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That can hardly be considered as a disadvantage," -responded the baronet, airily, "since it adds a pleasant -tinge of risk to our adventure which otherwise could -not be termed hazardous, though what difference -discovery would make I really fail to see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is all very well for you," said Farrell, crossly, -"but I want no more such beatings as he gave me in -Ireland. I was in bed a week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were suitably recompensed for your discomfort, -Terence. Thanks to you, Bessie and her father -accepted my proposition to come to London, turning -a deaf ear to the impassioned explanations of the -worthy but misguided Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I 'm smart enough to accomplish the wishes -of other people," replied Farrell, bitterly, "but I -cannot seem to materially advance my own fortunes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet, I see little reason for your dissatisfaction. -Finding myself in need of such a clever brain in -London I brought you here ostensibly to read law. You -have the benefit of my popularity in the social world. -Surely for a young and unknown Irishman to be -comparatively intimate with the Prince's own set is an -honor? You don't know when you are well off, my -young misanthrope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is as it may be," said Farrell, not at all -impressed by his patron's eulogy of the advantage -afforded him by his present situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Sir Percival knowingly, "think what -an education for a young and ambitious beau a close -and personal study of George Brummell must of -necessity be. By the way he spoke very highly of you at -Sam Rogers's house only yesternight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did he?" asked Farrell, eagerly. "May I ask -you to repeat his words, Sir Percival?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure, my boy," said the elder man, genially. -"Let me see. If I recollect correctly, his exact words -were, 'Young Farrell possesses great sartorial -possibilities now in a state of gradual but progressive -development, his innate refinement of taste being at the -present time slightly obscured and handicapped by a -provincial anarchism of selection due to youth's -inevitable cheerfulness in the choice of color, and rather -crude harmonizing of shade.' There is a tribute for -you, Terence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell flushed with pleasure. Secretly ambitious -to outshine even the great leader of fashion himself, he -found his aspirations seriously interfered with by the -limited income allowed him by his patron. It must not -be thought, however, that Sir Percival was niggardly -in his treatment of Farrell. In truth he was far more -generous than ninety-nine men out of a hundred would -have been under the same circumstances, but it could -hardly be expected that the allowance given even by -a free-handed patron to a clever protégé would suffice -to dethrone such an all-powerful monarch of society -as at this time was George Brummell, familiarly -known in the circle he graced as the Beau. Nevertheless -the handsome face and tasteful costumes of the -young Irishman had begun to attract some little -attention in London society, a circumstance that filled his -heart with more than ordinary satisfaction, for Farrell -was clear-headed enough to see that the vogue of -Brummell, who was almost as renowned for wit and -impertinent frankness as for dress, even in his -association with Royalty itself, must sooner or later come to -an end when by some characteristically insolent jest -he should lose the favor of the Prince of Wales, now -his close friend and patron. Some years later this -very disaster apprehended by Farrell occurred, and -when the impoverished and heartbroken Brummell -was starving in a mean garret in Calais, it was the -brilliant young Irishman, his pretensions now -supported by the vast wealth of the ugly old widow whom -he had meanwhile married, who reigned as first fop -and dandy of the United Kingdom, until the summer -Sunday morning came on which he went bravely to his -death for slapping the face of Sir Dudley Brilbanke, -who had made a slighting remark on beaus in general -and Brummell in particular, which the successor to the -unfortunate man then in exile felt bound to resent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the meantime Sir Percival had been poking about -on the table which was still littered with the -manuscripts thrown upon it during Moore's interview with -Lord Brooking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Bessie!" murmured the baronet in an amused -tone. "Our rhymer wastes a vast number of sheets -in that young lady's name,--'The Meeting of the -Waters,' 'She is Far from the Land,' 'Oft in the Stilly -Night,' 'Love's Young Dream.' Will these ever see -print, I wonder?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On that I 'll stake my life, Sir Percival," responded -Farrell. "Though I dislike Tom Moore with all my -heart, I know he is a genius in his line. If he will only -keep his courage in the face of disappointment there -is no man who will achieve more success in the writing -of verses, I feel certain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me," said Sir Percival, taking snuff, "if such -is really the truth, I 'll have to interest myself in his -affairs again. Hullo, what is this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, the baronet drew from the heap of -manuscripts the verses satirizing the Prince of Wales -written and left in Moore's keeping by Mr. Dyke, -which the poet had accidentally taken from the drawer -when he flung his armful of rejected poems on the -table before Lord Brooking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival scanned the verses, his dubious -expression changing to one of great delight as he read -on, until as he finished he laughed aloud.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it pleases you, Sir Percival?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad, Terence, I 've happened on a treasure. A -satire on the Prince. Gad, he cooks Wales to a cinder. -Listen, Terence.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'THE BRAIN OF ROYALTY.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span>"It is of scraps and fragments built,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Borrowed alike from Fools and Wits,--</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>His mind is like a patchwork quilt</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Made up of motley, cast-off bits.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Poor Prince! And how else could it be,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>His notions all at random caught,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>His mind a mental fricassee</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Made up of odds and ends of thought.'</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"And so on for several more verses. The Regent -has n't had such a toasting in many a day. I swear -I 'll have this published immediately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Farrell, "and why, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'T will ruin Moore," replied the baronet, regarding -the other in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell surveyed the attic with a contemptuous stare -before answering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely, Sir Percival, this shabby hole is not -indicative of either success or affluence," said he slowly. -"One does not dig into the earth to crush a worm -under foot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You speak in riddles, Terence," observed Sir -Percival, pleasantly puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll make my meaning plain, sir. Tom Moore -does not annoy you now. Wait till he succeeds, if he -ever does so, before you publish that poem. The time -to spoil his career is when he has accomplished -something and is about to climb higher. He is starving -here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stab me, if you are not right, Terence," exclaimed -the baronet, approvingly. "I will keep this bit of -humor in reserve, and you shall be witness that I found -it fresh from Moore's pen upon his table."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Willingly," said Farrell. "Meanwhile, continue -your pursuit of Mistress Dyke. Are you making -progress there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As yet I 've gained no ground at all so far as I -can see," replied Sir Percival in a discontented tone. -"True, I have apparently won her trust and friendship, -but that is because my behavior has been above -criticism. No young curate could be more circumspect -and exemplary than I have been. To tell the truth, -Terence, I am cursed weary of being respectable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can understand how irksome such restraint must -be to you, Sir Percival," said Farrell, carelessly, "but -you must play your own hand. I have helped you all -I can in the securing of cards. My trick in the -school-house ruined Moore in the girl's estimation, thus -clearing the way for your approach."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite so," observed Sir Percival, cordially, "and -since he is powerless to thwart me I can take my own -time about the chase."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speaking of time, Sir Percival," said Farrell, -rising to his feet, "we can't linger here much longer. -Come, let us go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, Terence," said the baronet, disapprovingly, -"how nervous you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Moore opened the door and, striding -into the room, gave an exclamation of surprise as he -recognized his visitors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Moore, as I live," said Sir Percival, gently. -"Sir, we have been waiting for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you want here, Sir Percival?" demanded -Moore, gruffly, glaring at Farrell, who was manifestly -ill at ease.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought I 'd look you up for old times' sake," -replied the baronet, a sneer breaking through his smile -for once. "Mr. Farrell came at my request."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore stepped to the door and opened it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then he will leave at mine," he said, sharply. -"Get along, Terence, before I do you an injury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell did not hesitate. Waving his hat in farewell -to Sir Percival, he walked quickly out of the attic and -started downstairs as Moore slammed the door loudly -after him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival laughed good naturedly, and rose to his -feet as Moore returned from the doorway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I called, Mr. Moore, to say that it has reached my -ears that you are in want. Is this true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would want a long time before I would ask -you for anything but your absence," replied Moore, -hotly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you desire to return to Ireland, I will be pleased -to pay your way," continued the baronet, suavely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will go to the devil I will be pleased to assist -in your departure, Sir Percival. Hurry, or I may do -it now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are not polite, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My politeness would be wasted upon such as you," -answered Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a point that might be argued," observed -Sir Percival in his most genial manner. "Am I to -regard your answer as final, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite final. Now be so kind as to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you desire it, with pleasure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore opened the door that Sir Percival might pass -out and found himself face to face with Bessie Dyke, -who had paused on the threshold preparatory to -knocking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Bessie?" he stammered, for the moment -completely confused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie was not at all embarrassed until, on entering, -her eye fell on Sir Percival. Then she blushed slightly, -but after a momentary hesitation turned to Moore and -said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought my father was here, or I should not have -ventured up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was here a while ago and I expect him to -return any moment," answered Moore, eagerly taking -his cue from Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A note came to the house for him marked 'Immediate,'" -continued the girl, ribbing adroitly, "so I -thought best to follow him here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you wait for him?" asked Moore, pushing -forward the arm-chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fancy," said Sir Percival, "I fancy Mistress -Dyke will not care to remain here since her father is -absent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?" demanded Moore, angrily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is scarcely the place nor the company for a -lady to remain in," replied the baronet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you go, Sir Percival," said Moore, more -calmly, "the only objectionable feature will be removed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival did not deign to reply to this rudeness, -but, stepping towards the girl, extended his arm in -mute invitation. Mistress Dyke, however, had plans -of her own, and was not to be thus led away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you, Sir Percival," said she, "but I shall -wait for my father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival raised his eyebrows disapprovingly, but -was too wise to insist further, so took his departure -with a courtly bow to the girl, and a sneering smile -for Moore, who, quite unruffled, lighted an extra pair -of candles in honor of his visitor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the sound of the baronet's steps died away in the -hall Bessie gave a sigh of relief and sank down in the -chair. Moore hesitated, then taking courage came to -her side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Bessie," he said, softly. "I 've been starving -for a sight of you. It is like the old times to see you -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said the girl in a chilly tone, "the old times -are passed and done with. Nothing is as it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are wrong, Bessie," said Moore, gently. "My -heart is the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie rose from the chair and drew her shawl closer -about her shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it belongs to Winnie Farrell," she said in a -determined tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore winced as though he had received a blow. -Nevertheless his voice was clear and unfaltering as -he answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Winnie Farrell is married to the man of her choice. -Surely there is no need to throw her name in my face -when I tell you that I love you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You told Winnie the same thing," said Bessie, coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore gave an exclamation of pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've explained that misunderstanding a score of -times," he said, bitterly. "They tricked me that you -might think me unworthy of your trust and so be -persuaded to come to London. Like a fool I walked -into the trap and you believed me faithless. On my -honor, you wronged me, dearest. I 've loved but you -Bessie; you are all in all to me, mavourneen. Won't -you--can't you--believe me?"</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-106"> -<span id="you-are-all-in-all-to-me-mavourneen"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""You are all in all to me, mavourneen."" src="images/img-178.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"You are all in all to me, mavourneen."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie's lips trembled as she averted her face, -but her voice showed no signs of relenting as she -answered:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whether you love me or not matters very little to -me, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The applause at Drury Lane has changed you, -Bessie. You are like all the others; one glimpse of the -footlights and the rest of the world may go hang."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense!" said the girl. "I don't care a snap -of my fingers for the theatre. I was never intended -to be an actress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," assented the poet, "you were meant to -be Mrs. Moore, darling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you are quite mistaken, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How cold you are to me," cried Moore in despair. -"Is it because--? No, I can't believe </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>. Bessie, -you don't care for Sir Percival?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Mr. Moore, I cannot discuss my private -affairs with you," said Bessie in a voice so cold and -proud that Moore abandoned all hope of moving her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," he asked defiantly, "why have you come here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie turned to him with a little sobbing sigh of -relief. She had played her part well and kept up the -artifice to the last moment required by the object -which she had intended to accomplish, but the task -had been more difficult than she had expected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" she cried, her voice thrilling with love and -happiness. "To tell you that you need battle with -poverty no longer, Tom Moore. You have won, Tom, -you have won. Fame, fortune--all that you have -dreamed of and fought for so long--so patiently and -courageously--shall be yours. I bring you a message -from the Prince of Wales."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From the Prince?" gasped Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Tom. He accepts the dedication of your book. -Lord Brooking sent me to tell you the news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean it, Bessie?" cried the half-frantic poet, -as the door was sent slamming back by the entrance -of Lord Brooking with Buster and the bulldog close -at his heels.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord Brooking, is it true?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Prince declares himself honored by the -dedication," replied his lordship triumphantly. -"McDermot publishes your book in a week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore gave a choking sob of joy as he groped his -way toward his benefactor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At last!" he whispered, "at last!" and buried his -face on his lordship's sturdy shoulder, his eyes full of -glad tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There, there, Tom," said the young nobleman. -"It is quite true. Your luck has finally changed. -There shall be no more striving and starving for you, -my good lad. Your fortune is made."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," cried Moore, turning to where Bessie stood, -her hands tightly clasped and her face radiant with -gladness as she watched her lover's realization of the -truth. "You hear, Bessie? It's success, girl, it's -fortune and renown. Aye, fortune, Bessie. </span><em class="italics">Now</em><span> you -will marry me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl turned white with anger and shame. Moore -had made a fatal choice of the words with which he -re-declared his love, never thinking his meaning could -be misunderstood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," said Lord Brooking, warningly, but Bessie -interrupted him before he could put things right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How dare you?" she cried, her cheeks suddenly -flaming as she faced the luckless poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie?" cried Moore appealingly, seeing his error -too late.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How dare you?" she repeated, her voice quivering -as she stamped her foot in her anger. "Fortune! You -hurl the word in my face as though I were to be bought -by wealth. Do you think because prosperity has come -I must of necessity change my answer? You believe -you could bribe me to say 'Yes' with your success. -Oh, how could you, Tom Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Bessie," cried the poet, "you know I did -not think that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, sir," she answered, moving towards the -door with downcast eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg of you to listen to me, Bessie. You know--you -must know--I could not think what you fear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me go, sir. Lord Brooking, I appeal to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His lordship touched Moore on the shoulder as the -poet sought to prevent the departure of the enraged -girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some other time, Tom. Words can do no good -now," he said, softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore withdrew his hand from Bessie's arm and she -opened the door as he stepped back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you nothing to say to me?" he murmured, -hoarsely, as she turned on the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she answered. "I hate you, I hate you," -and closed the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment Moore stood staring at the spot where -she had paused; then he turned with an oath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You heard that, Lord Brooking?" he cried bitterly. -"You saw that? That ends it all. I 'm through with -the old dream forever. I 'll go back to Ireland. Back -to the green fields and rippling brooks. I 'm through -with London. I 've starved here. It has broken my -heart and I hate it. In Ireland I will be with my -friends--my own people. There I will forget her. -I will learn to hate her. Aye, to hate her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he threw himself heavily into his arm-chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Brooking stepped quickly forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right, Moore," said he. "Tear her from -your heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," cried the poet, desperately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There are other women much more fair than she. -Go back to Ireland and forget her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Leave her to Sir Percival Lovelace!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore started to his feet with a cry of protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I 'm damned if I do, Lord Brooking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said his lordship, greatly relieved. "I -thought you would change your mind."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sets-forth-certain-explanations"><span class="large">Book Three</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line noindent"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Oh! what was love made for, if it's not the same</em></div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">Thro' joy and thro' torment, thro' glory and shame?</em></div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,</em></div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art.</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics large">Chapter Fifteen</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">SETS FORTH CERTAIN EXPLANATIONS</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Lord Brooking spoke truly when he -declared that the dedication of Moore's volume -of poems accepted by the Prince would bring -fame and prosperity to the young Irishman, who had -toiled with such enthusiasm and unwavering diligence -in paraphrasing and adapting the Odes of Anacreon. -Arrayed and ornamented by his brilliant fancy, owing -as much to their translator as to Anacreon himself, -they were given to the world and received with such -choruses of commendation from both the public and -the critics that the reputation of Thomas Moore was -firmly established by his first book. Society delighted -itself by showing favor to the author it had hitherto -neglected. Moore became a stranger to privation and -occupied the best suite in the dwelling presided over -by Mrs. Malone, who now was numbered in the ranks -of his greatest admirers. In fact the old woman -seemed to take a personal pride in the social success -of her lodger, and followed with an enthusiasm worthy -of a better cause his course in the upper world as -traced by the papers in their reports of the diversions -of the aristocracy. Moore remained quite unchanged -by his sudden good fortune. Never even in his darkest -hour had he doubted that he deserved success, and, -now that it had come, he accepted it as his just -earnings and valued it as nothing more, though jubilant -that his merits had at last been recognized. His -reception by the world of society was more than -flattering. Where he was invited first because he was the -poetic lion of the season he was asked again on account -of his own charming personality. Moore the poet -opened the door of the drawing-room for Moore the -society man, who was forthwith made an honored and -much-sought guest. He sang his own songs in a -melting baritone that struck a responsive chord in -the hearts of young and old alike. His ballads were -the most popular of the day. Romantic swains and -sentimental maidens warbled them on every possible -occasion; but none equalled in feeling and grace the -manner in which they were rendered by the hitherto -unknown youth who had penned them. The grand -dames were often rivals in their attempts to secure the -poet's presence at their </span><em class="italics">musicales</em><span> and receptions. The -young bucks sought him as guest at their late suppers, -while the publishers bid against one another for the -privilege of printing his next book, as, in spite of his -gadding about from function to function, Moore -contrived to find time to continue his literary labors. Lord -Moira, thanks to the glowing representations of his -nephew, made much of the poet, and through his -influence Moore became acquainted with certain of the -great gentlemen of the time who had but few moments -to waste on social amenities, and were therefore far -more exclusive than the better-known figures in the gay -world drawing its guiding inspiration from Carlton -House. Though Moore did not lose his head as a -result of the flattery and admiration now showered -upon him, it would have been strange indeed if he had -not secretly exulted over the triumph he had won. -His almost juvenile delight was frankly acknowledged -by him in the long and loving letters he wrote to the -members of his own family, who in distant Dublin -gloried in the London victory of the firstborn. It was -no odd or unusual thing for the poet to be seen at three -or four fashionable gatherings in one evening. His -presentation to the Prince of Wales, whose -condescension had made certain the success of the Odes, -followed soon after the publication of the book, and -prince and poet were equally charmed, each with the -other. Moore seized upon this meeting as an -opportunity to tender to his Highness the thanks previously -conveyed for him by Lord Brooking. To his great -delight, Wales graciously declared that he considered -himself honored by the dedication of the volume, and -expressed a hope that they might have the opportunity -of enjoying each other's society on many occasions in -the near future. Moore came away that evening -belonging wholly to the Regent, for, when that noble -gentleman willed it so, no one could be more charming, -and as his Highness was distinctly taken with the -clever and modest young poet, he saw fit to be more -than usually condescending and agreeable. He had -chatted genially with Moore on literary topics of -present interest, complimented him on the grace and -rippling beauty of his translation of the Odes, and warmly -applauded the young Irishman's singing of several -of his own ballads. Taking all things into consideration, -Moore had every reason except one to be content -with his present lot. That the single disturbing -element in his existence was the misunderstanding with -Bessie Dyke need scarcely be asserted. They met -frequently in society, for, thanks to the influence of Sir -Percival, the doors which Moore had pried apart by -mighty effort with his pen, had opened in easy -welcome to the beautiful young actress, who, though -coldly pleasant in her demeanor, made no attempt to -conceal her desire to avoid Moore when the opportunity -offered. As he, hurt and hopeless, made but little -effort to force his company upon her, they might have -been comparative strangers for all the evidence of -mutual interest they gave at the various social -gatherings when they chanced to meet, so, though several -months had elapsed since Moore emerged from -obscurity, no progress had been made in his love affair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival Lovelace had contemplated his rival's -sudden rise to fame with interest, not unmixed with -cynical amusement, his humorous sensibilities being -rarely tickled at his own discomfiture, for this pleasant -gentleman was philosopher enough to extract cause for -merriment from his own disappointments and -miscalculations. But the real reason for the toleration -exhibited by the baronet was the confidence he felt -that he had in his possession a weapon which, when -he chose to wield it, would not fail to utterly destroy -Moore in the estimation and good graces of the -Regent, for Sir Percival felt certain that the loss of royal -favor would result in the social ruin of his rival. As -he thought he had ascertained by various means that -there was comparatively little likelihood of the -differences between Bessie and her lover being patched up, -Sir Percival had held back the blow which he intended -should completely demolish the prosperity of the poet, -deciding to allow Moore to climb even higher on the -ladder of fortune before knocking it from beneath his -feet, that a greater fall might follow. But meanwhile -the baronet had not been idle in other directions. Like -many other gentlemen of the quill, Robin Dyke -imagined that he was possessed of much ability in affairs -of finance, and as numerous opportunities were ever at -hand for indulgence in such hazards as are afforded -by stock speculation to the unwary, he succeeded in -quickly and secretly losing all the money he made over -and above the funds necessary to maintain the modest -little home tenanted by himself and daughter. After -much mental debating he mentioned his indiscretion -to his patron, who, scenting immediately a chance to -secure a much-desired hold upon the foolish old -gentleman, at his own suggestion loaned Dyke three hundred -pounds, taking notes at ninety days' sight in exchange -for the sum, stipulating that the matter should be kept -from Bessie. Dyke, naturally reluctant to admit the -previous ill-success of his investments to his daughter, -readily consented to accept this condition, and without -more ado proceeded to send good money after bad by -repeating his financial mistakes. This time he -hesitated very little before acquainting Sir Percival with -his lack of success, and found no difficulty in securing -a further loan of another three hundred pounds, the -investment of which resulted in even more brilliant -disaster than before. Sanguine ever of ultimate -success which should retrieve the losses already incurred, -the worthy but foolish old rhymer increased his -indebtedness to Sir Percival until he owed him in all -one thousand pounds without Bessie having even a -suspicion of the true state of affairs. Time passed -and the notes matured, but Dyke, having no means -of settling, frankly announced the fact to his patron -and received reassuring smiles in return, a reply which -fully contented him. The baronet affected to be quite -indifferent as to the length of the period he might -have to wait for his money, and told Dyke to take -his own time in repaying him. This the old gentleman -proceeded to do and thus made possible the events -to be described in succeeding chapters.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-separates-a-young-lady-from-her-skirt"><em class="italics large">Chapter Sixteen</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE SEPARATES A YOUNG LADY FROM HER SKIRT</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It was at the splendid mansion of Lady Donegal -that Moore first met Mr. Sheridan. Introduced -to the famous wit by no less a person than -George Brummell himself, Moore found not -unworthily bestowed the reverence he had felt from his -boyhood for the brilliant but erratic Irishman whose -previous success in the fashionable world of London had -served to render less difficult the progress of his -younger countryman when once begun, and on this -evening was laid the foundation of the friendship -destined to endure until the melancholy end of the -elder genius. Mr. Walter Scott, as yet famed only for -his verse romances, for this was some years before the -fiery genius of Lord Byron, now a fat youth at Eton, -drove the genial Scotchman from the lyric field into -the world of prose where he has reigned supreme even -to this day, was another notable with whom Moore -became immediately and delightfully intimate. The -sturdy intellect of Scott, who infused his vigorous -personality into all that flowed so readily from his -pen, was delighted and amazed at the grace and beauty -of the Irishman's more delicate imagery, while the -refined and subtler fancy of the younger poet was -filled with wonder by the other's stirring, rakehelly -border ballads. Scott was the sturdy, gnarled, and -defiant oak in the literary forest; Moore the tender, -clinging ivy, enfolding and beautifying all that he -touched and lingered on. No wonder, then, that their -admiration should be reciprocal. The intimate crony -of these brilliant men, the hostess herself was a woman -of refined taste and much personal charm. In her -Moore found a true and admiring friend, and -whenever he, for business or pleasure, was compelled to -absent himself from London, a delightful correspondence -was kept up, as pleasing to the great lady of -fashion as to the poet, for Moore, ever a favorite -among men, was not less popular with the opposite -sex, no matter what their rank in the world might be.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>While he had good reason to treasure the friendship -of Lady Donegal for the sake of the brilliant -acquaintances whom he met at her mansion for the first time, -even a more tender and pleasing opportunity for -gratitude was to be afforded him, for here it was that -transpired the series of incidents which resulted finally in -his reconciliation with Bessie Dyke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the night in question Moore arrived in company -with Sheridan and Brummell, the two Irishmen having -spied the Beau in a cab driving to the reception at -Lady Donegal's as they were making their way toward -the same destination on foot. They hailed the vehicle, -and when the driver had pulled up in obedience to a -signal somewhat unwillingly given by Brummell, -climbed in with hardly as much as a beg your leave, -making themselves quite comfortable in spite of the -remonstrances of the crowded and berumpled dandy, -the three thus reaching her ladyship's great mansion -together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore paid his respects to his hostess, then, after -a brief session in the card-room with Mr. Sheridan, -which resulted in the enrichment of the elder Celt to -the extent of two guineas, made his way to a room -usually little frequented by the less intimate company, -intending to give definite shape in black and white to -a new song as yet unwritten, the garbled and -uncompleted verses of which had been running and jumping -in his head all day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Much to his surprise, Moore found the writing desk -in use, the young lady who was busy scribbling being -no other than Bessie Dyke. His first impulse was to -make a quiet exit, trusting to his noiselessness to effect -escape undiscovered, but reflecting that, as hitherto -he had not had so excellent an opportunity for an -uninterrupted conversation, he would be foolish to -allow such a chance for attempting to right himself -in her estimation to go unutilized, he thought better -of it, and so remained, announcing his presence by a -polite little cough, highly suggestive of a timidity but -slightly feigned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie looked up from her writing, then continued -her occupation until she had completed her task.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I interrupting you, Mistress Dyke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does it look as though you were, Mr. Moore?" -she asked, tartly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not exactly," he admitted, not at all encouraged -by her manner; "but appearances are deceiving, you -know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I usually accept them as conclusive," said she, -folding the sheet of paper which she had just finished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you do," said Moore, plaintively. "It is -a bad habit to get into."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt you speak as an authority on the subject, -Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On bad habits? It is a bad habit I have of -speaking, you mean, Mistress Dyke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie nodded and turned toward him, resting one -chubby elbow upon the desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How London has changed you," sighed Moore, -regretfully, shaking his head as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" said the girl in a critical tone. "Surely -Mr. Thomas Moore, the friend of the Prince, is very -different from an unknown Irish rhymer?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rhymer?" repeated he. "I see you have been -talking with Sir Percival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To be sure," said Bessie. "So pleasant and witty -a gentleman is worthy of attention."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore sighed, and drawing a chair nearer to the -desk sat down and crossed his legs comfortably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here, Bessie," he said in his most persuasive -tones, "why should we quarrel in this foolish -fashion?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl laughed in rather an embarrassed way and -shifted a little on the chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If there is some other fashion in which you would -prefer to quarrel, perhaps it will be as acceptable as -this," she replied, lightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you never be serious?" demanded the poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I be serious, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To please me, if for no other reason."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, but why should I wish to please you, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is a woman's duty to make herself agreeable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to every impudent young versifier who thinks -to do her honor with his attention," replied Bessie, -smiling mischievously as she rebuked an unruly ringlet -with one dimpled hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I have no such idea," protested Moore, quite -baffled by her behavior.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No? Surely a young man who proposes marriage -to two different girls in one afternoon must think -very well of himself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore groaned, and gave the girl an appealing -glance that failed to accomplish anything.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Bessie, you have no heart!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you, </span><em class="italics">Mr. Moore</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have had it these two years, Bessie," he -replied, fervidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are quite mistaken, sir," quoth she, in tones -of conviction. "I would have no use for such a thing, -so would not accept it. You are thinking of some -other girl, </span><em class="italics">Mr. Moore</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am thinking of you, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you are wasting your time, </span><em class="italics">Mr. Moore</em><span>, and -I 'll thank you to say 'Mistress Dyke' in the future -when you address me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd like to say 'Mrs. Moore,'" replied the poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did you say, sir?" she demanded shortly, -an angry flash in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I said I 'd know more some day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is certainly to be hoped," said Bessie. "One -should be sanguine, no matter how futile such -cheerfulness may appear at the present time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far Moore had succeeded but poorly in breaking -down the girl's reserve, and though painfully -conscious of his failure, was nevertheless quite resolved -that the interview should not end with their present -attitudes unaltered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That she herself was not averse to listening to his -arguments this evening was already fully proved, for -she had made no effort to conclude their conversation, -and in fact seemed waiting with no little interest for -the next attempt he might make to restore himself to -his old-time place in her regard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Dyke," began Moore, hopefully, favoring -the girl with a look as languishing as love could make -it, "do you know what your mouth reminds me of -as you sit there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cherries?" suggested the girl promptly. "I believe -that is the usual comparison made by lame-witted -poets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed. Cherries conceal pits, and, as you no -doubt remember, Joseph fell into one. Now I am no -Joseph."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Bessie. "You are more like Charles -Surface, I fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind mixing the Drama with this conversation," -replied Moore, chidingly. "Forget for -a moment that you are an actress and remember you -are a woman, though no doubt it amounts to the same -thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what </span><em class="italics">does</em><span> my mouth remind you of, Mr. Moore?" -asked the girl, her curiosity getting the -better of her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of better things, Mistress Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed? What may they be, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Kisses," replied the poet lightly. "Ah, Bessie, -it is glad that I am that your mouth is no smaller."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why so?" she asked, suspiciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The smaller a woman's mouth, the greater the -temptation."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 90%" id="figure-107"> -<span id="the-smaller-a-woman-s-mouth-the-greater-the-temptation-said-moore"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'The smaller a woman's mouth, the greater the temptation,' said Moore."" src="images/img-196.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'The smaller a woman's mouth, the greater the temptation,' said Moore."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that what you call me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your mouth, my dear. Alluring is no name for -it. Temptation? Aye, that it is. Twin ribbons of -rosy temptation, or I 'm no Irishman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We won't dwell upon that subject," announced -Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were a honey-bee, I 'd live and die there," -said Moore, sincerely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where?" asked the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the subject, </span><em class="italics">if I were a honey-bee</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The subject is closed," she answered, compressing -her lips in anything but an amiable expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't like it so well that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How you like it does not interest me at all, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now I wish to speak to you seriously," said -Moore with becoming gravity. "Please give me your -attention."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am listening, sir," she answered, a trifle uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well, then. Don't you think women should -try to make men better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And to reduce their temptations?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, for instance, if you had a loaf of bread you -did not need and knew a man was starving for it, -would n't you rather give it to him than have him steal -it and be responsible for the sin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Bessie, "I would, undoubtedly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," exclaimed Moore, happily, "then if I tell -you I am starving for a kiss and feel afraid I may steal -it, you will give me one to put me out of temptation?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary, I shall request you to cease talking -nonsense, and suggest that you had better sit down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, if it pleases you," replied Moore, smiling -sweetly at the girl, as he resumed the chair from which -he had risen in his eagerness a moment before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Bessie, in a sarcastic tone, "you think -you are very clever, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why should I deny it? A good opinion is like -charity, and should begin at home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does any one else think you are clever, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," answered the poet cheerfully; "but -if they do not, it only makes my opinion more valuable -on account of its rarity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie was compelled to smile by this ingenious -argument, and sought refuge behind her fan; but -Moore, seeing he had scored, followed up his success -resolutely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you say," he continued, "I am clever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Bessie indignantly, "I did not say that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget," replied Moore, loftily, "that a man's -opinion of what a woman thinks is based largely on -what she does not say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You surprise me, Mr. Moore. Pray explain your -last assertion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, for example, I linger by your side and -you do not say 'Go away,' so my opinion is that you -wish me to remain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," exclaimed Bessie, shocked at the mere idea -of such a thing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not say 'I hate you,' so my opinion is that -you l--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Moore," cried Bessie, sternly, and the poet -diplomatically allowed her interruption to finish his -remark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Men are so foolish," observed the girl, knitting -her brows in sad contemplation of masculine idiocy. -"Really it is quite saddening when one considers their -stupidity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And yet," said Moore, "if we were not such fools -you wise little ladies would find it much more difficult -to work your wills."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not so sure of that," said Bessie, with a -sniff of superiority. "Men are great nuisances at best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Had you rather I went away?" asked Moore, in -his most honeyed accents. "Shall I go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must suit your own inclination, sir," replied -Bessie, too clever to be so entrapped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you?" he returned. "Can't you say 'I wish -you to stay'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not, Mistress Dyke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Girls do not say such things to men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore sighed regretfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish they did," said he. "Don't you like me at -all any more?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not very much," replied Bessie, with seeming -frankness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you smile at me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Bessie, determinedly, "I will not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke she turned away from the poet, but -he was not to be so easily defeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie," he whispered tenderly. "Smile at me, -dearest, smile just once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she answered firmly, "I will not. I don't -have to smile if I don't wish to, do I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But, alas for her determination, as she replied her -eyes met those of Moore; the twinkling merriment -which she read in her lover's gaze was too much for -her gravity, and so, in spite of her effort to keep a -sober face, she smiled back at him, and if it was not -the love-light that shone beneath her long lashes, it -was a something so entirely like it that a wiser man -than the young Irishman would have been pardonable -for making such a mistake.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," he said, lovingly triumphant, "what do you -think about it now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Bessie, in quick equivocation, "I -wanted to smile then. You are very ridiculous, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You make me so, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did I tell you about that name?" she -demanded, rising to her feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I forgot, Bessie," he replied defiantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that is the case you shall have the opportunity -to recall it to mind," said she, sternly, at the same -time moving towards the door. But her foot caught -in her skirt and as she recovered her balance with a -little cry there was an ominous sound of ripping -plainly heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There," cried Bessie in a rage, "I 've stepped on -a ruffle. It is all your fault, Tom Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course it is," replied the poet. "It always is, -as we both know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie, meanwhile, had investigated the extent of -the damage she had sustained. The lace ruffle on her -underskirt had been torn off for at least two feet. The -thing was utterly ruined, and, gritting her teeth as she -realized this, Bessie tried to tear off the loose piece. -This, however, proved to be beyond her strength, so, -abandoning the attempt with an exclamation of rage, -she stamped her foot in anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me help you," said Moore politely. "No -doubt, I can break the plaguey thing, Mistress Dyke."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-108"> -<span id="i-can-break-the-plaguey-thing-mistress-dyke"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""I can break the plaguey thing, Mistress Dyke." src="images/img-200.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"I can break the plaguey thing, Mistress Dyke.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are the cause of all the trouble," said Bessie, -crossly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All the more reason, then, for letting me help you -repair the damage. You can't dance with that trailing -in front of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore took the end of the ruffle which Bessie held -out to him, and, securing a firm grip upon it, marched -across the room, thus ripping off the entire bottom of -the skirt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Bessie, more graciously, extending -her hand for the torn piece.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore shook his head and held the ruffle behind him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give it to me, sir," exclaimed the girl indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is the foam on the wave of loveliness," declared -the poet, waving his prize as though it were a pennant, -but carefully keeping it out of Bessie's reach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You cannot have it, sir," she said, sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Women are enveloped in mystery," he continued, -quite unrebuked, "yards of it. If there is anything -I love, it is mystery, so I 'll keep this for myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For a souvenir. Think of the memories associated -with it, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What good will it be to you?" she asked, rather -more pleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be a great success as a necktie," Moore -went on, draping it beneath his chin. "Thusly, for -instance, or I might wear it on my arm, or next my -heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me that ruffle," cried Bessie, snatching at it -as she spoke, and by good luck catching it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let go," commanded Moore. "If you don't I 'll -kiss your hands for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no, you won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please," pleaded the girl, not letting go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't intend to keep it, Bessie, on my word of -honor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Confident that she had secured her object, the girl -released the ruffle and stepped back.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, Mr. Moore," said she, waiting expectantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, not at all, Mistress Dyke. What are you -waiting for?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you do not get this, Mistress Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you promised, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not say I would </span><em class="italics">give it to you</em><span>," explained -Moore, genially. "I merely promised that I would -</span><em class="italics">not keep</em><span> it. Well, I won't. I happen to have your -card in my pocket--it's a wonder it is n't the mitten -you have presented me with so often--and this card -I shall pin on the ruffle, which I shall then hang on this -candelabra, where it will remain until found by some -one, and what they will think of you then is beyond -my power to imagine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore suited the action to the word as he spoke, -and the bundle of frills was securely perched on the -candle-rack protruding from the wall a good seven -feet from the floor before Bessie fully realized how -completely she had been outwitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she lost her temper entirely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You cheat," she cried furiously. "Oh, I should -have known better than to trust you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly you should," replied the poet, politely -agreeing with the irate damsel. "I was surprised -myself at the simplicity of your behavior."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"However," she continued, "I shall never believe -you again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Never</em><span>, Mr. Moore, and I am very angry with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really?" asked he. "Why, whoever would have -suspected it, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Luckily I can get it without your assistance," she -went on. "You are not half so smart as you imagine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course not," observed Moore, watching her as -she stood on tiptoe and vainly endeavored to reach the -cause of all the trouble. "Take care, Bessie, or you 'll -tear something else."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl was baffled only for the moment, for -directly beneath the candelabra stood the desk at which -she had been writing a few moments before. As the -top, which when open formed the writing table, was -let down, it was an easy thing for her to step up on it -from the seat of a chair, and then from there to the -top of the desk. This was what Bessie did as quickly -as was possible, for she was considerably handicapped -in her climbing by her long train.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is nothing like independence," remarked -the poet, observing her with a broad smile, as she -performed this manoeuvre and stood in triumph on the -desk. "Like marriage, it usually begins with a -declaration and ends with a fight. It did in America."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You imagine you are witty," said Bessie, in icy -tones, picking the ruffle from its perch on the candelabra.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore stepped quickly forward and shut up the -desk. This done he removed the chair by which she -had mounted and had her completely at his mercy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you," he said pleasantly, "imagine you are -independent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie turned carefully and discovered her plight -with a little exclamation of dismay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put that chair back and open this desk immediately," -she commanded sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The chair is doing very well where it is," replied -Moore, calmly sitting down upon it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie bit her lip in anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not customary for a gentleman to sit while -a lady remains standing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor is it usual," answered Moore, "for a lady -to climb up on a desk."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-109"> -<span id="nor-is-it-usual-for-a-lady-to-climb-up-on-a-desk-said-moore"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Nor is it usual for a lady to climb up on a desk," said Moore." src="images/img-204.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Nor is it usual for a lady to climb up on a desk," said Moore.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think you know a lot about women, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am always willing to learn more," responded the -victorious poet, blithely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear," sighed the girl, "I don't dare jump -with these high-heeled slippers on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I observe that your tastes are elevated, even in -shoes. Give me the ruffle and I 'll help you down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir, you shall not have it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hurry, I think I hear some one coming," exclaimed -Moore in an alarmed tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do help me down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The ruffle first."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, there you are," she cried, abandoning herself -to utter defeat as she tossed him the bribe he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once safely on the floor, Bessie ran lightly to the -entrance leading to the adjoining room and peeped out -to see who was approaching. Much to her astonishment -she discovered no one near, then, turning, read -in Moore's laughing eyes how cleverly she had been -tricked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no one coming," she said severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there not?" asked the poet, stowing away the -prize he had won in his coat-tail pocket. "Shall I -help you up on the table again?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie looked daggers at him, but he smiled blandly -back at her in innocent good-nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am very angry with you," she announced, -decisively. "Really, Mr. Moore, your behavior is -perfectly intolerable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why are you so provoked? Because I took -your ruffle?" queried the poet. "Why angry, since -I left the skirt?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Moore!" she cried warningly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Mistress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Be careful, sir!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not have to be," he answered, "but you are -very different. Now you dare not be long cross."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, don't I, indeed? And if I dare not, what is -the reason, sir," she demanded in a tone as sarcastic -as she could make it, though this, it must be admitted, -was not saying much.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," he said, slowly and coolly, "if you do -let your temper get the better of you the skirt is liable -to follow the ruffle into my possession."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Insolent," exclaimed the girl, sitting down and -carefully turning her back towards her tormentor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That she was very angry with Moore cannot be -doubted. Probably it was because she was so -exasperated at his behavior and so desirous of being plagued -no further by him that she remained in this secluded -nook instead of returning to the adjacent rooms, the -greater number of which were thronged with guests. -Certainly her staying where she was could not be -regarded as anything but indicative of a sincere desire -to be rid of his company. Unfortunately this very -evident fact was not plain to the poet, for he proceeded -quite as though he interpreted her tarrying as proof -of his own success in providing her with pleasant -diversion, a grievous error, as any one conversant with -the real state of affairs would have admitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lady Donegal is a delightful hostess, is n't she, -Mistress Dyke?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At last you have suggested a subject on which we -can agree," replied Bessie, stiffly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I can suggest another," said Moore, trying to -catch her eye, an undertaking Bessie rendered a failure -by resolutely turning her head away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know I think you are very pretty, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As though I care what you think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I know </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> think you are very pretty, so -we agree again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think I am conceited."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you have good reason to think well of -yourself," answered Moore, sweetly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, ma'am, for are you not favored with the -undying devotion of one Thomas Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Bessie, disappointed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore approached her chair and, circling round it, -tried to make her look him in the face, but she foiled -all his attempts by twisting from side to side like a -sulky schoolgirl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'll choke yourself, Bessie," he said, apprehensively. -"You 'll have a neck like a corkscrew before long."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There would be no danger if you would cease -intruding yourself upon my meditation," snapped the -girl, crossly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'She who meditates is lost,'" quoted the poet. -"Ah, Bessie darlin', look around at me. Won't you, -Bessie? Do, there's a dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not to be fooled by your blarneying tongue, -Mr. Moore. I, too, am Irish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't behave like it," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not regulate my behavior, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I did," remarked Moore. "I could -improve it a good deal without much effort."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not trouble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no trouble at all, I assure you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your assurance is the best part of you, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could n't say what part of you is the best, -dearest," he answered in a soothing tone, that only made -the girl more angry. "Collectively you outclass any -colleen in the Kingdom. Now will you look around -at me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't? If you do not behave I will have to -punish you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> punish </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>?" she repeated scornfully. "You -forget yourself, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is because when I am near you I can think -of no one else. If you don't look around and bestow -on me one of your sweetest smiles I shall not permit -you to leave the room."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll go the moment I am ready."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, no you won't, if I decide to make you my -prisoner," he predicted. "Your last chance, my dear -young lady; will you do as I ask?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, Mr. Moore," she answered, keeping her -face resolutely turned from him. This was what he -desired, for without attracting her attention he lifted -the hem of her dress, and putting perhaps a foot of the -skirt in one of the drawers of the desk, shoved it shut -and locked it, thus effectually tethering her. She -heard the click of the key, but not suspecting the -cause of the noise, continued her inspection of vacancy, -while Moore, bubbling over with his merry triumph, -retired to the opposite side of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are locked up now, Bessie," he announced -with a chuckle. "If you will cast your eye to the left -you will see how securely I hold you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie, her curiosity aroused by the satisfaction -perceptible in the poet's voice, rose, intending to -investigate the state of affairs from the centre of the -room. A sudden tug at her dress which nearly tilted -her over backwards on her little high heels brought -her to an astonished standstill, and turning, she -perceived the result of Moore's scheming.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How dare you?" she cried, this time really angry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hardly know myself," he answered gayly. "I -think it must be the courage of despair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile the girl had made several unsuccessful -attempts to withdraw her dress from the closed drawer, -and, abandoning the effort, turned in maidenly fury -upon her captor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wretch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are locked in, Bessie, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me the key instantly, Mr. Moore. Do you hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," replied the poet. "I hear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never saw such a fellow," she began, but he -interrupted her blandly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is none like me," he asserted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A very fortunate thing for the world, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Bessie, think how many poor young girls -there are just pining for such a love as I 've offered -you, and who will never have the luxury, since there -is only one Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did n't know you could be so horrid," she said, -her voice trembling with anger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I can be even more so," he answered. "In -fact, if I want to, I can be about the horridest person -there ever was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you," she said sincerely. "Once I did -rather like you--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed? You concealed it amazingly well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"--but, now I--I--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fairly hate you," she stormed, tugging -impatiently at her skirt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not surprised to hear you say that, Bessie. -What is it the poet says?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I abominate all poets."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me see. I have it.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"'What ever's done by one so fair</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Must ever be most fairly done--'</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>"Even hating, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll call for help unless you release me instantly," -she threatened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you wish everybody to say you were so saucy -to me that I had to lock you up? To the ordinary -observer, less appreciative of your beauty, you might -appear rather ridiculous tethered here. Think how -pleasant that would be for all the other young girls, -who are already envious of your superior attractions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This supposition was altogether too likely to prove -true for Bessie to force matters as she had announced -she intended doing, so she abandoned all idea of -outside assistance. Having failed in intimidation she, -woman-like, resorted to cajolery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please give me the key, Tom," she said in her -sweetest tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll trade with you, Bessie. I 'll give you the -key of the desk for a lock of your hair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," she answered, much relieved at the -insignificance of the ransom demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want that little curl to the left of your forehead -just in front of your ear," he continued, cunningly -selecting a ringlet that could not be shorn without -utterly spoiling the girl's appearance indefinitely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't give you that one," she said, indignantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well, then. You shall enjoy solitary -confinement for the next five minutes. When that -time has expired, I will return and afford you the -opportunity of assuring me how much you regret all -the cross and inconsiderate things you have said to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> do that," she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Usually," asserted Moore, "a girl's </span><em class="italics">never</em><span> means -</span><em class="italics">to-morrow</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This instance is an exception."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True, Bessie, for this time it means five minutes. -Behold the key to the problem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a teasing gesture Moore held up the bit of -brass, the possession of which had made the girl's -punishment possible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you go," said the girl, firmly and slowly, "it -means we shall never be friends again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pooh!" observed the poet with an indifference -most insulting, "you do not frighten me in the least, -my dear. I do not wish to be your friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So saying, he deposited the key in his pocket and -walked toward the door with a self-satisfied swagger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie, driven to desperation, was about to call to -him not to go, hoping he would propose some other -terms of settlement, when he took his handkerchief -out of his pocket and waved it at her before stepping -out of the room. She smothered a little cry of delight -and waited impatiently for his steps to die away as -he walked toward the farther door of the apartment -adjacent. Moore had carelessly drawn the key out -of his pocket with his handkerchief, and it had dropped -noiselessly upon the floor, the sound of its fall -deadened by the soft carpet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, how can I get that key?" thought Bessie. -"If I only had a long stick! I 'll try to reach it with -a chair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she could not come within a yard of it even -with this help.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I knew how to swear," she murmured. -"I really believe I would. Perhaps I can pick the -lock with a hairpin. I have heard of prisoners -escaping in that way. Prisoner. </span><em class="italics">Tom's prisoner</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled involuntarily, and then, realizing what -she was doing, gave herself a shake of disapproval.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You should be ashamed of yourself, Bessie Dyke," -thought she. "After the way that man has treated -you, you should hate him. I will hate him, the horrid -thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leaning over, she strove to unlock the drawer with -the hairpin but scored a decisive failure, and in -consequence again waxed wrathful. The next bright idea -that suggested itself to her mind was that she might -possibly drag the desk across the floor to where the -key lay exasperatingly plain in view, but she found -her young strength far too little to even budge the -cumbersome old piece of furniture. Then another -plan came to her and she gave a little gurgling laugh, -half delight, half fear, and began to consider it in -detail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I dared, oh, if I dared," she whispered. "I -wonder if I can risk it? It would n't take a minute. -</span><em class="italics">I will do it, so there</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke, she fumbled with the fastening of her -dress. The next moment it fell from around her waist, -and stepping out of the circular heap of millinery -surrounding her which it made upon the floor, she -was free to go where she pleased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Flushed with success, and yet frightened beyond -measure lest she should be caught by some stray guest -in her present incomplete costume, the girl danced -laughingly across the floor, keeping out of line with -the door for fear some one might enter the next room, -and, reaching the key, pounced on it in triumph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now we will see," she laughed. "Oh, you think -you are very clever, Mr. Thomas Moore, but I fancy -there are one or two others just as sharp as you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hastening back to the desk, she inserted her prize -in the lock and endeavored to turn it, but did not -succeed in doing so, for it did not fit at all well. She -tried again and again, but no better success rewarded -her efforts, and slowly it dawned upon her that this -was not the required key. She had again fallen victim -to the cunning of the young Irishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is n't the one," she cried. "It is much too big. -Oh, he did it on purpose. What </span><em class="italics">shall</em><span> I do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was quite evident that she could not long remain in -such abbreviated attire without being detected by some one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A vigorous pull at the skirt now limply pendant -from the prisoning drawer proved that it was just -as impossible to release it when vacated by its owner -as when it adorned her person. In fact, Bessie's -brilliant idea had availed her not in the least, and, -realizing this, she was about to step into the skirt with -a view to assuming her shackling finery, when the -sound of her tormentor's voice, singing softly to -himself as he approached, gave her warning of his coming.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a little gasp of alarm Bessie fled to the cover -of the portières which separated the window recess -from the room and sheltered by their clinging folds -waited for developments.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="honors-are-easy"><em class="italics large">Chapter Seventeen</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">HONORS ARE EASY</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The poet strode gayly into the room, quite at -peace with the world and decidedly pleased -with one Thomas Moore, in both these -particulars holding opinions widely differing from the -views cherished by the young lady concealed behind -the curtains.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" remarked Moore. "Is she gone? Dear -me, how unkind of her to go without saying good-bye."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, apparently observing the skirt for the first -time, he continued:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, she has left this behind for me as a souvenir -of the occasion. How considerate of her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Stooping, he unlocked the drawer and drew forth -the imprisoned millinery. Then flinging it carelessly -over his arm, he started toward the door, apparently -intending to return to the crowded rooms which he -had just quitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>From behind the curtains Bessie regarded his actions -with an exasperation and helplessness which were -about equally possessed of her mind. What should -she do? If she betrayed her presence she would be -more than ever at his mercy, yet it was clearly -impossible to allow him to carry off her skirt, as he seemed -to purpose doing. Abandoning all pride, she gave -a squeak of alarm as Moore reached the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I hear some one address me?" he demanded, -turning on the threshold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," said Bessie, desperately from the window, -her brown head visible between the curtains.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you are there, are you?" said Moore, apparently -greatly astonished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring me that--</span><em class="italics">That</em><span>," she said, blushing a little -as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That what?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pointed angrily at the skirt adorning his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," she repeated more loudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This?" said he, obtusely, holding up his prize.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. Give it to me immediately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," objected Moore, "I don't know that you -have any right to it. Can you prove it to be your -property?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can," replied Bessie with emphasis, "but I won't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry, Mistress Dyke, but under the -circumstances I really must refuse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it is mine, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I have no proof that it is n't somebody else's. -Perhaps it belongs to Mr. Sheridan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I don't know about that. Richard Brinsley -is said to be fond of the petticoats. Perhaps this is -one he carries around with him. I 'll go ask the old -boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you dare," she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, can you identify this as your property?" -insisted the poet, not loth to prolong her discomfiture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, sir," she replied. "You will find a -handkerchief in the pocket with my initials stitched -in the corner with white silk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, my dear," said Moore, looking for the -pocket and not finding it immediately. "Where is -the infernal--Oh, I have it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And inserting his hand in the elusive object of -his quest he drew forth a powder puff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Bessie, and vanished behind the curtains, -while Moore viewed his recent find with delighted -curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's this, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer rewarded his inquiry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I understand," he went on. "This is the -frosting on the cake of beauty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, carefully powdering himself, he crossed to -the mirror over the mantel on the opposite side of -the room and inspected the result of his labor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Humph," said he. "I look seasick. I'll have -none of this for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he industriously rubbed his face with his -handkerchief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, do hurry up," implored the girl, fearful lest -some other of the guests should enter the room before -she recovered her belongings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was not made in a hurry," replied Moore. "The -more haste the less speed, so I 'll take my time in my -investigations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The next thing he took from the pocket was a little -black and white sketch of himself which had been -drawn at a supper party the week before by no less -distinguished a gentleman than Samuel Rogers, the -banker poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My picture!" he exclaimed in surprise. "How -did you get this, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you must know, Mr. Rogers threw it away -and I picked it up," she replied, displaying as much -regard for the truth as any of her sex would be likely -to under the same circumstances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm honored, Mistress Dyke," observed Moore, -bowing to the portière with formal grace and politeness. -"You show much taste in your selection of -works of art."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Proceeding with his search, Moore now brought to -light the handkerchief, which he promptly confiscated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Dyke," he said, at the same time tucking -away the handkerchief in his breast pocket, "I am -now convinced that this is your property."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then give it to me at once," she directed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet," said Moore. "If I remember correctly, -I made a statement to you concerning an apology -which I thought should be forthcoming to me. Well, -I have n't received it as yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bully!" remarked Bessie as spitefully as she could, -which was not a little.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I hear aright?" asked Moore. "Did I hear -some one call me a bully?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please, oh, please, give me--that!" she pleaded, -but Moore was not to be turned aside from his march -to triumph.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I hear some one say 'Tom, I am truly sorry -for my crossness to-night'?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I won't say it," she declared, but her voice lacked -determination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I really must be going," said Moore, taking a step -towards the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She gave a squeal of terror.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will, I will!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope so, Bessie," he replied, pausing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, I am truly sorry for the cross things you -have said to me to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She mumbled it quickly, hoping he would not -distinguish the adaptation she made in the sentence -he had dictated; but Moore heard and defeated her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That won't do," he said sternly. "Try again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tyrant!" she exclaimed ferociously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not a pretty name, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is appropriate," she said, coldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on with the apology."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl made an effort and proceeded with her -unwilling penance in the meekest of tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, I am truly sorry for the cross things I have -said to you to-night. Now give me it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be in such a hurry, Bessie. There is more -to be said."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear! will you never be satisfied?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not till you are all mine," he answered in his -tenderest tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will be a long time," she said determinedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can wait, but to continue--Say 'You are an -old nuisance, Tom, but I like to have you around.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an old nuisance, Tom, but I like to have -you around," she repeated, parrot-like; then she -added sweetly, "I have something else I wish to tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Deceived by her sentimental tone, Moore stepped -near the curtains and like a flash she snapped the skirt -off his arm and vanished behind her shelter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The deuce!" exclaimed Moore, in chagrin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The curtains undulated violently as though some -vigorous performance were being enacted behind them. -The next moment Bessie, fully attired, swept out -between them and across the room, her independence -and peace of mind restored with the resumption of -the purloined garment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie," said Moore, persuasively, and she halted -on the threshold in haughty response. "Bessie, won't -you let me speak to you before you go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear it will only be a waste of time, Mr. Moore," -she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet I waited when you asked me to from behind -the curtains," he said, a glint of laughter in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie winced, but the stare she favored him with -was both cold and disdainful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Mr. Moore," she answered, "I had something -to say to which you wished to listen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean," he corrected, "you had to say something, -Bessie, that I wished to hear. There never was -maid more unwilling to do what she was bid than you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pray hasten your words, sir. I am listening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie," he whispered, all the music and poetry -to which the love in his heart had given life vibrant -in his caressing voice, "Bessie, mavourneen, let's have -done with this bickering. The days of youth fly far too -fast for us to waste them in contention. You are the -breath of my life, darlin'. Say you 'll take me back -to my old place in your heart this night and ne'er send -me a-journeying again while we live."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She walked slowly to the fireplace and resting her -arm on the mantel above stood looking into the blaze. -Moore, encouraged by her return, drew near her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know I love you deeply and truly as any -woman has ever been loved," he murmured, standing -so close that his warm, eager breath gently stirred -and set a-quivering the tiny ringlets clustered on her -neck. "And I can't bear to go on like this. You -must hear me to-night, Bessie darlin', once and for -all. I love you; with all my heart and all my soul I -love you, dearest of girls. You planted my heart full -of roses of passion the first day that I met you, and -each and every bud has come to blossom. Your dear -eyes have looked into mine and written your name -upon my heart. There is not a curl that steals kisses -from your cheek I 'd not give my life to be, unless -that curl and the proud head it graces can both be -mine. Ah, Bessie, dearest, Bessie, darling, be my wife -and make me the happiest man on earth. Aye, or in -heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he could have seen her eyes he would never have -listened to the words of her reply, for in their depths -shone an answer so sweet and tender and surrendering -that even he, oft rejected and almost despairing wooer -that he was, could not have mistaken or read as aught -else but final. But, resolved not to yield yet, though -a love as strong and passionate as his own was tugging -at her heart-strings, she kept her face turned from -him till her original determination, aided by mischief -which prompted her to punish him for all the humiliation -she had just suffered at his hands, sufficed to -give her control of her emotions. Then she turned -coldly and said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, you really should put that into rhyme. You -have never written a prettier poem."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started at her words and drew back a pace or two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You make a jest of me," he said in an offended tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why so, sir? I refused to marry you when -you were poor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I've forgotten it?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, if I married you, people would say I took -back my 'No' because of your rise in the world. Why, -even you once spoke as though you thought I might -be influenced by such sordid considerations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not believe--you never have believed--that -I thought you capable of such a vile thing," he -responded hotly. "You seized on that as a means to -hold me off. You must needs play your game of -hide-and-seek till you are weary, regardless of my pain -and despair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The world would say I married you for your -money," she continued, paying no heed to his words. -"You know how quick it is to misinterpret the best -of motives."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If they said that they 'd lie, Bessie," said Moore. -"Save that I have paid my debts and incurred no -others, I 'm no richer, for as yet I 've made no fortune. -On my honor, I 'm still as poor as you are pretty, and -the glass will show you I must be little better than a -beggar. Like your father, dearest, my future--all -my hope of wealth and fame these next few -years--depends upon the Regent's favor, so it couldn't -be for aught but love. Ah, alanna, say you 'll have me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she answered with great emphasis, and -crossed the room. Once on the other side she repeated -her reply, but this time in a tone soft and cooing, but -if she expected by this last manoeuvre to elicit further -wooing from her lover she made a mistake, for, justly -wrathful at the treatment she accorded him, he threw -caution to the winds.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So?" he cried, hoarsely. "You still refuse? -Then listen to me. I 've courted you from the first -day I saw you. From the moment our eyes met I 've -loved you faithfully and truly. I 've sung to you of -love--I 've talked to you of love--I 've begged for -it upon my knees--and you? You have laughed at -me. Because my heart was full of you there was no -room for resentment, and I, too, laughed and made -a jest of what was breaking it. That is past; I've -offered it to you for the last time. I 'll never again -ask you to be my wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said the girl, momentarily shocked at his -vehemence, but quickly recovering. "Tom, you 'll -never again ask me to marry you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he answered roughly, and sat down beside -the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," she went on mournfully, "there is only -one thing for me to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that?" he asked moodily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you won't ask me to marry you, then some day -I--I--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated, the words hindered by the smile that -could not be denied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Then some day I'll have to ask you to marry me.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore leaped to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you, Bessie?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who knows?" she answered, backing towards the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd say 'I love you, Tom; will you be my husband?'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">That is, if I should happen to want you, which -is n't at all likely.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, with a rippling laugh, Bessie turned her back -on him, and strolled off, satisfied that she had avenged -her wrongs of the evening. And had she not?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-moves-in-distinguished-company"><em class="italics large">Chapter Eighteen</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE MOVES IN DISTINGUISHED COMPANY</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Sir Percival Lovelace gave a reception -in honor of the first appearance of Mistress -Bessie Dyke as Lydia Languish in a revival -of Mr. Sheridan's successful comedy "The Rivals." So -sure was the baronet of his protégée's success that -some days previous to the date of the first performance -he publicly announced the function to be for the -purpose of extending to the winsome actress -congratulations upon the triumph he expected her to win. -Invitations to the reception were eagerly sought, and -correspondingly difficult to obtain, for Sir Percival -enjoyed an enviable reputation as a lavish entertainer. -The Prince himself promised to attend, for he found -amusement in the girlish piquancy of the little player's -conversation conspicuously lacking in the more -reverential prattle of the great ladies who owed their -presence in the upper circle of society to birth instead of -brains. Even Mrs. FitzHerbert, once more on friendly -terms with the baronet, consented to honor the -assemblage with her presence, and all the other leaders and -lions of the world of wealth and breeding were favored -with invitations--that is, all except one. Thomas -Moore, now at the height of his popularity, was -overlooked. This was no surprise to the poet, for he -had not been deceived by Sir Percival's apparent -desire to overlook their past differences. He felt -confident that the baronet would not rest content until -he had made every effort to undermine the popularity -which he had won as much by his personal charm as -by the merit of his poetry, yet, seeing no way in which -he could be successfully attacked by his old enemy, he -grew more confident as weeks passed with no visible -effort to injure his prosperity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival, however, was not losing sight of the -main object he had in view when he brought about -Bessie's journeying to London. While he fully -intended to put an end to Moore's success eventually, -he had busied himself in the last few weeks more -particularly with his plans for bringing about the forcing -of the girl to do his will. By skilful manipulation of -the various influences he was able to bring to bear upon -persons important in the administration of matters -in regard to the smaller dealings in the way of finance, -together with the fatuous confidence reposed in him -by Mr. Dyke, this ingenious gentleman succeeded in -obtaining the issuance of a warrant for the body of -the old rhymer in default of complete settlement of his -outstanding indebtedness. This accomplished without -his intended victim being at all the wiser, he held -the document in readiness for his purposed attempt at -intimidation. Now it was of course imperative, when -he should have kicked from beneath Robin Dyke the -props which at present held him above ruin as -exemplified in limitless incarceration in a Fleet Street -debtors' prison, that Thomas Moore should be in no -position to hold forth means of relief. Such being the -case Sir Percival devoted himself to making all ready -for the disaster which he hoped and believed would -be the culmination of the young Irishman's social -career, availing himself in this matter of the advice and -services of his agent and mentor, Terence Farrell. -Success in all the preparations crowned his efforts to -a degree that would have seemed unusual even in a -better cause,--a state of affairs that led to much -cynical reflection as to the relative easiness of the -practices of philanthropy and its antithesis upon the part -of the gentleman from whom the impetus for the -plotted evil business was obtained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was the state of affairs on the evening of Sir -Percival's reception.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mrs. FitzHerbert regarded Mr. Sheridan with a -doubtful expression in eyes famed for their beauty -and innocence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Sheridan," she remarked, severely, "I am not -sure that Parliament is sufficient excuse for your -absence from Drury Lane to-night. Everybody who is -anybody was present except the author. Fie, sir! -Surely you should take enough interest in your own -play to witness its revival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hum," said Mr. Sheridan, "I will promise not to let -even Parliament prevent my attendance at the theatre -when a play by you shall be presented, madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you fancy, sir, that I am not capable of writing -a play?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heaven forbid that I should declare any woman -incapable of anything in the world, possible or -impossible," replied the gentleman thus addressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not sure that you intend that remark as a -compliment, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman should accept as complimentary all that -she is not absolutely certain is intended to be the -opposite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would have women very conceited, Mr. Sheridan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you mean, dear lady, that I would not change -the sweet creatures, you comprehend me perfectly," -replied the old gentleman. "Did you know, -Mrs. FitzHerbert, that our friend, Tommy Moore, has been -slighted to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed," asked the lady in a disappointed tone. -"I thought he would surely be here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Zooks," drawled a handsome gentleman who, -gorgeously attired and carrying himself with mannered -dignity, had joined the first-mentioned couple in their -corner. "Moore not here? What a bore! I counted -on hearing him sing some of his ballads to-night. I -am told he has a new one. Some deliciously impossible -lyrical statement concerning the steadfastness of -the proper kind of love in the face of misfortune and -wrinkles. Quite improbable, but delightfully -sentimental and imaginative."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put not your faith in princes, Brummell," quoted -Mr. Sheridan, knowingly, "that your days may be -longer in the land."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A combination of scriptural sayings worthy of -their most unrespected quoter," laughed Mrs. FitzHerbert. -"Do you think a prince's passion could face -wrinkles?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In whose face? His own or some one else's?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one else's face, of course, Mr. Sheridan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I spoke of the proper kind of love, dear madame, -not the improper," observed Brummell, languidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And a prince's love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For his princess impossible, for any other woman -improper," said Sheridan, looking away lest his shot -strike home.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why has Sir Percival cut Mr. Moore?" -demanded Mrs. FitzHerbert, giving Sheridan a -reproving tap with her fan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They are old rivals," replied the Beau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would Sir Percival marry her, do you think?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No one can answer that question, Mrs. Fitz, but -Lovelace himself. Shall I tell him you would like to -know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for the world, Mr. Sheridan," she exclaimed. -"It is not my affair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Percy is contemplating matrimony it will -surprise many who know him well," returned Brummell, -seating himself near by. "But then he always was an -eccentric dog."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They would never agree."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Mr. Sheridan, "it is well known that -if the bride and the groom did not have their little -differences they would not care to marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ahem! Have you read Mr. Rogers's new poem?" -asked the lady, skilfully changing the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The Pleasures of Memory'? Egad, I obtain -much more pleasure by forgetting," said Sheridan, -taking snuff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So the tradesmen say, Sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, George, I 've not heard of your discounting -your bills lately," retorted the elder man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just then Sir Percival approached them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As usual, the rallying place for wit and fashion -is at Mrs. FitzHerbert's side," said the baronet, -graciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you thought you would add beauty to the list -by coming yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, Sherry, I have heard it said there was never -a prettier gentleman than Richard Brinsley," said the -baronet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who said that? Your grandmother?" retorted -Sheridan. "How is the old lady?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you have neglected Mr. Moore?" whispered -Mrs. FitzHerbert, drawing her host to her side. "Oh, -Percy, Percy, what a jealous creature you are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad, you wrong me, Mrs. FitzHerbert; the one -being I have ever really envied as a lover is his -Highness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Dyke and Mistress Dyke," announced the footman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival went to welcome his guests, followed -by Sheridan and the others. Bessie never looked -prettier. The proud consciousness of her success gave her -a new confidence, and she laughed and quizzed it with -the witty throng assembled to celebrate her triumph as -brightly and merrily as though she had never moved -in any but the upper circle of society. Mrs. FitzHerbert -mischievously told her of Sir Percival's intentional -neglect of Moore in the hearing of the gentleman, -and then, bubbling over with glee at the embarrassing -position in which she had placed him, sought safety -in flight on the arm of Farrell, who, quite dazzled by -the beauty's condescension, was already vaguely -meditating on his chances as a rival of the Regent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you angry, Mistress Bessie?" asked Sir Percival, -inwardly registering a vow to be even with the -Prince's favorite for the trick she had played him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Angry?" she repeated. "What a question, sir! -Surely in your own house you have the privilege of -editing your visiting list?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must know why I have done this," he said boldly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, Sir Percival?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I am jealous of the amorous looks he -bestows upon you, even if you do not return them. I -wished to have you to myself to-night, so I have placed -it beyond Moore's power to interfere in his usual -impudent manner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You need not explain," Bessie said coldly, as a -servant approached.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Prince's carriage blocks the way," he -announced to his master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good!" exclaimed Sir Percival. "His Highness' -tardiness worried me. I was afraid he was not -coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales," -announced the footman a moment later, "</span><em class="italics">and -Mr. Thomas Moore!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Regent entered the room with his arm linked -in that of the poet, whose eyes, twinkling with -merriment, showed plainly his enjoyment of Sir Percival's -surprise and disappointment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Percy, I took the liberty of bringing Tom Moore -with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Highness does not doubt that I am glad -to welcome any friend of yours," glibly replied Sir -Percival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then as the Prince, seeing Sheridan, ever a favorite -of his, turned away, the baronet said to Moore, a sneer -disfiguring his handsome face:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Believe me, Mr. Moore, my house is honored."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you, Sir Percival," responded the poet, -promptly, "so that need not worry you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing ever worries me, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not even conscience, Sir Percival?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Mr. Moore," replied the baronet, as Wales -and Sheridan drew nearer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, I see, conscience, like a powdered wig, is no -longer in style."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut, Tom," said Sheridan reprovingly. "I -still cling to the old fashion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore eyed the speaker's wig with tolerant eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, Sherry," said he, "brains such as yours are -an excuse for anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," said Sheridan. "But it is a poor rule -that does n't work both ways, and surely you will not -have the temerity to assert that 'Anything is an excuse -for brains.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In society who can doubt the truth of the statement?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It takes a sinner to be cynical," said Sheridan, -having recourse to his snuff-box.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said Moore, "what a doubter our greatest -dramatist must be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been described as a doubtful character -more than once," returned the old gentleman. "Your -Highness, when you arrived we were discussing -matrimony."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An amatory eccentricity," drawled Brummell, who -had joined the little group now surrounding the -Prince.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The connecting link between bankruptcy and the -Bank of England," declared Sir Percival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The straight-jacket in which are confined couples -suffering from sentimental insanity pronounced -incurable by the church," said Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Wales, "recovery is sometimes rapid, -nevertheless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marriage is deceptive," said Mr. Sheridan, with a -sigh. "Lovers go to church for a bridal and return -home to find they have been given a yoke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you suggest, Sherry?" asked the -Prince. "Would you abolish matrimony?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd make it a bill drawn on Divorce at say three -years' sight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I fear most couples would seek to discount the -bill," said Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You take it too seriously," said Brummell, -smothering a yawn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it supposed to be a joke?" asked Wales, -whimsically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, your Highness, played on mankind for the -benefit of posterity," said Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut, Tommy," said Sheridan reprovingly. -"You are too young to be such a scoffer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You young fellows are led astray by your own -importance, and soon begin to regard yourselves as -paternal achievements rather than maternal miscalculations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A roar followed this sally of the elder Irishman, but -the younger was not to be so quickly defeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you old boys," said he, "make another mistake. -You regard yourselves as attractions long after -you have become ornaments."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Personalities are to be avoided," returned Sheridan -good-humoredly. "We were talking of marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't mention it," retorted Moore politely. "It -is a queer thing at best. Before a wedding a woman -has a husband to look forward to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when married?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, Sherry, a husband to look after."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Imagine it, Brummell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fortunately, your Highness, there are some limits -to my imagination," replied the Beau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sentimentally but not sartorially speaking," -observed Sheridan, scrutinizing the exquisite's lace -cravat through his eye-glass. "'T is well to remember -that imagination is the thief of truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have dismembered marriage," said Wales, -smiling, "what of love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely the subjects have nothing in common?" -cried Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The two together would be most uncommon," remarked -Sheridan. "Love is the incidental music in -the melodrama of life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The sugar coating put upon the pill of sensuality by -the sentimental apothecary," retorted Moore. "Love -is the devil, matrimony is hel--hem!--heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know, Moore?" demanded the -Prince. "You have never been married."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have never been to Hades, your Highness, but -I know it is hot just the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The verbal duel of the quartette ended in a shout of -laughter and the Prince, on the arm of Brummell, -strolled away in search of Mrs. FitzHerbert, while -Sir Percival and Sheridan sought the card-room, -leaving Moore to his own devices, a proceeding that suited -him exactly, as he had already caught a distant view -of Bessie, and was eager to be off in pursuit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That young lady, guessing as much, took refuge in -a flight as skilful as it was apparently unstudied, and -Moore, hampered by the politeness he was compelled -to bestow upon his friends and admirers as he -encountered them on his pursuing stroll, found himself -at the end of half an hour no nearer the object of his -quest than at the beginning of the evening. Just then -there came a request from the Regent that he should -favor the assemblage with one of his own songs, so, -inwardly chafing at the delay, he was compelled to -warble rapturously, not once but thrice, for his -good-nature was at par with his fellow guests' appreciation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having sung "Believe Me, if All Those Endearing -Young Charms," he followed it with the mournful -ditty, "She is Far from the Land," and finished with -"The Last Rose of Summer" by royal command, the -close of his efforts being received with a perfect storm -of applause that was as sincere as it was flattering; -but here the Prince interfered, and, vowing he would -not allow his gifted friend to strain his vocal cords, -publicly thanked Moore for the pleasure he had given -the assemblage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, Sir Percival had not been idle. Finding -a deserted nook the baronet, about an hour later, sent -a servant in quest of Farrell, and contentedly awaited -the young Irishman's coming, absorbed in pleasant -rumination on the probable happenings of the by no -means distant future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Terence," said he, rousing from his reverie -as the former entered, "is the poem printed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell drew a copy of the </span><em class="italics">Examiner</em><span> from his -pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here it is in the evening's issue," said he. "Evidently -his Highness has not yet stumbled on it, though -every one else seems to have done so."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-110"> -<span id="tom-moore-meets-bessie-dyke-at-sir-percival-s"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Tom Moore meets Bessie Dyke at Sir Percival's." src="images/img-234.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Tom Moore meets Bessie Dyke at Sir Percival's.</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Droll that the Prince should come here in the -author's company," said Sir Percival, scanning the -sheet, in the corner of which was the poem he had -purloined from Moore's garret.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A propitious happening, sir," returned Farrell. -"I have not begun the circulation of the author's -name. Is it the proper time, think you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, my dear Terence. Half an hour from -now will be quite soon enough. Egad, these verses -sting, or I 'm no judge of satire. When the Prince -does finally set eyes upon them there will be an -outburst. A flood of anger will result on which the -writer of this masterpiece will be borne away to -oblivion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moore is high in favor now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The higher the elevation the greater the fall, -Terence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our visit to his garret was a fortunate one. But -for what we found there I fear Tom's position in royal -favor would be too firm for even you, Sir Percival, -to successfully assail. May I ask the programme you -have planned in regard to Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It differs very little from the scheme we discussed -a fortnight ago. Already the bailiffs are on post both -at the front and rear, waiting patiently to seize the -person of Mr. Dyke unless otherwise directed by my -humble self, which will only result from the girl's -compliance or the payment of the thousand her father owes -me. I anticipate with their aid finding little difficulty -in persuading Mistress Bessie to go through the -marriage ceremony to-night. Once this is accomplished -I'll take her on the Continent for a glimpse of Europe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will marry her?" said Farrell in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not really, you fool," laughed his patron. "Foreseeing -such a compromise as marriage, I have provided -a clergyman of my own manufacture. Jack Hathaway -has kindly consented to assume the role for a liberal -consideration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That devil's bird," muttered Farrell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, no angel child is Jack, but a gentler rogue -might not care to risk liberty to oblige a friend who -had found a difficult damsel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And where is this gallant rascal?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He, with the proper ecclesiastical caparisons ready -at hand, is waiting for my coming round the corner -a little way. You see how confident I am that to-night -I will have my will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think she will suspect nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I rely on Jack's appearance to silence any vague -doubts that may haunt her gentle bosom. Jack can -look most reverent. Aye, and act it, too, if he be not -in his cups."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a remarkable man, Sir Percival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At all events industrious," returned the baronet, -rising and putting the paper in his pocket. "Come, -Farrell, our absence may be remarked. Your arm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as these two very worthy gentlemen strolled -leisurely away, a little old man in a powdered wig all -awry in its set upon his clever old head, staggered out -from behind the portières screening the window recess, -and, balancing himself uncertainly as he stood, groaned -aloud at the impotence of his intoxicated brain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The little gentleman was Mr. Richard Brinsley -Sheridan; the reason for his sudden impatience with -drunkenness being that he had heard every word of -the conversation between Sir Percival and his creature, -and now found his wine-drenched intellect unequal to -planning the proper course for him to follow to -checkmate the benevolent intentions of his host.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="mr-sheridan-mr-brummell-and-mr-moore-hold-council-of-war"><em class="italics large">Chapter Nineteen</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">MR. SHERIDAN, MR. BRUMMELL, AND MR. MOORE HOLD COUNCIL OF WAR</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>His Royal Highness did not at first succeed -in locating the lady who enjoyed so much -of his favor and admiration at this time. -Mrs. FitzHerbert took possession of Moore when a -servant informed Farrell of Sir Percival's wish to see -him, and, laughing mischievously, kept on the move -from one room to another, resolved that Wales should -make at least a fairly determined effort before he -obtained the pleasure of her company. Finding a -secluded corner behind some palms in the conservatory, -she proceeded to catechise Moore in regard to his affair -with Bessie Dyke, at the same time keeping a sharp -look-out for the approach of the Regent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll vow you were at Old Drury to-night, Mr. Moore," -said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think that shows marvellous perception -on your part?" demanded the poet, lightly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you think of actresses?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't think of them, Mrs. FitzHerbert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not of Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never as an actress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet she is one, and clever too,"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I had my way she 'd never walk the boards after -to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you have n't your way, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worse luck!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, perhaps it is fortunate for Mistress Bessie that -you do not direct her destinies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think no man enjoys seeing a woman he cares -for upon the stage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fie, Mr. Moore. A man should be proud of the -admiration accorded her if she be successful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no place half so fitting for a woman as -her husband's home. No profession for her one -hundredth part so appropriate, so complete in happiness -and content as the care of her children."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are very old fashioned, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True love is always old fashioned. It is one thing -that has never changed an iota since the first man was -given the first woman to worship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear," sighed Mrs. FitzHerbert, "you have -the morals badly this evening. Mr. Brummell, I fear -your friend Tom is contemplating priesthood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Religion is an excellent thing to ponder on," said -the Beau, drawing near. "It is so completely -non-exciting that much thought may be expended, thus -furnishing extensive intellectual exercise without -causing the nervous mental activity so completely -demoralizing to placid natures."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps he means something by that procession of -words, Mrs. FitzHerbert," said Moore, doubtfully. -"We must not judge entirely by appearances."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is not impossible, I presume," replied Mrs. FitzHerbert, -apparently possessed of serious misgivings -upon the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because the prattle of certain people is entirely -devoid of either sense or sentiment, it is not to be -concluded that the conversation of every one else is at so -completely a low ebb of mentality," remarked the -Beau, sententiously. "Oh, Tommy, Tommy, why will -you tie your cravat in that horrible, horrible fashion?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's like this, Brummell. I 'm tired of following -your styles, so at present seek to set one of my own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I 'll quell your insubordination without -further delay," returned the Beau, laying skilful hands -on Moore's tie. "A touch to the left, a twist to the -right, a pucker here, and a graceful fall of lace thus, -Thomas, and you are a credit to Ireland."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanky," said Moore. "If I look half as fine as -you do, George, I 'll need some one to see me home. -The ladies will never allow me to escape unkissed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A kiss in time saves nine," said Mr. Sheridan, -thickly, having approached unnoticed. "I can't prove -it, but it sounds curst clever, at least after the second -bottle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, by the way, Mrs. Fitz," said Brummell, languidly, -"his Highness is searching for you, or I misread -his behavior."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If that is the case," replied Mrs. FitzHerbert, -smiling into existence the prettiest dimple in the world, -"there is only one thing for me to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To hide, Mrs. FitzHerbert," suggested Moore, -who understood all women save one; at least it was -to this effect that he flattered himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Mr. Moore, you should have been born a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so," said the poet, "for then, like other women, -I should be blind to the good fortune of his Highness -in enjoying your ladyship's favor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Brummell, pompously, "if you had -been a woman, Tom, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> might have loved you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad, George, for the first time in my life I regret -my sex."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 've regretted m' sex all m' life," observed -Sheridan, swaying a trifle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And tried to drown all recollection in a crimson -tide, eh, Sherry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you be so f'miliar, Tommy. I 'm not half drunk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which half is sober, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am still in doubt 's to that, sir. I think it's first -one half and then the other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem quite content, Mr. Sheridan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That, Mrs. FitzHerbert, is because I have made -myself familiar with Sir Percival's wine, and -familiarity breeds content."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Just then Mrs. FitzHerbert caught a distant view -of the Regent, and, seeing Sheridan was bent on -continuing to enjoy the society of his young -fellow-countryman, she took the arm of the Beau and hied -herself in the opposite direction, thus prolonging the -quest of her royal lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Once by themselves, Sheridan seized Moore's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tommy," said he, "I 'm a drunken old reprobate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They say confession is good for the soul, Sherry," -replied Moore, politely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I 'm not such a rascal as s'm' others I know of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you mean nothing personal?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut up, Tommy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir," replied the gentleman thus admonished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Goo' boy, Tommy. Now listen. Having had a -drink or two or pos'bly three to be 'tirely frank, -Tommy, I 'cided to get a little air."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought you had a little heir, Sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Y'r a fool, Tommy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't conscientiously deny it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, H--l!" remarked the elder Irishman, "it's -too important to be so curst silly about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," said Moore, contritely. -"Proceed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where was I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were looking for air."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I was. Well, so in I go to a room ver' little -frequented. And there I raise a window and have a -shock, fo' outside I see quite plainly the ugly mug of -a bailiff. A bailiff I 'm quite attached to f'r ole times' -sake. 'Shoo' old acquaintance be f'rgot,' and so forth. -Understan', Tommy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So of course I think he is after me. Understan'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The presumption is quite natural."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And bob back my head f'r fear he mi' see me. -Then down comes window on m' crown, tips my wig -over m' ear, and lays me out cold on the floor behind -the por'chers. Understan'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very clearly, Sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then when I become sens'ble, I hear voices outside -window recess in the room, Sir Percival and Farrell -having confidential chat. Thass what I want tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Moore, in sudden interest, "what were -they talking about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curst 'f I know now," said the dramatist, blankly, -all recollection of the important information he had to -convey suddenly obliterated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore immediately waxed anxious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think, Sherry, think!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm too drunk to do anything but--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"--but drink some more drinksh."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down here now and take things easily," urged -Moore, resolved to learn what had weighed so heavily -upon the old gentleman's mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm ver' thirsty," observed Sheridan, thoughtfully. -"Go' lump on m' head, Tommy. Ver' dis'oblegin' -window, most inconsid'rate. Almost scalped ven'rable -author of 'Schoo' f'r Scan'al.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now there are only two subjects on which Sir -Percival could converse that would interest me in the -least, Sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Two. Thass ver' few f'r so clever a man as you, -Tommy. I fear you lack ver'--ver'--vers'tility, m' -boy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The first subject is, of course, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curst nice lil' girl," observed Sheridan, conscious -that the young lady spoken of was in some way -connected with the idea that had so suddenly vanished.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The other is myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Natura--er--rally so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now of which of these did he speak?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thass the question, Tommy," replied Sheridan -stupidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" exclaimed Moore in disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A flash of recollection stirred into new life by the -ejaculation illumined the face of the wit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yesh, thass it. Owe. Thass it, Tommy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore became imbued with new hope, but did not -hasten his inquiries as before, lest he should again -daze Sheridan's semi-somnolent memory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Owe?" he repeated. "Some one is indebted to -Sir Percival, Sherry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thass it, Tommy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wonder who it can be? Of course you do not -remember, Sherry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yesh I do," asserted his companion. "Itsh -Mr. Dyke. He owes Sir Percival thoushand pounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good God!" exclaimed Moore, beneath his breath, -horrified at what he heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The bailiffs I s'posed present in m' honor are here -to seize him if he don't return the moneysh to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the alternative the scoundrel offers?" -asked Moore, confident that the debt was merely a -weapon of intimidation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Bessie marries him to-night he will let her -father off on his debt. Otherwise he goes in limbo. -She 'll have to do it, m' boy. He 'd die in Fleet Street. -Oh, Tommy, what a dirty scoundrel he ish!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sherry," said Moore, gratefully, pressing the old -gentleman's hand as he spoke, "if I live to be a -thousand years old I 'll never cease to thank you with all -my heart for what you have done to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thass all right, Tommy, thass all right. We 're -both Irishmen," responded the dramatist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Sheridan spoke he opened the window and standing -beside it drew long draughts of the cool fresh -evening air into his lungs. Moore sat quietly waiting -for his friend to regain the sobriety he knew would -not be long in returning, now that he had passed -through the muddled stage and emerged upon the -borders of ordinary intelligence. Meanwhile he was -trying to evolve some plan to avert the danger -threatening his friends with such dire misfortune. For the -aged poet to languish in the foulness of a debtor's -prison for more than a week would be to sign his -death-warrant. The horrible condition of the places -of confinement consecrated to the incarceration of -gentlemen who involved themselves to an extent -beyond their ability to pay was one of the strongest -inducements that could be brought to bear by a creditor -to force to the settlement of long-standing obligations -a certain type of debtor--he who could pay if he -willed to make the sacrifice of personal convenience, -and to curtail the indulgences common usage made -the essential pleasures of the gay life of the sporty -young buck of the period. For this reason more than -any other was the condition of these vile dens allowed -to go unimproved in spite of an occasional vigorous -protest from some noble but impoverished family -whose ne'er-do-well offspring was compelled to lie -indefinitely in squalor as new as it was repugnant to -his elegant sensibilities. That Bessie would make any -sacrifice to keep her father from such a fate Moore felt -assured. There was only one way to block Sir -Percival's game. The money must be paid. But how? -The returns from Moore's book had enabled him to -settle his debts in both Ireland and England, but, up -to this time, very little more than enough to accomplish -this result and support him as his new position -demanded had come from his publisher, McDermot. It -was true that the sudden glow of enthusiasm usually -experienced by a bookseller after the publication of a -successful book had led the close-fisted and -stony-hearted old Scotchman to declare his willingness to -pay a generous sum in advance for a new poem, upon -an oriental theme, which Lord Lansdowne had -suggested to Moore, providing this bonus should give -him the exclusive right of publication for the term -of two years to all literary output from the pen -of the young Irishman. However, Moore felt -confident that the sum McDermot would be willing to -pay to bind the bargain would be far less than the -thousand he required. How, then, could he raise such -an enormous amount?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sheridan, who was fast sobering, thanks to the -bracing air, closed the window with a shiver and -turned to his young friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What will you do, Tommy?" he asked, only -a slight trace of his former thickness of tongue -perceptible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do, Sherry? I 'll have to raise the money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you it?" demanded the wit, regarding Moore -in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, Sherry. It's taken all I 've earned so far -to pay my debts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Debts?" snorted Sheridan, contemptuously. "Let -this be a lesson to you, Tom. Never pay anything. I -never do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Sherry? Have you any money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None, except what I have in my pockets," replied -Sheridan, hopelessly. At this moment Mr. Brummell, -deserted by Mrs. FitzHerbert, and weary of the senseless -gabble so liberally dispensed by nine of every ten -females gracing social functions of magnitude, -wandered back into the conservatory in search of quiet. -Spying two of his closest cronies, he made haste to -join them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here is the Beau," said Moore. "Ah, George, -you have come just in time for the collection."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed?" said Brummell, curiously. "Have I -missed the sermon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, but you are in time for the blessing, if you -have any money to lend a poor devil of an Irishman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Money," sighed the Beau, "is too vulgar for me -to long endure its possession, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not joking, Brummell," declared Moore, -seriously. "I need money, sir. Every penny you can -let me have. How much do you think you can raise -for me within the hour?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brummell, assured by Moore's manner that he was -not jesting, began to sum up his resources.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," said he, hopefully, "that I can borrow -fifty pounds from my landlady, and I have a guinea -or two in my clothes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fifty pounds," said Moore. "And you, Sherry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gentleman addressed had ransacked his pockets -and was rapidly counting out a handful of small coins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have five shillings and sixpence," he announced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore groaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I think," continued the old gentleman, "that -I can borrow five pounds from my valet if the rascal -is not in a state of beastly sobriety."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I 've not twenty pounds to my name," said -Moore, losing hope for the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your name should carry more weight than twenty -pounds," returned Sheridan. "Perhaps I can borrow -some from a stranger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But a stranger would not know you, Sherry," -objected Brummell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if he knew him he wouldn't lend him a penny," -said Moore. "Think of it, gentlemen. What would -posterity say if it knew? Beau Brummell, Richard -Brinsley Sheridan, and Tom Moore together cannot -raise one hundred pounds in a time of desperate need."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would posterity say?" sighed Brummell in -disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, d--n posterity!" cried Sheridan. "What -has posterity ever done for us?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give it time, Sherry, give it time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is one thing I am never short of, Tommy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I, without impropriety, ask what is the -trouble?" inquired the Beau.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A friend of mine is in danger, Brummell. I must -raise one thousand pounds before dawn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A thousand pounds!" exclaimed Brummell, -horrified. "Good Lord!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then, as the Beau had recourse to his scent-bottle -for the stimulation necessary to revive him from the -shock inflicted by Moore's words, the poet gripped -Sheridan by the arm in sudden hope.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll appeal to the Prince Regent himself, Sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sheridan shook his head in dissent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tommy, boy, remember he is Sir Percival's intimate -friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But his Highness likes me. Surely he would -interfere?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," said Brummell solemnly, "if there is a -woman in the case do not waste your time and exhaust -the patience of Wales. His Highness is a greater -rake than Percy Lovelace ever dreamed of being."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He would not see a woman so coerced," persisted -Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Remember, lad," advised Sheridan, "you are a -friend and courtier of only three months' standing. -Sir Percival has been Wales's companion since their -boyhood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then God help us," said Moore in despair. "There -is nothing I can do. Stay! I forgot McDermot. -He has asked me to write him an eastern romance -in verse and offered to pay liberally in advance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That old skinflint will faint at the thought of a -thousand pounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is my only chance, Sherry. Where is the old -fellow?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw him in the smoking-room a few minutes -ago," said Brummell. "No doubt you will find him -still there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll not lose a moment," said Moore. "It is a -forlorn hope, but he 'll find the hardest task of his life -will be to give me 'No' for an answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But first, Tom," said Sheridan, wisely, "you must -see Mr. Dyke. Perhaps it is not so bad a matter as -we think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right, Sherry," replied Moore, his spirits -recovering a little at the thought that, after all, the -danger might have been exaggerated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But this desperate hope was not destined to be of -long life, for Moore found Mr. Dyke in a quiet nook, -crushed and despairing. He had just left Sir Percival, -who in a few cold words had explained to the hapless -old man the terrible trap in which he had been caught.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take a half hour to think over my proposition," -the baronet had said as he left the aged poet. "When -that time has passed, acquaint your daughter with my -wishes. She will do anything, even marry me, I feel -sure, to extricate you from your present predicament."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore listened in silence to his friend's story, and -when he had finished said:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not told Bessie, sir?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet, Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then do not tell her. Let me settle with Sir -Percival. I 'll find some way to beat him yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leaving Mr. Dyke where he had found him, Moore -went in search of the publisher.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-makes-a-bad-bargain"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twenty</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE MAKES A BAD BARGAIN</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Mr. McDermot raised his bald head as -Moore approached him in the smoking-room. -His keen, hatchet-shaped face was -framed on either side by a huge mutton-chop whisker -which was like nothing else half so much as a furze -bush recently sifted over by a snow-storm. This -worthy gentleman regarded Moore with a keenness -that seemed to the poet to penetrate and to coldly -scrutinize his troubled mind, for Moore was ever a -poor hand at dissimulation and bore on his unusually -cheery countenance only too plainly the mark of the -mental anxiety he was now enduring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weel, Mr. Moore, what can I do for ye, sair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," said Moore, trying to hide his eagerness, -"I have been thinking over the proposition you made -a week ago at the instigation of Lord Lansdowne."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weel, Mr. Moore?" repeated McDermot, realizing -at a single glance that the person addressing him was -much in need of something he hoped to obtain as the -result of this interview, and wisely concluding that -this something was money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wished me to write a long poem, for which -you asserted you were willing to pay in advance, if -by so doing you secured the exclusive right to all -my work for the next two years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I said, Mr. Moore, but that was a week ago, -sair. However, continue your remarks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At that time I did not regard the matter favorably," -continued Moore, "but since then I have changed my -mind. I accept your offer, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, do ye? And what terms did I propose, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You named none, sir, but from the way you spoke -I fancied you would be agreeable to any reasonable -bargain I might propose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True, sair, true, but what is reasonable in one -man's eyes may weel be considered exhorbitant by -anither. Ha' the kindness to name in figures, -Mr. Moore, what ye deem ye due."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>McDermot spoke in his most chilling tones, indifference -ringing its baleful note in each word. Moore's -heart sank, but he struggled bravely on with his -hopeless task, resolved not to even acknowledge the -possibility of defeat until failure absolute and crushing -should be forced upon him beyond all denying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have decided to ask one thousand pounds in -advance, sir," he began, intending to name the royalty -he hoped to be paid upon each copy of the poem sold, -but the look he received from the grim old Scotchman -made him hesitate and falter with the words upon -his lips unspoken.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One thousand poonds!" ejaculated McDermot, -terribly shocked, if the tone in which he spoke could -be regarded as a truthful indication of his feelings. -"One thousand poonds, Mr. Moore? What jest is -this, sair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it not worth it?" stammered Moore, the blood -rushing to his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worth it? </span><em class="italics">Worth it</em><span>? You must be mad, sair. -No publisher half sane would dream o' paying ye -half that in advance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, come now," said Moore, trying to speak -unconcernedly, and scoring a wretched failure as a -result.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I too ha' been considering the matter o' which -ye speak, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean you wish to withdraw your offer, sir?" -cried Moore, in great alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That, Mr. Moore, is preecisely what I mean," -declared McDermot, regarding the poet from beneath -his bristling brows. "I ha' decided, sair, that I much -exaggerated ye popularity as well as ye talents. This -determination, taken togither with the terms ye ha' -just suggested, leads me to wash my hands o' the whole -matter. Find some ither pooblisher, Mr. Moore. -Try Longmans or Mooray."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. McDermot," said Moore, forcing himself -to speak calmly, thankful that the publisher and he -had the smoking-room to themselves, "if the proposition -I have made is unsatisfactory, pray suggest one -in your turn. I will consider any you may see fit to -offer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>McDermot coughed a little and shook his shining -old head. That Moore was in desperate need of money -was quite evident. The wily old publisher had no -intention of allowing the most promising young poet -of the day to slip through his fingers, yet he was quite -resolved to take advantage of his extremity to drive -him to as desperate a bargain as could be obtained -by the craft which forty years of business life had -endowed him with in addition to his natural astuteness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said he, "I 'll not haggle wi' ye. No doubt -there are ithers who will gi' ye what ye ask."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This last was said in a way that plainly stated his -sincere conviction that no one else would even -consider the matter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, sir!" cried Moore, despairingly, "I have -relied upon this bargain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No fault o' mine, Mr. Moore, no fault o' mine, sair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I would ask you to reconsider your -words if I had any hope of obtaining the money in -any other quarter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where is Lord Brooking? He should help ye -if ye ask him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord Brooking is on the Continent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Mr. Moore, ye accomplish nothing by -this perseestance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you no heart, Mr. McDermot?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Weel, it has no voice in my business affairs, sair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you will give me one thousand pounds to-night -and three hundred more during the year you shall -own and publish all that I write these two years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One hundred during the year and the thousand -pounds to-night, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us end this useless discussion," snarled -McDermot, rising from the easy chair he had occupied -until now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," cried Moore, "you shall not deny me. I 'll -give you a bargain you cannot refuse, sir. Give -me one thousand pounds which shall be payment in -full for the long poem, and I will write when and -how you will for the next year at your own price. -Yes, I will do this and bless you for it. Oh, sir, it -means more than life to me. It is my whole future. -It's love, it's honor. I beg that you will not use my -extremity to drive me to despair. Surely my work is -worth as much as it was a week ago when you would -have gladly accepted such terms as I offer you now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not the question," replied McDermot, -coldly. "Ha' the goodness to get out o' my way, -Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore seized the publisher by the arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An old man's liberty, perhaps his life; the -happiness and good name of a mere girl depend upon -me, sir. I have no other way of raising the money. -Have pity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am sorry," began McDermot in cold, merciless -tones, but he got no farther.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then dictate your own terms, sir. I must have one -thousand pounds. For that sum I will bind myself -to anything you may propose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye mean that, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For one thousand poonds ye will gi' me, </span><em class="italics">without -further compensation</em><span>, the entire literary labor o' your -life, sair? All that ye may write so long as ye live, -Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that the best you will offer me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all, sair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept your terms," said Moore in a choking voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>McDermot sat down at a desk near by and wrote -out the check for the desired amount.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Moore, accompanied by Mr. Sheridan, went in -search of Sir Percival armed with the check made -payable to the order of the baronet by Mr. McDermot, -who immediately after drawing it went home to bed, -entirely satisfied with his evening's work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The two Irishmen found Sir Percival idly chatting -with Mr. Walter Scott and that gentleman's most -intimate friend, Mr. Samuel Rogers, these two giants -being as usual surrounded by a circle of the lesser -lights in the world of literature. Their host, seeing -that his company was evidently desired, excused -himself to his other guests, and the trio withdrew to a -secluded corner of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Percival," said Moore, in reply to the baronet's -inquiring glance, "I have been informed by my friend, -Mr. Dyke, that he is indebted to you for the amount -of one thousand pounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival allowed an expression of gentle -surprise to play over his clever face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is quite true, Mr. Moore, but really I fail to -see how the transaction concerns you in the least."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps your comprehension of the affair in its -entirety is quite as unnecessary as you seem to regard -the interest I feel in the matter," replied Moore, taking -the same key as his host.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you pardon me if I ask the business in regard -to which you wish to see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, Sir Percival, I desire you to give -Mr. Dyke a receipt for one thousand pounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut!" said the baronet, as though slightly -irritated by the apparent silliness of Moore's request. -"I shall do nothing of the sort unless I am paid in -full."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Allow me to pay you, sir. Here are a thousand -pounds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival took the check from Moore, for once -astonished out of his usually indifferent demeanor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The devil!" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, a publisher," replied Moore, with a wink -at Sheridan. "Kindly write me out a receipt, Sir -Percival. Sherry, you will witness this transaction?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, that I will gladly," said the dramatist, -regarding Sir Percival's discomfiture with a humorous -twinkle in his keen old eyes. "Damme, this is really -a joyous occasion for all concerned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To say that Sir Percival was surprised would be -but to feebly express the feelings of that gentleman -when he received payment of the debt which he had -fondly hoped would be sufficient to gain his ends with -Mistress Bessie. However, quickly rallying from his -momentary discomposure, he put the check in his -pocket.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Believe me, gentlemen, I receive this with pleasure," -said he, scribbling off a receipt with pen and ink -brought by a servant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I know how pleased you are," replied Moore, -politely. Then taking the acknowledgment of liquidation -from the baronet, he carefully folded it before -depositing it in his wallet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some day, Sir Percival, when the time comes for -us to make a settlement, I shall ask you for my -receipt," he said in a tone that there was no mistaking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When that time comes, Mr. Moore, you will find -me as eager and prompt as yourself," replied Sir -Percival.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore looked his enemy calmly in the face and read -there a courage fully the equal of his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad, Sir Percival," said he, "for once I believe -you. No doubt you will find it in your heart to release -the bailiffs from further attendance this evening?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your suggestion is a good one, Mr. Moore," -answered the baronet, smothering his rage. "Carry to -Mr. Dyke my thanks and add one more to the list of -the many kindnesses for which I am already indebted -to you, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore and Sheridan lost but little time in the -exchange of social amenities with their discomfited host. -The younger man sought the card-room, bent on -forgetting, for a while at least, the slavery into which he -had sold his pen; the elder picked up the temporarily -abandoned thread of his intoxication without further -delay.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-poet-falls-from-favor"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twenty-One</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">THE POET FALLS FROM FAVOR</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>About fifteen minutes elapsed before some -zealous courtier brought the poem in the -</span><em class="italics">Examiner</em><span> to the attention of the Regent, who -thereupon, forgetting the presence of Mrs. FitzHerbert, -who had allowed him to overtake her a few -minutes previous, swore with an ease and variety that -would have been a credit to the proverbial Billingsgate -seller of fish. As the rage of Wales was not of -the repressed order, the voice of royalty raised high -in anger drew about him a crowd of courtiers who -had been eagerly expecting such an outbreak all the -evening.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Percival!" cried the Regent, catching sight -of the baronet in a distant corner where Farrell and -he were enjoying the tumult consequent on the -culmination of their plot. "Have you seen this devilish -set of verses?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I regret to say I have, your Highness," responded -the baronet both shocked and grieved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is infamous!" stormed Wales. "Gad's life! it -is intolerable. I devote my best efforts to my -country's service only to be foully lampooned in the public -Press. Why, curse me--!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Highness, calm yourself, I beg of you," -said Mrs. FitzHerbert, soothingly, but the Prince was -not to be so easily restrained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Calm, indeed?" he shouted. "Calm, when such -damnable insults are written and printed? Not I, -madame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rise superior to this malicious attack," persisted -the beauty, little pleased that her influence should fail -so publicly. "Remember your greatness, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A lion may be stung into anger by a gadfly, -madame," retorted Wales, growing even more furious. -"Brummell, have you read this infernal poem?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, your Highness," replied the Beau, who, -accompanied by Moore, had forsaken the card-table -at the first outburst of royal wrath.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then do so now," commanded the enraged Regent, -thrusting the paper into his hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brummell ran his eyes hurriedly over the verses, -while Wales continued pacing up and down the now -crowded room in unabating fury.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw them earlier in the evening, your Highness," -said Sheridan, unable to keep his oar out of the -troubled waters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, did you, indeed?" demanded Wales. "And -no doubt chuckled like the devil over them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Highness!" said the aged wit, trying to -speak reproachfully, in spite of an internal laugh that -threatened to break out and ruin him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe you are quizzing me now if the truth -were known," asserted the Prince, wrathfully -suspicious. "If I am not mistaken, these lines sound -marvellously like the work of your pen, sirrah."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On my honor you wrong me, Sire," declared Sheridan, -in a tone so unmistakably truthful that Wales -could not doubt his entire innocence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"May I not see the poem, Mr. Brummell?" asked -Dyke, who had just entered the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Beau obligingly handed over the paper to the -old gentleman. As the old rhymer turned away, -Moore looked over his shoulder and, scanning with -eager eyes the page in quest of the satire which had -so enraged the Regent, found it before the elder man's -less keen sight had performed a like service for him. -Moore turned sick with horror and clutched the -nearest chair for support. How had the verses found their -way into print? Dyke was ruined if it were proved -that he wrote them. Bessie, too, would feel the weight -of the Regent's displeasure, and without doubt would -be deprived of her position at Drury Lane for her -father's additional punishment. He had saved them -from one disaster only to see them plunged hopelessly -into another almost as dire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A groan from the unhappy author announced that -he, too, had recognized his poem. The next moment -he turned on Moore with a look of despair on his -usually placid face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," he whispered, "you have ruined me. My -poem is printed. Oh, Tom, how could you? How -could you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely you do not believe that I gave it to the -Press?" said Moore, hoarsely, stung to the heart by -the accusing look he read in his old friend's eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who else could have done it? I gave you the only -copy three months ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I remember, sir. Ah, I can explain it. I left my -garret in the afternoon and went for a stroll. When -I returned home I found Sir Percival and Farrell -there. Since that day I have never thought of it. -They have done this, Mr. Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not believe you," answered Dyke in a voice -so scornful and suspicious that Moore felt as though -he had received a blow in the face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Wales's anger had not cooled in the -least.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad!" he was saying, "if I but knew the author's name!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is still a chance, Mr. Dyke," whispered -Moore. "Deny all knowledge of the matter. Swear -you did not write it if necessary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it impossible to learn the identity of the writer?" -asked Brummell seriously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible?" repeated Wales. "Of course it is -impossible, Beau! You do not think he will -acknowledge this slander as his own, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does seem unlikely," admitted the exquisite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So unlikely," snorted the Prince, "that I 'd give -a thousand pounds to find the rascal out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farrell, spurred on by a nudge from the elbow of -his patron, stepped forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Highness," said he, calmly, "I accept your offer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wales gazed at the dapper young law student in -surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know the author of this attack upon me, sir?" -he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do," answered Farrell, firmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore, resolved to anticipate and if possible -prevent the accusation of Dyke which he felt sure was -about to follow, stepped hurriedly forward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, your Highness," said he. "Do you -know this gentleman? He is a liar, a blackleg, and -a coward, unworthy of your Highness' belief or -consideration."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curse you," began Farrell, white to his lips with -shame and passion, but Moore did not allow him to -finish.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I struck him in Ireland, yet he never resented my -insult. Think, your Highness, is such a poltroon -worthy of belief?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sire!" stammered Farrell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Damn your private quarrels!" roared Wales, -turning on Moore. "Have I not my own wrongs -to resent, that you must annoy me with yours now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will lie to you as he has to others, Sire," replied -Moore, refusing to be silenced.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That remains to be seen, sirrah."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Percival stepped out of the throng surrounding -the angry Prince, smiling and debonair as usual.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will answer for the truth of any statement -Mr. Farrell may make, Sire," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Continue," growled the Prince, waving Moore -back with an impatient gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Highness," said Farrell, quick to take -advantage of his opportunity, "the author of this vile -attack upon you is one of your friends, a favorite -protégé, who, owing all to your favor, thus rewards -your kindness by base ingratitude. To your Highness -he owes everything; thus he repays you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His name?" demanded Wales.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a moment's pause, during which silence -reigned, as Farrell artfully hesitated in his reply that, -thus delayed, it might fall with even more crushing -effect upon the object of his hatred. Short as was the -time, it sufficed for Moore. Convinced that this was -the only opportunity which would be afforded him to -avert the disaster he believed to be about to overtake -the father of the girl he had loved so truly and -patiently, he resolved not to let it pass unutilized.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wrote that poem," he cried. "I am the author -whose name your Highness would know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You, Moore?" gasped the Prince, astonished by -what he had heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dyke made a move forward, but Moore gripped his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For Bessie's sake," he whispered. "Now do you -believe me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Tom--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, sir," said Moore, thrusting Sir Percival's -receipt into Dyke's hand. "Read that, and be silent -if you love your daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wales, pale with fury, had stood for a moment in -utter silence. Then, as he recovered speech, his voice -sounded hoarsely, but under perfect control.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir Percival," he said slowly, "call a carriage for -Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Turning to Mrs. FitzHerbert, he offered her his -arm, and with her at his side walked deliberately from -the room. Sir Percival started toward the door, a -triumphant smile upon his sneering mouth, but Moore -stopped him, and for a moment the two stood face to -face. Suddenly the desperate expression left the -countenance of the poet, and he smiled as gayly as though -he had just received from the Prince a mark of esteem -instead of a disgraceful dismissal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You heard his Highness' order, my man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed to be addressing a servant, if one could -judge from the tone in which he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then call my carriage, lackey!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lackey!" cried Sir Percival, red with rage at the -insult, thus forced upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, lackey," repeated Moore, defiant and -sneering in his turn. "And here is your pay!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, he struck the baronet a stinging slap -in the face; then turned and strolled elegantly from -the room.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Thus it was that Mr. Thomas Moore quitted the -world of Fashion, which but a scant three months -before he had entered in triumph by grace of the favor -of His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-receives-a-proposal-of-marriage"><span class="large">Book Four</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line noindent"><span>"</span><em class="italics">If every rose with gold were tied,</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">Did gems for dewdrops fall,</em></div> -</div> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">One faded leaf where love had sighed</em></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line noindent"><em class="italics">Were sweetly worth them all.</em><span>"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twenty-Two</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE RECEIVES A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The morning after his enforced but by no -means inglorious departure from Sir -Percival's house, Mr. Thomas Moore met his -disgruntled host near the Serpentine in Hyde Park, but -the duel was productive of little satisfaction to either -of the parties concerned, as Moore, never having held -a pistol in his hands before, missed his antagonist by -at least ten feet, receiving in return a bullet that sang -a melody new to him as it clipped its way through his -hair. Sir Percival's honor was declared vindicated, -as his having made a target of himself for Moore's -shooting was considered to totally erase all stain put -upon his personal character by the vigorous slap he -had received from the poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore escaped unhurt, though minus a few locks -of hair,--a loss which was not without significance -as an indication of Sir Percival's good intentions. -The young Irishman was naturally convinced that at -this particular game he was no match for his sneering -enemy, and considered himself lucky to have escaped -with his life, an opinion that was shared by both Sir -Percival and Terence Farrell, for the baronet was an -expert marksman, and had never doubted that he -would end all rivalry between himself and Moore with -the bullet he aimed at his opponent that morning. -However, his opportunity to so rid himself of his rival -had come and gone, for he was far too wise to -endeavor to force another quarrel upon Moore, even -though the latter had fallen from favor, for more than -one harsh criticism was made on the unequal nature -of their encounter. Sir Percival's skill was widely -known, and a no less deservedly popular individual -than Mr. Sheridan took pains to circulate the truth -concerning Moore's shortcomings as a pistol shot. -Even his Highness saw fit to remark to the baronet -that it was "a demned one-sided affair," and that Sir -Percival's reputation, had he killed Moore, might have -become "even a little more unsavory," comments which -led the latter to doubt the permanency of the poet's -disgrace and exile, but, as he kept these suspicions to -himself, by the world in general Tom Moore was -considered a ruined man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On returning from their meeting in Hyde Park in -the early morning, Moore discreetly abandoned his -comfortable apartments, and, in spite of the protests -and lamentations of Mrs. Malone, resumed the -occupancy of the shabby attic from which the Prince's -kindness had a few months before rescued him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Moore, determinedly, to his landlady. -"I 'm out of favor now and I 'll be saving of my -pennies till I 'm righted again, if that shall ever be, -which God knows and I 'm ignorant of, worse luck."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster and Lord Castlereagh moved up the several -flights between the poet's latest and earliest -abiding-places with their master, and seemed actually glad -to be back in their old quarters. Their cheerfulness -could be easily accounted for. Rat-holes were an -unknown commodity on the first floor, though numerous -in the attic, and the dignity of behavior Buster thought -incumbent on him to assume in honor of rising fortune -had proved irksome in the extreme to that worthy youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Leaving the lad to attend to the details of the -removal, Moore, after signing his contract with -McDermot, sought the soothing comforts of the country, -as was his custom when in trouble, and hied himself -to a little fishing village not far distant.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>One afternoon a week later Buster was seated in his -favorite attitude, his chair tipped back on its rear legs -and his feet, considerably higher than his head, -supported by the table, idly contemplating the daily mail -which had just been delivered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were only two letters. Up to the time of the -withdrawal of Wales's favor, there were usually a score -or so calling for the poet's inspection each day, but -the reprimand of the week before had had immediate -effect upon Moore's correspondence, and while -numerous of his more intimate friends remained loyal -throughout the whole period of his disgrace, there -were many others only too prompt to show the utter -shallowness of their pretence of regard by immediately -abandoning him to what they believed would be -permanent ruin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of the two letters in Buster's possession had a -plump outline that seemed to indicate an inclosure of -some bulk. This had the name of the </span><em class="italics">Gazette</em><span> printed -upon it. Buster shook his head disgustedly. The size -of the missive seemed ominous. The other letter was -neutral in impression-giving. It might hold a check, -or it might announce the return of a manuscript under -separate cover, but it certainly did possess possibilities.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster sighed and, as was his wont, addressed -himself to the bulldog, who from the window was -solemnly contemplating the passing throng on the -street below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a nice mile for a poet hof the maggietood -hof Mr. Moore, haint it, your lordship? Cuss 'em, -they thinks we is down to st'y, don't they? Well, -we 'll show 'em a thing hor two before we gets -through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bulldog regarded his master admiringly over his -brawny shoulder, and switched his butt of a tail -vigorously back and forth upon the floor. This manoeuvre -sent fluttering a bit of paper that lay near him, and -Lord Castlereagh, becoming immediately persuaded -that he had a butterfly within easy reach, leaped -vigorously in pursuit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 're a fool," remarked Buster, as the animal -scuttled across the floor in delighted chase of the -paper. Then, waxing philosophical, he continued, -"Hit wuz hever thus. We wacks hup suthin' with -hour tiles that flies, hand we thinks hit his fime and -fortune, hand pursoos hit only to find hout we 'as -bilked hourselves wid a kimming-reror hor fast fiding -plant-has-me-goryer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Absurdly satisfied with himself for having rid his -mind of such important and many-jointed words -successfully, Buster began to whistle, playing a merry -tune more or less reminiscent of "Sally in Our Alley" -on an instrument which his master had presented to -him the first week of their acquaintance. This was -none other than the whistle that Moore had made the -very afternoon on which he quarrelled with Bessie at -the schoolhouse,--a bit of manufacturing he had -often since regretted, for Buster had treasured it -carefully, and was much given to using it for shrill -improvisation, as well as careful rendition of the various -airs then popular with the masses, finding it particularly -adapted to the high notes of "The Last Rose of -Summer," then in the heyday of its success.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly he felt his chair tip backward in a manner -quite unwarranted by the care with which he was -maintaining a delicate balance, and jumped to his feet -with a loud yell, finding himself, when he turned, face -to face with Mrs. Malone, who had entered unnoticed, -the sound of her heavy tread being drowned by his -melody.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fur goodness' sike!" he exclaimed wrathfully, -"you must n't do sich rambunctious things, hole -woman. You just scared me houter seven years' -growth hand I can't hafford to lose no sich hamount."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind thot," replied the landlady. "It's -many the fright you 've given me, you little tinker. -Is Mr. Moore back from the country?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See 'ere, his n't the rent pide?" demanded Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Av course it's paid," replied Mrs. Malone, scornfully. -"D' ye t'ink I have no t'oughts at all but about -me rint?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," confessed Buster, "once hupon a time, hit -sorter looked has 'ow you wuz bestowing considerable -medication hupon that topic. Hif hit did n't, bli' me, -that's hall, just bli' me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Mr. Moore back from the country?" repeated -Mrs. Malone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, your Majesty," replied the boy, with a low -obeisance. "'Ee his. 'Ee returned this werry noon -from the 'onts hof nachoor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is just a week since he wint away," observed -Mrs. Malone, reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ow does yer keep count?" asked Buster, -surprised at the accuracy of her remark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, thot 's an easy mather," she answered, -sagely. "Has n't Misthress Dyke called to see him -sivin times?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She 'as, your 'Ighness, she 'as."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's once for each day, and siven days makes -a week, does n't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi never wuz a good 'and hat arithmetic, but Hi -'as faith in the correctness of your calculation," -responded Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Siven times has she called and so disapinted each -time that he has n't returned. Did yez give her his -adthress?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi did not, coz has 'ow Hi expected 'im 'ome -hevery day. Hit 'll do 'er good, Mrs. Malone. -Disappointments is disciplinationary, hand disciplination -his wot womens need. Hit mikes 'em contented like. -Oh, Hi tells yer, Mrs. Malone, my wife 'll be han 'appy -female. She'll 'ave a master, she will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Malone gave the boy a vigorous push that sent -him staggering, and as Lord Castlereagh neglected to -get out of the way, boy and dog suddenly assumed -recumbent and by no means graceful attitudes upon -the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Arrah, get out o' thot," she remarked, complacently -viewing the disaster she had wrought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My heye!" said Buster, in an astonished tone, -"wot his this hany 'ow? His hit according to London -prize ring rules, hor just knock down hand drag -habout till death do hus part?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me no more airs, you little puckorn. The -size of yez, talking about the holy state of -matrimony!" said Mrs. Malone, rebukingly, as Buster -climbed up to his feet, slightly jarred by the force -with which he had taken his seat. "Did yez tell -Mr. Moore that the young lady called?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Hi did not, Mrs. Malone, you hinquisitive -ole party."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not, me bucko?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Coz Hi wishes to surprise 'im, that's w'y," said -the boy defiantly. "Hand hif you lays 'and hon me -agin, Hi 'll 'ave Lord Castlereagh bite you good hand -'arty where it 'll do you the most good hand be the -least missed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind thot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi won't hif you won't, Hi 'm sure, Mrs. Malone, -and as for the young lidy, she has n't been 'ere to-day," -said Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, never fear," returned Mrs. Malone. "Shell -come, and it's glad I am that he 's back agin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"W'y? Did you miss 'im?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind. It's the young leddy I 'm tinking -of. Faith, suppose she got discouraged and stopped -a-coming?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That 'ud show she was n't worth 'aving," replied -Buster wisely. "Now see 'ere, Mrs. Malone, w'en -she comes Hi wants you to let 'er hup widout hany -announcement. Does you 'ear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I hears, but for phwat should I do that, Mr. Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You just leave it to me, your 'Ighness. Hi knows -how these haffairs should be conducted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, yez do, do yez?" said Mrs. Malone in a derisive -tone, as she ambled toward the door. "It's in -an orphan asylum yez ought to be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not hat all," retorted Buster. "Hi 'as no time -to waste hon 'aving horphings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The worthy landlady met Moore in the hall as she -quitted his apartments, and overwhelmed him with the -heartiness of her welcome, but, mindful of Buster's -instructions, said never a word concerning the visits -of Mistress Dyke. Moore, having made as speedy an -escape as was possible without wounding the old -woman's feelings, entered the attic, being received with -much doggish delight by Lord Castlereagh, who -seemed to ignore the fact that he had ceased to be a -puppy several years before.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good hevening, Mr. Moore," said Buster politely, -about to deliver the post to his master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good evening, </span><em class="italics">Montgomery</em><span>," replied Moore, -severely, drawing off his gloves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Montgomery?" echoed the boy, thoroughly disgusted. -"Ho, don't call me that, sir, please don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, that's your name, isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, Hi knows hit, alas!" said Buster, in an -injured tone. "Hi knows hit only too well. Wen Hi -wuz too little to defend myself w'en put hupon, my -hole woman hup and christens me Montgomery Julien -Hethelbert, hand 'itches hit hon to the family nime hof -Spinks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Montgomery Julien Ethelbert--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Spinks</em><span>. Yes sir, that's hit. Wuz n't that a crime? -That's wot stunted my growth, most likely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems plausible," observed Moore, in secret -vastly amused.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, hit do," continued the boy, sadly. "Say, sir, -won't you allus call me Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, sir," responded Moore, sternly. "You were -fighting again this afternoon. As punishment for -your pugilistic propensities I refuse to call you Buster -again to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, law!" exclaimed Buster, "but this 'ere punishment -is horful. We wuz honly 'aving a gime, sir, -just playin' like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed? I happened to see you myself this time. -I won't have you half killing the neighbors' children -that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You saw me? Oh, Hi say, was n't that a helegant -gesture w'en I soaked 'im hon the nob? Did n't Hi do -'im hup brown, eh? Hand that jolt hin the bread-basket -wid my left fisty. Ho, that cert'nly wuz a pet!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Montgomery Julien," began the poet, severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lad wilted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, don't, sir, don't. Hit makes me </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> fretful," -he said pleadingly. "Hi 'll reform, really Hi will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do so, then," said Moore. "And remember, if -I ever hear of your fighting again, I 'll never call you -anything but Montgomery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir," replied Buster, with a low bow. "Hi -'ears, hand to 'ear his to hobey. Hi retires from the -prize ring to-day, hand my champeenship Hi resigns -to the red-'eaded butcher boy hacross the w'y. 'Ere 's -the post, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore took the two letters from the lad and sat -down beside the table to examine them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From publishers, h'aren't they?" said Buster -interestedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That they are, lad," he answered, opening the first -as he spoke. "Ah, here is an inclosure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hinside?" asked Buster, eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where else?" demanded the poet. "Did you think -it would be wrapped around the outside? From the -</span><em class="italics">Gazette</em><span>. One pound. Good. A pound is better than -ten shillings any day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha munth hagow hit 'ud 'ave been ten pun," said -Buster, shaking his round head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it's nine well lost," answered Moore, adding -to himself, "aye, well lost, since it is for Bessie's sake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He found a note inside and read it aloud.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="smaller">"MR. THOMAS MOORE--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span class="smaller">"DEAR SIR,--Inclosed find one pound in payment for your -poem, 'Inconstancy,' which, owing to your present unpopularity, -we feel compelled to print under the name Thomas Little."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Hi likes their imperence," cried Buster in disgust. -"'Little,' indeed!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That accounts for the size of the check, no doubt," -observed the poet. "Two days ago it was 'Tom -Brown;' next week it will be 'Tom Green' or 'Tom -Fool.' However, it does n't matter if Tom Moore gets -the money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi 'll let 'em use my nime," suggested the lad in -noble self-sacrifice. "My folks his all dead, so the -publis'ty won't kill 'em. Montgomery Julien -Hethelbert would look grite hin print."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I quite agree with you," said Moore, laughing. -"Ah, Buster, me boy, it's sweet to be back in the old -place. I 'd not give it, bare and ugly as it is, for one -of the fine places I 've wined and dined in since leaving -it, if Bessie were only here to brighten it for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster looked around him comprehensively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit does need cleaning hup a bit," he said -apologetically. "Hi 'll see wot Hi can do to-morrer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you say there has been no letter for me from -her?" continued Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not one letter, sir," replied Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you have n't seen her, Buster?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The boy gave a yell of pain, and slapped his hand -to his face, at the same time executing a double shuffle -with his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What ails you, lad?"' asked the poet in astonishment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My toot' haches me," explained Buster, who had -invented this complaint by way of diverting his -master's inquiries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fall in love, Buster," advised Moore, "and the -pain in your heart will make you forget the pain in -your tooth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit's better now, sir," announced the boy, jubilant -that he had kept his master from all knowledge of -Mistress Dyke without real denial of her visits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now for the other letter," said Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was the bulky package. Buster's suspicions -that it inclosed a disappointment proved not -unfounded, for there was a manuscript poem folded -within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Humph," grunted Moore, scornfully. "What bad -taste they display.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="smaller">"'MR. THOMAS MOORE--</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span class="smaller">"'DEAR SIR,--In view of your present unpopularity--'</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Oh, I hate that d--n word, Buster."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hit is a bit narsty," assented the boy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="smaller">"--we feel obliged to return your poem entitled 'To -Bessie.'"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Confound them!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Unfolding the poem, Moore ran his eye over its -neatly written lines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment the door behind him opened softly, -and Bessie crept in as quietly as any mouse. Buster -saw her, and, leaning over the table, asked his master -to read him the rejected verses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly, Buster, since you wish it," said Moore, -good-naturedly. "It will help on your literary -education."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That hit will, sir," said Buster, stepping where he -could motion Bessie to remain silent without being -detected by his master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'To Bessie,'" announced Moore, beginning to -read, little thinking that the girl was so near.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Tho' brimmed with blessings, pure and rare,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Life's cup before me lay,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Unless thy love were mingled there</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>I 'd spurn the draught away.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>"Without thy smile the monarch's lot</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>To me were dark and lone,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>While, with it, even the humblest cot</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>Were brighter than his throne.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>"Those worlds for which the conqueror sighs</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>For me would have no charms,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>My only world thy gentle eyes,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>My throne thy circling arms."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Suddenly a pair of soft round arms were around his -neck, and the poem he had just read with such love -and tenderness was plucked from his grasp without -warning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore sprang to his feet with a low cry of surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie," he said, incredulously. "You?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you know me?" she asked with a little pout, -as Buster, followed by the bulldog, stole discreetly -from the room. "Have you forgotten how I look so -soon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgotten?" he echoed. "Is it likely, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You seem surprised to see me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't deny that," he answered in wonder. -"Forgive me if I ask to what I am indebted for this -visit?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Bessie, indifferently, "I came to see if -you have written any more poems about the Prince. -Tom, how could you do it? He was so fond of you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That may be," replied Moore, assuming a dignified -air, "but I can't let friendship interfere with -my politics."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it was your duty, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was my duty," he answered, gloomily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you were unpardonable," said the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," replied Moore, "you came to reproach me, -Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a deceitful fellow you are," she went on, -shaking her pretty head in a sad way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am," admitted the poet. "I am. Go on, Bessie, -don't spare me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She advanced a step or two as he, at a loss to -understand why she was thus baiting him, turned bitterly -away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't spare you," she said sternly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it seems," he murmured, not looking at her, -lest the sight of her girlish beauty make the pain in his -heart too great to be endured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't spare you," she repeated, "I can't spare -you," but this time her tone was one of loving -tenderness and he turned to look at her in surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was standing with outstretched arms, her face -eager and adoring, the old light shining soft and clear -in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Without you, Tom, there is no happiness for me. -Tom dear, Tom darling, can't you see I 've come here -because I love you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What?" he exclaimed, and then, mindful of past -disappointments, he raised his hand imploringly. -"You are sure you are not joking this time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Joking?" she repeated, advancing toward him. -"Let this assure you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke she kissed him full on the mouth, not -once but thrice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now are you convinced I am in earnest?" she -asked shyly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Partly," he replied, still unable to fully realize that -she had surrendered at last. "Convince me some -more, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then as she kissed him again, he folded her in his -arms and held her to his heart so tightly that she -released herself with a little gasp.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please remember, sir, that I have to breathe," she -remonstrated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I forgot everything, except that I had you in my -arms," he answered. "Ah, Bessie darlin', my heart -was breaking for you. I love you so much, dearest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He embraced her again, and pressed her soft cool -cheek to his, and it must be admitted she appeared to -enjoy this proceeding as much as he did.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure," he whispered, "if heaven is half as sweet -as this let me die to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You took the blame to save my father. Oh, Tom, -I 'll never forgive you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep on not forgiving me," he suggested, for she -had given him another kiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I made him tell me," said she, complying with his -request before sitting down by the table, "but the next -day you had gone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," said Moore, "I went out into the country. -It helped me, as it always does. It comforted me, but -not as you have done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And while you were gone I came here every day -to see if you had returned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that?" he demanded. "You came here, -dearest?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie nodded gleefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not miss a day, not even Sunday," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That little devil of a Buster!" cried Moore, -glaring around the attic in quest of him. "The imp! -Wait till I lay my hands upon him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He didn't tell you, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a word. If I had known, it is no sight of me -the trees and the fields would have had."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie rose from her chair, and stepping back a little -distance, looked archly at her lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you forgotten what you said?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since I don't remember, I think I must have," -said Moore puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I 'll tell you, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good of you, Bessie," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You told me I would have to ask you to marry -me," she answered, a little timidly. "Tom dear, I -love you; will you be my husband?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is so sudden," said Moore, and he sat down -in the chair she had vacated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your answer, Tom?" she asked, almost -anxiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll have to be wooed further before I give it," -he declared, keenly relishing the situation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll do it," she murmured. "I 'll do it. Tom, -I love you better than all the world. With all my heart -and soul I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She knelt beside him and drew his head down on -her shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you," she whispered again, and held him -close.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," he sighed in happy endurance of the -unwonted attentions he was receiving, "Why do you -love me so desperately? Is it because of my beauty -or my goodness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's both, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I have it," he exclaimed, "it's my wealth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she said reproachfully and rose to her feet, -but before she could reprimand him for his last -assertion his arm was around her waist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie dear," he said solemnly, "do you know, -for a moment in the joy of your coming I forgot my -poverty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not, Tom," she answered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are an angel of love and beauty, dear girl; -you have taken a load from my heart and brightened -my life this day. I can't tell you how I adore you, how -grateful I am for what you have said to me, but I -cannot marry you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she cried reproachfully. "Do you think -I do not know of that wretched bargain to which you -were driven by that terrible publisher?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Sheridan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will that old Irishman never learn to keep his -mouth shut?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never, while he can do good to a friend by opening -it, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll sue him if he keeps on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That does n't seem to do much good, dear lad; -I 've been suing ever since I came here this afternoon, -and I do not seem to have accomplished anything. -Tom, say we shall be married soon, there 's a dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie," he said slowly, holding her at arm's -length, so that he could look deep into her eyes, "I 'll -have to get a clerkship somewhere before that can be. -My whole literary work is mortgaged for the future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall not keep that wicked agreement, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Bessie, a promise is a promise," said Moore. -"When I have found a position I 'll consider your -proposal of marriage. Can't you see, dear, what poor -proof of my love for you it would be to allow you to -share my present lot? Think how we should struggle, -perhaps almost starve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should not care if I were with you," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I, Bessie? It would break my heart to know -you were bearing such desolation for love of me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where there is love there can be no desolation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore's voice shook as he answered her, but he -remained firm in his determination.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are the bravest girl in all the world, Bessie, -but even your sweet words shan't make me close my -eyes to the truth. We will go on as we are now. I 'll -fight it out, and when I am satisfied that I can offer -you one tithe of what you deserve, if God wills that -I succeed, I 'll come to you with open arms. I 've no -head for business. It's a new world I 'll have to -conquer, dear. We must wait and I 'll not let you bind -yourself to me. Perhaps there will be some one else -some day--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stopped his mouth with a kiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you be so cruel?" she half sobbed. -"There can never be any one but you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," he said mischievously, "you took so long to -make up your mind, I thought--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom, you don't love me or you would not tease me so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, if you are to be believed, teasing is no sign of -indifference," said Moore. "It's a leaf from the book -you wrote me this last year that you are reading now, -Bessie!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are so obstinate," she sighed. "Ah, Tom, -you will succeed in spite of all. I know you will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, dearest, let us wait. Think, how can I -expect you to obey me as my wife if you disobey me -as a sweetheart?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said the girl, pouting, "I am not used to -being rejected."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I am</em><span>," said he. "It is good experience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose I 'll have to let you have your way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you will, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father is coming after me in half an hour," she -continued, taking off her hat as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So soon?" responded Moore, regretfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a knock on the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," said Bessie, quite at home as lady of -the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that?" said Moore, looking at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," she repeated, blushing as she realized -her presumption.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you have established yourself already?" said -the poet, his eyes twinkling, as he opened the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Mrs. Malone, resplendent in the best her -wardrobe could afford.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-poet-has-callers-and-gives-a-dinner-party"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twenty-Three</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">THE POET HAS CALLERS AND GIVES A DINNER-PARTY</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Good avening, Misther Moore. Oh, it's -yourself, Mistress Dyke? The top of the -afternoon, darling. I just dropped in for -a moment to tell yez the news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Moore, hopefully, "the rent has been -lowered, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have your joke, Misther Moore," -chuckled the landlady, sitting down in the chair Moore -placed for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you 'll have your rent, eh, Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," said Bessie, "do be still. What is the news, -Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a couple of gossips," declared Moore, -sitting on the table between Bessie and the old woman. -"Oh, well, scandal is the spice of life they say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," began Mrs. Malone, in a tone appropriate -to the importance of her story, "it seems that Sweeny, -who kapes the grocery next door but two, has been -having throuble with his darter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My, oh, my!" exclaimed Moore, properly horrified -at the unfilial behavior of the young person -mentioned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, Tom,"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why don't he spank the girl?" demanded the poet. -"If my daughter--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom!" said Bessie, giving him a reproving pinch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I mean if ever I have a daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you have will be time enough to tell about -her, won't it, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith," said that hopeful old female, "I luvs to -hear young couples planning for the future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on out of that," said Moore, shaking with -laughter, while Bessie was visibly discomposed. "You -make me blush, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I niver t'ought I 'd do thot," observed the landlady. -"I t'inks that must be one of your kump'ny -manners. Howiver, to continyer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would if I were you, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well how can I, if yez kape on bletherin'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm silent as the grave, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jane Sweeny is the purtiest gal in the neighborhood--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bar one, Mrs. Malone, bar one," interrupted Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prisent company is always accepted," said the -landlady, politely wagging her frilled cap till it creaked -in its starchy immaculateness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you had been here a few moments ago, you -would have heard it refused," said Bessie, ruefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is interrupting now?" demanded Moore in -wrathful tones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, the lassie has took up kapin kump'ny on the -sly wid some strange laddybuck, whom nobody knows -a t'ing about, and will hardly look at the dairyman's -son Ike, wid whom she has been thrainin' these t'ree -years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The faithless hussy!" ejaculated the poet, in -scathing condemnation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" said Bessie, now scenting a love story, -and correspondingly interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So Isaac--that's the son of the dairyman, you -know--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm satisfied on that point, if the dairyman is," -observed Moore, wickedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie took a pin from her dress.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll punch you with this if you don't behave, Tom -Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that a joke, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you 'll think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I won't be able to see the point of it if you -perforate me. Go on, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So he swore he 'd get even--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The dairyman? Oh, then he </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> have his doubts -after all? Whom did he suspect, Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore leaped off the table just in time to escape a -vicious thrust from the pin, as Mrs. Malone, -good-naturedly indifferent to his interruption, continued -her recital.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ike thracked the fine fellow home, or at least as -far as he could, and though he lost sight of him -without locatin' his house, he learned beyond all doubtin' -that he is a great gentleman of wealth and fashion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ike is? I 'll have to look him up if that is so," -said Moore, pleasantly. "Evidently the dairyman -was right to be suspicious, and what does Mrs. Dairyman -say now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm not talkin' about Ike," replied Mrs. Malone, -scornfully. "It's the strange lad who is the rich -man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I see, Mrs. Malone. I thought you had -discovered the reason for the dairyman's suspicions. -Now I think he was quite unreasonable to have his -doubts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, Mrs. Malone. I think it is delightfully -romantic," said Bessie, paying no attention to the -remarks of her lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Romantic!" repeated Moore, in a disgusted tone. -"Sure, put a bit of a scoundrel after a lass of lower -station and instead of shouting for the watch she -always says 'How romantic!'</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will have to leave the room, if you speak -again before Mrs. Malone has finished her story," -said Bessie, severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, by hook or by crook, who should get wind of -Misther Gay Spark, but Sweeny himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Malone paused dramatically, that the awful -news of the situation should have time to take effect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, dear!" said Bessie, "how terrible for poor -Jane. Do tell me the rest without delay. I 'm getting -so excited."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll not sleep to-night, thinking of it," declared -Moore. "Really, Mrs. Malone, you do wrong to -harrow up our feelings in this thrilling manner. Well, -Jennie is discovered, and then--?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then Sweeny learned that the unknown gintilman -was to meet her to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How did he learn that?" asked Moore, greatly -interested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From Jane."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That girl talks too much. She does n't deserve to -be the flame of such a spark," said the poet, utterly -disgusted with the heroine of the tale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Niver mind thot. So Sweeny has locked up the -gal in her room--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, who would be likely to be with her, -sorr?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, you said something about a gay incognito, -did n't you?" suggested Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I niver did in me loife. I 'll have yez to -understand, Misther Moore, I 'd scorn to use such profane -langwidge. I 'm a dacent Catholic, as Father -O'Houlihan will tell yez, if yez ask him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll ask him the next time I see him," said Moore. -"It is always best to be sure about these things. But -go on, Mrs. Malone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where was I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were locked up in the room with Jane Sweeny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wuz not, sorr."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm sure it could n't have been with Sir -Incognito," said Moore, shocked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I wuz locked up wid Jane Sweeny how could -I be here now?" demanded the landlady.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you made a ladder of the bedclothes, and -let yourself down from the window," suggested the -poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I did not, sorr," replied Mrs. Malone, quite puzzled -by the web in which her lodger had entangled her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I 'll give it up, as I never was a good hand -at conundrums," said Moore, bubbling over with -merriment. "Go on with your story about Father -O'Houlihan's gay friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well anniehow, Isaac and Sweeny and some other -of the byes is laying for Masther Gay Spark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For what purpose, Mrs. Malone?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For what do yez t'ink?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps they wish to present him with the -freedom of the city and a service of silver plate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much," said Mrs. Malone. "They are going -to bate his head off for him, thot's what they are going -to do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are n't they good-natured, Bessie?" said Moore. -"I hope he will see the humorous side of the affair -and treat it all as a joke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it will be no laughing matter," said Mrs. -Malone, stoutly. "As I said before, they 'll make jelly -of Masther Gay Spark."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How terrible!" said Bessie, half frightened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite," said Moore. "He 'll have a sugary time -I 'm thinking, for if heaven don't preserve him, Sweeny -will turn him into jelly. I 'm afraid he will be badly -jammed one way or another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who can this strange gallant be?" asked Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By Gad, what if he were Sir Percival?" exclaimed -the poet, struck suddenly by the thought.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't think so, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, dear," said Moore, soothingly, "no such good -luck I 'm afraid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I t'ink I must be goin'," observed Mrs. Malone, -rising from her chair reluctantly. "Good -avenin' to yez both, darlin's. Oh, there will be doin's -to-night, there will be doin's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell the dairyman I sympathize with him in his -domestic disappointments," said Moore, "and give -my regards to your friend Master Incognito, though -he is a naughty boy. And a word to you, Mrs. Malone. -Don't trust him too far yourself. I 'd never be alone -with him, if I were you, for it is best to be on the safe -side always,"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop your tazing me, Tom Moore, or I 'll take you -across me knee and give you what you deserve," -retorted the landlady, with a broad grimace which was -quite in keeping with her portly person.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore opened the door with a bow in his most -drawing-room manner, and having bestowed upon -Bessie a ponderous courtesy, the old woman waddled -out, running into Mr. Sheridan, who, being about to -enter, was thus rudely thrust back against Mr. Brummell, -who, elegantly attired as usual, was directly -behind him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Zooks!" exclaimed the Beau plaintively. "Sherry, -I told you that you should not drink that last glass. -You have ruffled my cravat in a most shameful manner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your parding, gintlemen," said Mrs. Malone, -remorsefully, "but divil a bit did I see yez."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Bridget, no apologies are necessary," -said Mr. Sheridan, graciously. "How well you are -looking to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'ye t'ink so?" giggled the ancient dame, more -than tickled by her great countryman's condescension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On me honor," replied Mr. Sheridan. "You agree -with me, don't you, George?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Entirely," drawled Brummell, "entirely, 'pon my -soul. How d' ye do, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore's face beamed with delight as he saw who -his visitors were.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm fine," he said. "Come in, friends, and make -yourself easy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Dyke," murmured Brummell, with a -courtly bow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Moore that is to be," corrected Moore, -proudly, "whenever I can afford such a luxury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did I tell you, George?" said Sheridan, -delightedly, nudging the Beau with his elbow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do be careful, Sherry," replied Brummell, -warningly. "Tom, I congratulate you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So do I," said Sheridan. "You have a cheerful -den, Tommy. Here is a home for you, Brummell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does Mr. Brummell need a home?" asked Moore, -waving his guests to the most comfortable of the -chairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, the Beau is better at breaking them than -making them," remarked the elder man, with a -chuckle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Zooks!" drawled Brummell, "that reminds me of -an execrable jest of which the Regent was guilty a -fortnight ago. 'Why am I like a farmer?' he inquired -of Percy Lovelace, who politely confessed that he -could detect no resemblance. 'Because,' said his -Highness, 'I keep a rake within reach,' and pointed -with his monocle at Richard Brinsley."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is a mighty bad pun, I 'm thinking," said -Moore to Bessie.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom," she said warningly, "are you not already -sufficiently out of favor?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pooh, Bessie, these lads are my friends. Tell me -the news, you old gossip. Am I still in disgrace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sheridan shook his gray wig dolefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are, Tommy, I regret to say," he answered. -"The Regent honors you with his personal profanity -almost daily."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brummell took a dainty pinch of snuff and -proceeded to change the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you heard of the Prince's quarrel with -Mrs. FitzHerbert?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said Moore, "have those turtle-doves had -a falling out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, it won't last long," said Sheridan, "but while -it does endure it is a mighty warm little spat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What caused the trouble if I may ask, Sherry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The drollest reason," said the Beau with a dignified -smile. "You 'll never guess it, Tommy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I 'll not try."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell him, Sherry," said the Beau, adjusting his -ruffles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She became angry because the Regent visited his -wife late in the evening without a chaperon," laughed -the old Irishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My, oh, my!" exclaimed Moore, horrified. "Has -the Prince no sense of decorum?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How goes the world with you, children?" demanded -Sheridan, kindly. "Do you manage to exist -without the approval of royalty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are getting on somehow. I have enough to -eat, almost enough to drink--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are indeed fortunate," interjected Sheridan. -"I cannot recall any period in my career when I had -anywhere near enough to drink."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must remember, Sherry," said the Beau, -languidly, "every Irishman does not have a bottomless -pit where nature usually places a stomach. Your -pardon, Mistress Dyke, for using so corporeal a term."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, to continue," said Moore, "besides the -possessions already enumerated I have a roof over my -head, and these same luxuries I can offer to my wife -when I get her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie looked up at him lovingly as he sat down on -the arm of the chair she occupied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We will be so happy," she said shyly to Mr. Sheridan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And we will need no chaperon, I 'm thinking," -said Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll wager you won't," said Sheridan, wisely. -"Well, George, let's get on our way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's that?" said Moore, quickly. "Get on -your way? Not much. You are going to stay to -supper with us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Sheridan, who had risen in a hesitating -way, "I--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," said Moore, divining the cause of his countryman's -embarrassment, "it is true that you won't get -much to eat, but you are more than welcome to -whatever there is; and besides, think of the company you -will be in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That last decides me, if Mistress Dyke extends the -invitation," said Sheridan, yielding in response to a -nod from the Beau, who had decided to remain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tom speaks for both of us," said Bessie. "Don't -you, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, and some day I 'll listen for both of us, no -doubt. That will be when she points out my faults, -lads. You must stay. Bessie will make the tea--that -is, if there is any tea. If there is n't any, she 'll mix -the whisky."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," said Sheridan, smacking his lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there is tea," said the girl, opening the caddy -which she found in the cupboard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just our luck, eh, Sherry?" said the poet, disconsolately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster entered at this opportune moment and busied -himself, with the assistance of Bessie, in preparing -the simple meal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore drew the chairs into position by the table as -Bessie laid the plates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are to sit there, you disreputable old Hibernian," -said he, assisting Sheridan to a seat on the right.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your place is there at the end, Fashion Plate. I 'll -preside just opposite you across the festive board, and -Bessie shall sit on your left hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is she heavy?" inquired Sheridan, interestedly, -as he sat down.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm speaking metaphorically," the poet rattled on. -"How goes the play, Sherry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Pizarro' is certainly doing a fine business," -replied the aged dramatist. "The public likes blood and -thunder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you sent a box to the Dutchman that -wrote it?" said Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On the contrary, Tommy, I think he should buy -one to see how his play should have been written in -the first place," replied Sheridan, not at all -disconcerted, for he made no bones about admitting his -indebtedness to Kotzebue for his last great success. -"For my part, I 'm afraid Anacreon might not -appreciate some of the Odes as now rendered according -to the gospel of Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, he was dead when I tackled him," retorted -Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which no doubt saved you from answering at the -bar to the charge of manslaughter, for I 'm sure he 'd -never have survived the heroic treatment you gave him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tea is ready," announced Bessie, opportunely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good," said Moore. "Buster, bring the wine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there hain't none," responded the lad.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bring it, anyway. Any one can bring wine when -there is wine, but it takes a smart boy to fetch it when -there is n't any."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi hain't smart henuff," said Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is of no importance, Tom," said Brummell, -graciously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Since when?" demanded Moore in surprise. -"How is that, Sherry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never drink," said the elder man, waving aside -the idea of alcoholic indulgence with a gesture of fine -contempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No?" asked the poet, wonderingly. "Oh, I suppose -you have it rubbed into your skin by your valet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment Bessie, having finished setting the -table, sat down in the chair pulled out for her by -Sheridan and the Beau in gallant competition, and the -supper began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you say grace, Brummell?" asked Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say it yourself," drawled the Arbiter of Fashion, -smiling lazily at his hostess.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, his Highness thinks me a graceless rogue," -objected the poet, "so it would be an act of treason -for me to prove him a liar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, I 'll say it meself," volunteered -Sheridan, with a wink at Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good man. Hush, now, every one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sheridan rose from his chair and leaning over took -possession of the bread plate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Moore, knowingly, "then it is to be -'Give us this day our daily bread,' eh, Sherry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are away off the scent, Tommy," responded -the dramatist in a superior tone. "Nothing so -conventional would be appropriate for this festive -occasion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do go on, Sherry," advised Brummell, "I am -growing disgracefully hungry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything to oblige, Beau. See, friends,</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>'There's bread here for four of us:</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Thank God, there's no more of us!'"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Sheridan sat down amidst the laughing approval of -the others.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That," observed Moore, "is what I call a curst -fine bit of prayer-making. Sherry and I like our -prayers like our liquor--concentrated."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your remark is a trifle paradoxical," commented -Brummell. "Yes, Mistress Bessie, sugar and milk -both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brummell has a sweet tooth," said Sheridan, -taking the cup Bessie passed him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And Bessie has a sweet mouth," said Moore, -buttering his bread generously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you know all about that, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust me for that, Sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sort of credit is easy for an Irishman to -obtain," said the old gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"With Bessie?" inquired Moore. "That shows -you have never tried, Sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He does n't know whether I have or not, does he, -Mistress Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course he does n't," chimed in the girl, coquettishly. -"We don't have to tell him all our little -frolics, do we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd hate to if I hoped to retain his friendship," -chuckled the wit. "It is like confident youth to -imagine itself ever the only favored."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Look here," said Moore, aggressively, "there -will be enough of this supper, such as it is, to go -around handsomely without trying to spoil my appetite -with your base innuendoes, you old scandal-school -maker."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is jealous," observed Sheridan. "Just have -the kindness to remember my age, Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can I when you yourself do not?" asked the -poet, slyly. "Brummell, pass the butter. If it's -stronger than you are, shout for help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wrong the article," said the Beau, handing over -the desired plate. "It's quiescence is most amiable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That reminds me," Moore remarked thoughtfully, -"of a scheme I have for increasing the volume of the -milk given by the cow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Volume?" repeated Sheridan. "D' ye mean the -way the tale is presented to the public?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, if you let the bovine offspring remain too -adjacent it's bound in calf the lacteal fluid would be," -replied Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Faith, the animal should be brought to book for -that," returned Sheridan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She 'd probably turn pale at the thought and kick -over the cream," retorted Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dear me!" cried Bessie, "what brilliant gentlemen, -are they not, Mr. Brummell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, Mistress Dyke," answered the Beau, "</span><em class="italics">they are not</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie laughed at the unexpected termination of the -Beau's remark.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A couple of silly punsters, 'pon my honor," sighed -the exquisite, nibbling his bread daintily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think, Sherry," said Moore, "after that rebuke -we had better be less witty. I 'll tell my story later -on. The bill of fare includes chicken, gentlemen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Tom," said Bessie, shocked, "how can you fib so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the shell, Bessie, in the shell," explained the -host, holding up an egg. "Cold and hard, but so young -it would melt in your mouth. Then comes bread-and-butter -and tea."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My favorite dish, believe me," declared Brummell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then comes tea and bread-and-butter. Next, -some cups and saucers and knives and forks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"D'ye think we are ostriches?" demanded Sheridan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then comes the best of all, gentlemen, the dessert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what may that be, Tommy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, it </span><em class="italics">may</em><span> be custard pudding--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said Brummell in an approving tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it </span><em class="italics">is n't</em><span>," continued Moore. "It is something -even sweeter and softer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't arouse my curiosity further," pleaded -Sheridan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then, we are to have kisses for dessert."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sheridan and the Beau applauded noisily while -Bessie blushed in a most becoming manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is the dessert to be served, Tommy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I kiss Bessie," said Moore, exultantly. "Then -comes your turn, Sherry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said that gentleman, smacking his lips in -anticipation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then comes your turn, Sherry. You kiss Brummell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The wit gave an exclamation of disappointment, -while the rest of the party laughed heartily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, Tom," said the Beau, "this egg is delicious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure it is," replied his host. "We raised that one -on the bottle, didn't we, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile he had helped himself to another, and -cracking the shell, turned away with an exclamation -of disgust.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed, holding his nose. -"Bessie, I knew I ought to have hurried home with -that egg if I wanted to eat it. Faith, it is too much -a chicken to be an egg, and too much egg to be a -chicken. Buster, accept this with my compliments."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster obediently carried away the cause of the -trouble and stowed it outside on a corner of the -window-sill, reserving it for use as ammunition at -some future time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never drank such tea, Mistress Bessie," said -Sheridan, passing his cup to be refilled. "Really you -are an enchantress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She enchanted me years ago," said Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suited him to a tee the first time I saw him," said -Bessie, laughing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A pun is the lowest form of humor," said Moore, -severely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And therefore at the bottom of all true wit," said -Sheridan, coming to his hostess's defence like the -gallant old Irishman he was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me you two are very thick," said -Moore, critically. "I 'll have you to understand, -Richard Brinsley, that I am not to be treated with -contempt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think Irish whisky would be what I should treat -you with, Tommy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A happy thought," cried the poet. "Buster, the -Dew of Heaven."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some 'un just knocked, Mr. Moore," said the boy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then open the door, you gossoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster did so, and Lord Brooking stepped quickly -into the room.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-hears-of-a-political-appointment"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twenty-Four</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE HEARS OF A POLITICAL APPOINTMENT</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Lord Brooking," cried Bessie in surprise, -rising from the table. "I thought -you were still on the Continent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, Mistress Dyke. I returned yesterday. So, -Mr. Moore, you have been getting into trouble, have -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you ever hear of an Irishman who was able -to keep out of it long?" asked Sheridan, waving his -hand in greeting to the young nobleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your lordship has come just in time. Buster, call -that bulldog away before Lord Brooking bites him. -Get another plate, lad. Sherry, move up and make -room for his lordship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There hain't any more plites," said Buster in a -hoarse whisper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then get a saucer," commanded Moore, gaily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no, Tom," said his lordship. "I 've just -dined."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, you know you are welcome," said Moore. -"Don't be too polite if you are hungry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I could n't eat a mouthful," said Lord Brooking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's d--n lucky!" whispered Moore to Sheridan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tut, tut, Tom," quoth that staid old party. -"Profanity is a luxury and should be used not abused."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's like an obedient wife," said Moore. "Your -lordship, this is an impromptu banquet to celebrate -my engagement to Mistress Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is the engagement an impromptu?" asked Sheridan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, we got it by heart," said Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brummell clapped his pretty hands in delight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad," said he, "I 've not heard such verbal -fireworks this six months."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you are betrothed, Tom?" said Lord Brooking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The darlin' has made me say 'Yes' at last," said -Moore in an apparently bashful tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Dyke," said his lordship, taking her hand -and kissing it, "Tom is indeed a lucky man. I wish -you both all the happiness you deserve. Hang me, if -I 'm not envious, Tom. I 've half a mind to marry -myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It takes a smart man to marry himself," commented -Moore, "but it is economical."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brooking sat down and crossed his legs in an easy -attitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have news for you, Tom," said he. "News that -I fancy will please you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you found me a long-lost uncle, childless, -wifeless, and worth a million?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not exactly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What, then, your lordship? Surely not a long-lost -son?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have endeavored to secure you the appointment -of Registrar of the Admiralty Court at Bermuda. The -salary of the office is five hundred pounds yearly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bermuda?" echoed the poet, hardly able to believe -his ears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where the devil is Bermuda?" asked Sheridan, -taking snuff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is where the onions come from, you ancient -ignoramus, but its geographical location does not -matter tuppence," said Moore. "If you get the place for -me, sir, I will accept it gladly, and I thank you more -than I can tell for the attempt, whether you succeed or -not."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pshaw," said Lord Brooking, "wait until I put -the appointment in your hands, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," said Bessie, softly, "your lordship knows -how grateful we both are for your many kindnesses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say no more about it," replied the young nobleman, -blushing like a girl. "If I may truthfully -congratulate myself on having made the world brighter -and life's path easier for two such deserving friends, -I have gained a satisfaction no money could ever -purchase."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore shook his patron's hand with a grip that -conveyed more than any words of thanks could have done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tommy, my boy, don't you need a private secretary?" -inquired Sheridan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, I 'll have no such lady-killer in my -official family," replied Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I congratulate you both," said Brummell, "but we -will miss you when Bermuda claims your society."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You shall still be in touch with the world," said -Sheridan. "I 'll write you all the scandal once a -week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will take a pound for postage if you write it -all, Sherry," said Moore, dubiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I," said Brummell, rising, pompously, "will -keep you informed of the changes I deem advisable -to make in the fashions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's mighty good of you, Beau."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that will be splendid," said Bessie. "I will -set all the styles on the island."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not much," said Moore, horrified. "To do that, -Bessie, you would have to wear fig-leaves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Promise me, Tom, that you will let me know if -the black ladies are as pretty as they say?" said -Sheridan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will investigate that matter myself," responded -the poet, winking slyly at the dramatist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed you will do nothing of the kind, Tom -Moore," said Bessie in an indignant tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly not," said he. "Sherry, you are a wicked -old man to even suggest such a thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was always fond of brunettes," said Sheridan, -calmly, "like you, Tom."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What horrid things men are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Old men are," assented Moore. "Sherry, you -are a shocking old rascal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is no worse than you, Tom," said the girl.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not half so bad, on my honor," observed the elder -gentleman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are so, Mr. Sheridan," said the girl, changing -front immediately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See, Sherry, you can't abuse me with impunity," -declared Moore with a chuckle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll abuse you with profanity if you do not -stop flaunting your amatory success in my venerable -countenance," tartly retorted the gay old Irishman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Brooking looked at his watch.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Jove!" he exclaimed, "I had no idea it was so -late. I must be off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So soon?" asked Moore, regretfully, as his -lordship rose to his feet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm due at Lady Fancourt's amateur theatricals -in ten minutes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So am I," said Brummell, smoothing his ruffles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I also," said Sheridan. "Is your cab waiting, -Brookie, me boy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so," responded his lordship. "I 'll be glad -of your company. Will you risk close quarters with -us, Brummell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, Brooking," said the Beau. "I prefer not -to disarrange my costume by crowding Sheridan."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye," said Moore. "An Irishman 's a bad thing -for an Englishman to crowd too far. Since you are -going to walk, George, I 'll honor myself by seeing you -out of the neighborhood. Such swells as you are -tempting game, and there is many a dark alley only -too handy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night, Mistress Dyke," said Lord Brooking, -bowing low over her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," she said sweetly, "and thank you -again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Promise that once in a while you will write me -how fortune treats you if you go to Bermuda."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Every month," answered the girl, her eyes bright -with the gratitude which filled her heart. "God bless -you, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," said his lordship again, and stepped -out in the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sheridan kissed Bessie's hand, and purposely -lingered over it so long that Moore shook his fist at -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Easy there, Sherry, easy there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Selfish man!" murmured Sheridan, as he followed -Brooking. "Good night, Mistress Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brummell bade good night to his hostess and -joined the others in their descent as Moore, after -making a feint of putting a kiss upon Bessie's -hand, at the last moment transferred it to her -smiling lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't be longer than is necessary, will you, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll not be half that long," said he, running after -his guests, who were now well on their way down the -first flight of stairs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie turned from the door with a rapturous sigh, -only to receive a reproachful glance from Buster, who -was sternly regarding her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wot 'll become hof my morals hif these hindearments -continyers?" thought the lad, vaguely jealous. -"Hit's henuff to turn one hagin mater-ri-mony, that's -wot hit his. Hi thinks Hi 'll jine a monkery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To Bessie," murmured the girl, kissing the poem -as she drew it from her breast, little suspecting -Buster's doubtful frame of mind. "Buster, you may -clear away the tea-things after you have had your -supper. I must go down and tell Mrs. Malone the -good news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, hif she harsks arfter me, say Montgomery -Julien Hethelbert sends 'is luv," said the boy, more -cheerfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Montgomery Julien Ethelbert</em><span>," said the girl, -opening the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When she had closed it behind her, Buster addressed -himself disgustedly to his pal, Lord Castlereagh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Montgomery Julien Hethelbert," he repeated in -high disdain. "Hain't that an 'ell of a nime for a -sporting cove like me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wuff!" barked the dog, in sympathy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="sir-incognito-receives-a-warm-welcome"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twenty-Five</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">SIR INCOGNITO RECEIVES A WARM WELCOME</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The gentleman whose attentions to Jane -Sweeny were causing so much excitement -in the neighborhood favored by her residence, -little suspecting that a warm welcome was there in -preparation for him, let himself quietly out of a little -private door in the rear of his great mansion and -turned his steps cheerfully towards their rendezvous. -He seemed to be in fine spirits, for once or twice he -checked a whistle as it was about to escape from the -lips he had unconsciously pursed as he strode quickly -along.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed to be his wish to avoid recognition, for -he kept his face hidden as much as was rendered -possible by his up-turned cloak collar and wide, -drawn-down hat brim, though this desire upon his part -seemed to grow less imperative as he left the -fashionable locality in which he lived, and turning down a -side street, followed a course that twisted and turned -from poor neighborhood to even poorer, then on till -the respectability of the locality was once more on the -increase until he found himself on a shabby street not -far from the one on which the establishment of -Mrs. Malone was situated. The spot at which he had -arranged to meet Sweeny's daughter was now near at -hand. The gentleman, who was tall and well shaped, -though slightly inclined to corpulence, strolled -leisurely along the street, evidently confident that his -charmer would not fail to be on hand promptly at their -trysting place, but much to his surprise, when he -arrived there was no one waiting for him. He paused, -gave an exclamation of disappointment, and, drawing -out his watch, stepped nearer the street lamp that he -might see if he had anticipated the time appointed for -his arrival. The timepiece assured him that he was -several minutes behind the chosen hour, and after -swearing softly to himself, he pocketed it and turned, -intending to stroll leisurely up and down the street -until the tardy damsel should put in an appearance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this moment a stalwart youth, with eyes set -widely apart and the jaw of a pugilist, walked softly -across from the opposite side. So noiseless was his -tread that the first comer did not discover his proximity -until he had approached within a yard or two.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"H'are yer witing for some 'un?" demanded the -unprepossessing youth, whose name it is almost a -needless formality to announce was Isaac.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that to you, sir?" replied the gentleman, -haughtily, contemptuously regarding his questioner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"W'y, sir, Jine harsked me--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Jane sent you then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ha!" cried the younger man, triumphantly. "Hi -wuz sure yer wuz the cove. There hain't no doubt -habout it now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you will be kind enough to inform me as -to the reason for this sudden ebullition of delight?" -said the gentleman, puzzled by the youth's behavior, -and, if not alarmed, not exactly at ease as to the -probable developments of the immediate future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If his eyes had been a trifle more used to the -semi-darkness of the street, particularly at the places -midway between the flickering lanterns, on whose -incompetent illumination depended the lighting of the -great city after nightfall, the elegant stranger would -have perceived that his interrogator was not alone. -Several little groups had emerged from convenient -doorways and cellars, and, clustered in the denser -shadows for temporary concealment, awaited a -prearranged signal to advance. These sinister-looking -individuals were armed with weapons still more -sinister,--knotty cudgels, heavy canes, in one instance -an axe handle and in another a spade, new and -unsullied as yet by labor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, Hi 'll be kind henuff, don't 'ee fear," sneered -Isaac, and with a quick movement he snatched his felt -hat from his bullet head and slapped it viciously across -the face of his companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Immediately he received a blow on the chin straight -from the shoulder of the insulted gallant, which -dropped him, an inert bundle of clothing, in the filth -of the gutter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Down with the swell!" yelled an enthusiastic lad, -armed with an empty quart bottle, as the crowd surged -forward from both sides, scattering across the street -to cut off all chance of their game's escape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The object of their hostile intentions threw a hurried -glance around him and, realizing the futility of -attempting to break through the ranks of his enemies, -gave an exclamation of despair. Escape seemed -impossible, yet surrender was not to be thought of, for -the fate in store for him at their hands was only too -plainly evidenced by their demeanor. Turning, he ran -up the steps of the house immediately behind him and -tried the door. It was locked and made of material -far too tough and seasoned to yield to the impact of -his weight, as he found when he had hurled himself -with crushing force against it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile the mob had almost reached the steps -which at their highest point attained an altitude of -about eight feet. If he ran down to the street it would -be only to rush into their clutches; unarmed as he was -he could not long successfully defend the stairs; then -what could he do?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Watch!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. -"Watch! Watch to the rescue! Murder! Watch! Help!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The united force of his pursuers halted in front of -the house where he had vainly endeavored to secure -an entrance. The game was trapped and their plan -had met with success quite unqualified, unless the -insensibility resulting from the tremendous punch which -Isaac's jaw had received from the gentleman now at -bay at the top of the steps could be regarded in the -light of a serious reverse. The disposition of the still -unconscious youth's companions seemed to be to -regard his misfortune in the light of a joke, though their -obvious intention was to add this example of the -strange gallant's prowess to the total of the score for -which they expected to secure settlement in full -without further delay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Ee 's an 'ansome pusson, hain't 'ee?" remarked -one facetious individual in the front rank of the crowd -assembled at the bottom step.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A blooming Prince Charmin'," assented a heavy-browed -ruffian, resting his great cudgel on the railing. -"Oh, but he are n't a circumstance to what he will -look when we have altered his countenance a bit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It stroikes me the spalpeen has been powdering his -mug," growled Sweeny, his little eyes blazing with -a ferocious light. His lips, damp and red, were -wolf-like as his tusk-shaped and scattered teeth bit deep -into them in his rage. "He 's pale loike."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Watch! Watch!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Call, sorr, call. It's no good the watch will do yez -this noight. Ye 'll git a bating now that ye will carry -the marks of to your dying day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'd rather be excused, sir," replied the gentleman, -coolly. "Unless I mistake, I have not the honor of -your acquaintance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'm Sweeny, Jane's father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed? How do you do, Mr. Sweeny?" politely -inquired the girl's admirer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll be better when I 've pounded you to a pulp," -growled the old Irishman, taking a new and firmer -grip on the club he held.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then why delay, friends? Let us have it over -with at once," suggested the hunted gentleman, -smiling as pleasantly as though he were inviting divers -acquaintances to partake of biscuits and tea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bli' me, hif 'ee ain't a well-plucked cove," said the -lad with the bottle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A murmur of admiring assent ran through the -crowd. It would be much greater sport to beat so -valiant a gentleman to death than to thrash a -low-spirited coward such as they had anticipated -encountering. These worthy and unworthy denizens of -poverty-stricken dwellings, for in the assemblage there -were both honest and dishonest, like most of their rank -in society, were firm believers in the theory that fine -clothes and a high-bred manner were reliable indications -of a cowardly spirit and physical weakness. To -so suddenly have their ideas on this subject proved -incorrect was a surprise more startling than would be -at first imagined.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sweeny felt that his followers were wavering in -their allegiance, and fearing lest further delay might -result in a behavior on their part unsatisfactory to him -personally, he gave a growl of wrath and rushed -fiercely up the steps waving his cudgel. The -gentleman calmly and skilfully kicked him in the mouth and -sent him hurling backward down on the heads of his -friends, bloodstained and well nigh insensible. This -bit of battle decided the action of the mob, and, excited -by the sight of their leader's blood, they pressed -resolutely up the steps. It was quite impossible for the -hunted gallant to beat back such a force as was now -attacking him, and, fully realizing this, he made no -such attempt. Instead, he tore his cloak from about -his shoulders and threw it over the heads of the -foremost of his opponents, leaped quickly on the railing -of the steps and sprang wildly and hopelessly towards -the parallel flight which led to the front door of the -adjacent house. He reached the rail with his hands, -but his weight was too much for him when coupled -with the terrible force with which his body struck the -side of the steps, so, with a groan of despair, he fell in -the areaway. He tumbled feet first on a grating -leading to the cellar of the house, which gave way and -precipitated him into the depths below, as his -pursuers, mad with the excitement of the chase, rushed -down the stairs from which he had made his daring -leap. It looked as though it might go hard with the -unknown gentleman, valiant and resourceful though -he had proven himself.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="tom-moore-s-servant-proves-a-friend-in-need"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twenty-Six</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">TOM MOORE'S SERVANT PROVES A FRIEND IN NEED</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Buster ate a hearty supper and fed Lord -Castlereagh with the scraps. This done, he -was about to proceed with the dish-washing, -a kind of toil for which he had a more than ordinary -contempt and dislike, when the sound of shouting in -the street attracted his attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For once in his life the boy had failed to ascertain -the news of the neighborhood of that day, and as he -had been absent when Mrs. Malone conveyed to his -master the intelligence of Sweeny's purposed ambush -of Jane's unknown swain, he had had no tidings -concerning that important happening, so was not the -active participant in the adventure that he would -otherwise have been. This being the case, he was quite at -a loss to account for the sounds of tumult below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My heye!" he remarked to the bulldog, whose -curiosity was similarly aroused, "wot a rumpussin'. -Who 's getting beat hor married, Hi wonders?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sticking his head out of the window, the boy could -discern nothing down in the dark street. It was quite -evident that the voices which had attracted his -attention proceeded from one of the narrow lanes running -at right angles to the larger thoroughfare on which -the lodgings of Moore fronted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Somebody 's risin' a bloody hole row, your lordship. -Well, we keeps hout of it this once, don't we?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bulldog gave a whine of dissent. He saw no -reason for remaining quiet when such unexcelled -opportunities for vigorous contention were being -offered gratuitously below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster shook his head sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Halas!" he observed in a melancholy tone. "That -hole gladheateral spirit hof yourn his never horf tap. -You h'are a blooming hole pugilist, that's wot you -h'are. You horter be hashamed of yourself for wantin' -to happropriate somebody else's private row."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Castlereagh felt unjustly rebuked and retired -to his favorite corner, apparently losing all interest -in the hubbub, which continued below, growing -gradually less noisy as though the cause were slowly -departing from the immediate neighborhood. Suddenly -the dog's quick ear detected an unwonted sound -coming from the rooftops, and with a growl, spurred on -by his still unsatisfied curiosity, he ran across the -room to the window by which his master in the old -days had been wont to evade the vigilance of -Mrs. Malone. Buster followed him, and, looking across the -undulating surface made by the irregular roofs,--a -sort of architectural sea rendered choppy by uplifting -ridge-poles and gables of various styles, cut into -high waves and low troughs by the dissimilar heights -of sundry buildings, with chimneys rising buoy-like -from the billowy depths, which in the darkness were -blended softly together by the mellowing and -connecting shadows,--he saw the figure of a man emerge -from the scuttle of a roof perhaps two hundred feet -distant. At the same moment there came a howl of -fury from the street below, which grew louder, as -though the crowd from which it emanated were streaming -back in the direction of Mrs. Malone's residence. -The fugitive, for that he was such could not be -doubted, beat a hurried retreat across the roofs, -tripping, falling, crawling, but ever making progress and -nearly always hidden from the point at which he had -effected his entrance to the house-tops by the friendly -shelter of intervening chimneys and gables. All at -once a burly form leaped out of the scuttle from which -the first comer had emerged. This newly arrived -individual carried a club and was followed out on the -roof by half-a-dozen companions of the same ilk. -Straightening up to his full height, while gingerly -balancing on the nearest ridgepole, the fellow caught -a glimpse of their prey crawling up a steep roof quite -a little distance further on towards the window from -which Buster was now intently watching the chase.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There he goes, lads. He is right in line with that -tallest chimbley," bellowed the leader.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye! After him! After him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An answering howl came from the street, and, -sliding, running and stumbling, the pursuers began to -follow the fugitive across the housetops. Then they -lost sight of him, and for a while completely baffled, -searched in a scattered line, slowly advancing, -investigating each possible hiding-place as they came to it, -urged on by the growling of the mob patrolling the -street below. Suddenly one of their number, the lad -armed with the huge bottle, tripped over a broken -clothesline and fell headlong into the V-shaped trough -formed by the eaves of the two adjacent houses. He -found himself rudely precipitated on the body of the -hunted man, who had lain snugly concealed at the -very bottom of the roof-made angle, but before he -could do more than utter one choking scream, the -fugitive, despairing of further concealment, silenced -his discoverer with his fist, and with the rest of the -pack in full cry at his heels, began again his wild flight -over the roofs. Fortune favored him once more, and -the band hunting him was forced for a second time to -pause and scatter in close scrutiny of the ground over -which the fleeing gallant had made his way. Then -Buster saw a tall figure creep out of the gloom cast -by a huge chimney, which, shadowing a roof near by, -had enabled him to crawl undetected from the -hiding-place that he had found beneath the eaves of an -unusually tall building, near the house from the attic of -which the boy was now excitedly tracing his line of -flight. Buster's sympathy was all with the fleeing man. -To sympathize was to act, and having found the rope-ladder -which used to serve his master as a means of -exit by the window when prudence dictated such an -evasion, he tumbled it out, at the same time attracting -the hunted gentleman's attention with a friendly hiss.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This w'y, sir, this w'y," whispered Buster, -silencing the threatened outcry of Lord Castlereagh -with a commanding gesture. "Keep low has you can -till you gets 'ere. The big chimbley 'll keep 'em from -seeing you till you 're safe hup, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Crawling rapidly along on his hands and knees, the -much-sought gentleman managed to gain the necessary -distance without being discovered, and sheltered -by the grim outlines of the huge chimney Buster had -indicated, he climbed laboriously up the ladder to the -window of Moore's attic. The boy held out a -welcoming hand and assisted him to enter. Once in, the -stranger gave a sobbing sigh of relief, and groped his -way to a chair. The moon, till now providentially -bedimmed, came out from behind the froth of clouds -and the light entering the window fell full on the -new-comer's flushed face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blow me!" cried the boy in astonishment. "Hif -it hain't the Prince hof Wyles!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-poet-regains-royal-favor"><em class="italics large">Chapter Twenty-Seven</em></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics medium">THE POET REGAINS ROYAL FAVOR</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"You know me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi just does, your 'Ighness," replied the -boy, dragging up the ladder as he spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This he deposited in its usual hiding-place before -turning to his royal guest, who was still panting from -the exertion of his flight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put out the light," directed the Prince, pointing -to the candles on the mantel.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, no, your 'Ighness. That 'd make them -suspicious," dissented Buster.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you are right," said Wales, reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Per'aps Hi his," admitted the boy. "Hi ain't -hallus wrong, you know, your 'Ighness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What place is this, my lad?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This," replied Buster, grandiloquently, "his the -palatial residence of the famous poet, Mr. Thomas Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Moore!" repeated the Prince in astonishment. -"Fatality pursues me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hif that's wot wuz harter you Hi don't wonder -you cut stick," said the boy, cautiously peering out of -the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To while away a tedious evening I sometimes -assume a disguise such as my present adornment and -go out in search of adventures," said Wales, -condescending to explain his present predicament.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir," said Buster, "Hi knows Jine Sweeny -myself. You h'are the pusson Hi saw with 'er the -hother night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you recognize me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not then, sir, your 'at wuz pulled too low."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you knew that a demonstration was being -prepared in my honor this evening?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, your 'Ighness. Ho law! but hit's lucky -Hi saw you. They 'd likely have beat your 'ead horf -you, your Majesty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That seemed to be their intention," assented Wales, -"nor have they yet abandoned the idea, if I interpret -their present activity correctly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hif they manages to trice you 'ere, wot 'll we do?" -demanded Buster, as the sounds on the roofs outside -drew nearer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you suggest?" asked the Prince, -quite calmly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 'd 'ave to tell 'em who you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" said Wales, doubtfully, "but would they -believe me? Hardly, my good lad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, your 'Ighness, they are near hat 'and."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The inmates of the garret could now plainly hear -the scuffling steps of the men on the nearest roof as -they slid and slipped on the inclines.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where the h--l can he have gone ter?" queried -a piping voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's the wine merchant's clark," announced -Buster to the Prince.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes? What did you say his name was?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi did n't s'y," replied the boy guardedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wales laughed pleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are a wise lad," said he. "What are they -doing now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You 've got 'em puzzled, your Tghness. They his -puttin' their bloomink 'eads together. Now they 're -a 'untin' agin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No trace of him here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He came this way, I 'll swear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three he has put his mark on this night. Sweeny, -Isaac, and Welch's Will."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, the lad with the bottle. He 's lying out on -the eaves yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster gave his guest an admiring look. Such -prowess was deserving of all commendation. Wales -caught the glance, and chuckled softly. Whatever -shortcomings might be laid at the door of the -gentleman destined to be the fourth George, cowardice was -not one of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never mind, lads," said another voice. "He cawn't -git away. The street is watched and all we have to -do is to hunt him up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We hain't a doin' hit. Hat least not has I sees."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop your croaking, Blount. D' ye think he could -climb to that window?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now for it," murmured Wales.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naw, 'ee hain't no bloomin' bird to fly hup ten -foot o' wall, his 'ee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scatter, then. That way there, over to the right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In obedience to this instruction the party were heard -moving off with uncertain steps and Buster turned -away from the window with a sigh of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi fawncies you 're sife, your Majesty," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Agreeable intelligence, I must admit," sighed the -Prince, assuming an easier position. "My subjects -possess the virtue of persistence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yessir, they dearly loves to club a swell cove hif -they think 'ee his arfter their lydies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Steps sounded in the hallway and the Prince rose -quietly to his feet, prepared to renew the struggle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be halarmed, your Tghness," said Buster, -reassuringly. "Hit's only Mr. Moore returning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not acquaint him with my presence," said -Wales. "I will make myself known when I think best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, your 'Ighness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Prince stepped behind the curtain separating -the poet's bedchamber from the sitting-room and there -awaited developments in silence. Moore opened the -door and ushered in Mr. Dyke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought Bessie was here," he said in surprise as -he noted her absence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mistress Dyke went down to hinterview Mrs. Malone, -sir," explained Buster, in a quandary as to -how he should act. A prince, of course, could not be -lightly disobeyed, but at the same time he felt qualms -at the thought of what his master, not suspecting the -presence of royalty, might chance to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore solved the problem for him unknowingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then go down," said he to Buster, "and tell my -future wife that her former father is here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster, relieved at the removal of responsibility, -quickly left the room. Mr. Dyke looked around at -the bare, unsightly walls and sadly shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To think I should bring you to this, Thomas," he -said, remorsefully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down, Mr. Dyke, and have done with lamentations. -So long as I do not complain, you surely have -no reason to find fault," said Moore, cheerily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, Thomas, I feel I must confess the truth to -the Prince."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense," said Moore, firmly. "No, no, -Mr. Dyke, for you to confess that you wrote the poem -satirizing his Highness would be the height of folly. -I doubt if it would do me any good, and it certainly -would completely ruin you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know," began the old man, but Moore interrupted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I much prefer things as they are," he said. "Allow -me to choose, Mr. Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not know the pangs of conscience I have -suffered."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More likely it was indigestion, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You took the blame for my folly. I went free, but -your brilliant career was cut short."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very short," admitted the poet, who was seated -on the table, comfortably swinging his legs. "But -the shortening is frequently the most important part -of the dish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your rising star was plucked cruelly from the sky -before reaching its zenith."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Between friends, you can omit the poetry," suggested -Moore. "It seems like talking shop if I may -say so without offence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see you are resolved," said the old man weakly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, yes," replied the poet, jumping off the table, -and approaching his future father-in-law, he laid his -hand kindly on the old man's shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is all for the best, sir," he went on with a -sincerity that was convincing. "I did not know, I was -not sure, that your daughter loved me. She, bless her -pretty head, was too full of life and laughter to read -her own heart. My adversity has brought her to me -with outstretched arms and a love more tender, more -true, than even I dreamed it could be. No, no, sir. -Keep your mouth shut to please me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is really your wish that I do this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sure it is," replied Moore, satisfied that he had -carried his point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the Prince, Tom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore's face saddened, but he rid himself of his -regret with a shrug of the shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Poor man," he said. "He thinks harshly of me, -no doubt. Ah, well, perhaps it is better so, Mr. Dyke. -And yet I 'd be easier in my mind if he knew how I -regard him. I have no feelings save those of friendship -and gratitude in my heart for him but he 'll never -know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yours is a generous soul, Thomas."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-night I can say as truly and fondly as on that -evening his favor plucked me from poverty and failure, -'God bless the Prince Regent.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is needless to say I echo that sentiment, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore turned with a low cry. The Prince had -stepped noiselessly from behind the curtain to the -centre of the room, and stood with a smile on his face, -enjoying his involuntary host's surprise.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Highness," stammered Moore, for once -thoroughly abashed. "Your Highness!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, Wales himself. Good evening, Mr. Dyke. -It seems that I have wronged you, Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Highness heard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Every word, gentlemen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not sorry," said Mr. Dyke, softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Moore, rallying from his astonishment, -"how came your Highness here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Prince's eyes twinkled, but his face was grave, -almost solemn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For that information, sir, I must refer you to your -neighbor, one Mr. Sweeny."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you, sir, are the gay spark?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt a spark, since I shall make light of my -adventure, but in reality not so very gay."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie came hurrying along the hall and flinging -open the door entered breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, Tom, Tom," she cried. "The hall below is -full of men. They are searching for the strange -gallant who won Jane Sweeny from the grocer's son."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Prince took a pinch of snuff.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egad!" said he. "A remarkable achievement, it -seems. I 'm beginning to be proud of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Prince!" exclaimed the girl in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An uninvited guest, Mistress Dyke," said his -Highness, jovially.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And therefore doubly welcome, sir," returned -Moore, at the door listening to the murmur that came -from below. "Your Highness, they are coming up -I am afraid. They have traced you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Devilish awkward," muttered the Prince, looking -around for a weapon; "I shall have to fight, I fancy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," said Moore. "That is no way to get -out of this mess. We would be beaten down in a -moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">We?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, Sire, Mr. Dyke, you and I. I have a better -scheme, if you will trust yourself to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I prefer you to our friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then hide in the next room," said the poet, drawing -back the curtain. "I 'll get them off your track -or my name is not Tom Moore. Whatever you hear, -don't stir out, your Highness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Buster entered in a rush.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ho, sir," he panted, "the 'ole parcel hof 'em his -a-coming hup!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" said Moore. "This way, Sire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wales obeyed his host's instructions and vanished -in the adjoining room, his manner still cool and -unruffled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Buster, can you lose those rascals in a chase over -the roofs?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hi can, sir," replied the boy valiantly. "Hi 'll -give 'em such a run has they reads habout hin their -primers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore tossed him an old hat and coat from the -cupboard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The way is clear, lad," he said, peering out the -window. "Out with you and when I whistle show -yourself somewhere and then run like the devil. When -you are tired, drop your hat and coat and you 'll be -safe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drop nothing," said Buster. "Hi knows too much -to be guilty hof hany such shocking waste as that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hurried out of the window, landing on the roof -below as lightly as any cat, as the sound of the -approaching mob grew louder. There was but little -time to spare, and Moore wasted none of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bessie," he commanded, "lock the door behind us -when we go out in the hall. When I sing, you scream -for help at the top of your voice. Then, whatever -I say swear to like a darlin'. Come, Mr. Dyke."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore grabbed the old gentleman by the arm and -hurried him out in the hall as the first of Wales' -pursuers set foot on the flight of stairs leading to -the attic.</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"The Harp that once thro' Tara's halls</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>The soul of music shed,</span></div> -</div> -<div class="line"><span>Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,</span></div> -<div class="inner line-block"> -<div class="line"><span>As if that soul--"</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A woman's scream rang through the house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Help! Help! Tom! Help!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bang!" went the locked door, kicked in by Moore, -who rushed into the room with a yell, followed by -Mr. Dyke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Out of the way, darlin'," he whispered to Bessie. -"I 've got to give myself an awful flaking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Immediately the poet began a struggle all over the -room with an imaginary adversary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You would, would you?" he shouted at the top -of his lungs. "Then take that, you raparee! And -that, and </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>. Help! Mr. Dyke! My, but he is -strong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seized the table and upset it, then danced around -the room like one possessed, dealing terrific blows to -the air. He clutched the contents of the cupboard and -sent the china crashing in fragments on the floor. The -chairs he beat up and down and back and forth against -the walls. For all the world it sounded as though a -mad bull were rushing around the room dealing -destruction on every side. Then he put his fist through -two panes of glass and paused in his performance, -standing by the window with heaving chest as the mob -led by Sweeny rushed into the attic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, friends," he cried between gasps, "you come -too late."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Too late for what, Mr. Moore?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To help me, you spalpeens. A big devil, six feet -and a half high and a mile broad--I mean a mile high -and six feet broad--Oh, a curst big lump of a -lad--climbed into the window and laid violent hands on this -lady, my future wife, who was here alone--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The strange laddybuck," cried Sweeny. "The -omadhaun we 're afther now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He locked the door so I could n't get in and laid -hold of her. Didn't he, Bessie?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl lied shamelessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I screamed," she finished, glad to add a little -truth to her falsehood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I kicked in the door and grabbed the villain. -Mr. Dyke and I both grappled with him, but he was too -much for us and beat us down and leaped out on the -roof."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The crowd surged up to the window with a howl -of rage, and Buster bobbed into view on a distant -gable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There he is now," cried Dabble, who was one of -the mob.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aye, aye, after him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sweeny took command.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You four, Dabble, Blount, Williams and Lake, -out of the window and over the roofs again. The rest -of us will guard every door in the neighborhood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The chosen four dropped from the window, and the -crowd, Sweeny still in the lead, rushed out and -downstairs as frantically as they had come up, leaving the -attic to Moore and his guests. The poet sat down on -an upset chair and breathed a sigh of relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a comedian I am," said he. "Bessie, how -does Drury Lane do without me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," said the girl. "I am sure I -could n't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My, oh, my!" panted Moore, "but you are learning -the right things to say at the right time very -quickly, Bessie."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Prince emerged from his hiding-place.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bravely done, Mr. Moore," said he, laughing a -little. "Egad, I 'd not trade this evening for any -other in my experience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No?" asked Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I, sir. You rid us of them very neatly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For a while, your Highness. They may return."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True," said Wales, "so we had best lose no time -in getting help."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your Highness is right," said the poet, beginning -to restore the room to something like its old -appearance. "Father-in-law, run out and--"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me arrange this," interrupted the Prince. -"Mr. Dyke, if you will carry this ring to the house of -Sir Percival Lovelace, you will find him at supper. -Tell him of my predicament and say I bid him take -such steps as he may deem best to extricate me from -this misadventure without betraying my identity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Dyke took the ring held out to him by the Prince.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I 'll make haste," he said, and toddled out and -down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wales accepted the chair which Moore placed for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir," said he, "you have a talent for intrigue."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, Sire," said Moore, ingenuously, "if it were -not disrespectful, I would return the compliment. -Your Highness must have passed an exciting evening."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite true, Mr. Moore, but I fancy I can do -without such excitement in the future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I rejoice to hear you say that, your Highness," -said Moore, sincerely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, Mr. Moore? And why so, if I may ask."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because," said the poet so winningly that it was -quite impossible for even a prince of the blood to take -offence, "'The First Gentleman of Europe' is too -proud a title to be lightly risked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wales grew red and bit his lip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I accept your reproof," he said. "It is not -undeserved."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not reproof, your Highness. Friendly advice, -nothing more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you would have it, Mr. Moore," responded the -Prince, wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile Bessie had found the teapot to be one -exception to the general ruin wrought of Moore's -household utensils.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would it please your Highness to have a cup of -tea?" she asked, timidly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will delight me much, Mistress Dyke. May I -inquire when you intend to honor Mr. Moore by -becoming his wife?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie flushed up prettily and looked at her lover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The wedding would take place to-morrow if I -could afford it," said Moore, righting the table and -brushing it off with his coat-tail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I take it you cannot afford it?" said his -Highness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not just at present," said Moore, cheerily. "I -trust your health continues to be of the best, your -Highness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thank you, yes, but I have heard no such singing -in my favorite drawing-rooms as when you were wont -to frequent the haunts of the </span><em class="italics">beau monde</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been out of town," said Moore, calmly, as -Bessie brought the tea to the Prince in a cup which -had escaped the general smash-up. The Prince sipped -its contents in high good humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Delicious, Mistress Dyke," he declared, "your -husband will be a fortunate individual."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is but one grief which intrudes itself upon -his happiness," said the girl, tremulously, "the -disfavor of the Prince, who in his darkest hour won from -him both love and gratitude by his generosity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush, Bessie," said Moore. "His Highness has -enough to think of, dearest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the way, Moore," said Wales, languidly, "did -I not hear some mention made of your name in -connection with a political position in Bermuda?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right, your Highness," replied Moore, -reluctantly, "there was some such mention made."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Prince looked thoughtful and drained his cup.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bermuda," said he, "is a long way from England, -Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A step sounded on the stairs at this moment, and -Moore gladly rid himself of the embarrassment he felt -by approaching the door to make certain it was no -undesirable personage who was now approaching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord Brooking!" he cried. "What good luck -brings you back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I soon wearied of the theatricals and was out for -a stroll when by chance I encountered Mr. Dyke on -his way to Sir Percival's," explained the young -nobleman entering. "It is needless to say, your Highness, -I made haste to join you here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," said Wales, "did the good citizens not stop -you on your way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For a moment or two, your Highness, but I -convinced them of my entire harmlessness and was -allowed to pass."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Mr. Moore at home?" demanded a hoarse voice, -strongly flavored with Scotch dialect, from the hall -below.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"McDermot," exclaimed Moore. "What can the -old vagabond want with me to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I am not mistaken, Tom, this is the old bloodsucker -who is to be your future publisher?" said Lord -Brooking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For life," responded Moore. "You remember -I told you of our bargain not two hours ago. Yes, I -am in, Mr. McDermot."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well then I 'll coom up," announced the publisher.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore was about to advise him not to when a -gesture from Lord Brooking led him to desist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me, your Highness," said Lord Brooking, -"but for certain reasons I deem it better that this -gentleman should not recognize you when he first -comes in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll look at the view, then," said the Regent, -pleasantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By the time Wales had reached the window, wisely -choosing the one which opened upon the street, for -there still came sounds of distant chase from the roofs, -McDermot was knocking on the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," called Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old Scotchman entered in a great rage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I ha' caught ye at last?" he shouted at sight -of the poet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have it your own way, sir."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Six times ha' I called here, sair, ye trickster, ye -cheat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold on now," said Moore, in sudden anger, "you -are an old man, but more than enough of such talk is -a great deal too much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bessie laid a restraining hand on Moore's arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps, Mr. McDermot, you will be kind enough -to state your grievance," she said, quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's aboot the contract," sputtered the irate -publisher.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is n't that all right?" asked Moore, wonderingly. -"I signed it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of coorse ye did, ye trickster, but ye did not tell -me when ye called to do so that the evening before ye -had been shamefully ejected from Sir Percival's house -by order o' the Prince of Wales."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Surely that was Sir Percival's business," replied -Moore. "He may have been proud of the affair; I -was n't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye should ha' told me," repeated McDermot, doggedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I did n't know you were so interested in my -goings and comings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You took my thousand poonds."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was that wrong?" asked Moore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wrong?" echoed the publisher. "D'ye think -I 'd give ye ten shillings for ye skin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See here," cried Moore, his anger again getting -the better of him, "my skin is not for sale, but, if you -value yours, you had better keep a civil tongue in your -head, you old Rob Roy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Brooking stepped forward between the two -angry men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Am I right in believing that you are dissatisfied -with your bargain, Mr. McDermot?" said he in a -soothing tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dissatisfied? </span><em class="italics">Dissatisfied</em><span>! Why, at the present -time Mr. Moore is the very worst investment in the -literary market."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brooking waved Moore back with an admonishing gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then I take it you would be glad to cancel the -agreement?" he continued.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But my thousand poonds?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will advance Moore the money to repay you. Of -course it is a risk, but for the sake of old times I will -assume the obligation. Do you need other security -than my word?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not I," said McDermot, gladly. "There is your -contract, Mr. Moore."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke he took the paper from his pocket and -tore it into fragments. These he carefully deposited -on the table and turned to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One moment, Mr. McDermot," said an imperious voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Prince came forward with an air of chilling dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have made the greatest mistake of your life, -sir," he continued, addressing the astounded publisher. -"This I will show you if you listen. Mr. Moore, you -and your fiancée have been little seen of late in the -world of fashion. Pray alter this, my dear fellow. -Furthermore you may as well abandon all idea of -holding office in Bermuda save by deputy. It is -impossible for the Poet Laureate of England to reside -at such a distance from Carlton House."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sir!" cried Moore, unable to believe his ears. -"Poet Laureate?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One Thomas Moore, not unknown to the literary -world, an Irishman of some wit and fancy. -Mr. McDermot, we need detain you no longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Crestfallen, the old Scotchman crept from the room -as Moore turned to Bessie almost too happy to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You heard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded her head, her eyes filling with happy tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a clatter in the street and a closed -carriage drew up in front of Mrs. Malone's. Following -it came a dozen hussars, riding gaily, as though in -hope of a skirmish. Sir Percival Lovelace and -Mr. Dyke alighted and hurried upstairs, while Sweeny and -his adherents contemplated the soldiers from the safety -of distance in melancholy grandeur.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have been waiting for you, Sir Percival," said -the Prince.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet I made all possible haste," said Sir Percival, -bowing low to Bessie. "By good luck, Farquar of the -Tenth Hussars was dining with me. A word to him -brought me a dozen stout lads, and with them for -escort I hurried here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will Farquar keep a still tongue?" inquired Wales, -more anxious than he appeared.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust him for that, your Highness," replied Sir -Percival, confidently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think I will have to, Lovelace," observed the -Prince, dryly. "Mr. Moore, I have only to thank you -for your kindly hospitality. I shall expect you at -Carlton House in the morning. Mistress Dyke, Tom is -indeed a lucky man. As for you, Mr. Dyke, I only -await your promise not to repeat the offence to -overlook the error into which you fell some weeks ago. -Good night, my friends--Stay! I would not leave -your clever lad unrewarded. Give him this and tell -him if he ever sees fit to quit your service he will not -find Wales ungrateful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, the Prince took the ring which Sir -Percival held out to him. Handing it to Moore, -he turned and bowed himself out, followed by the -baronet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Capital," said Lord Brooking, joyfully. "I knew -you 'd not languish in disfavor long, Tom. Ask -Mistress Bessie to name the day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Moore stepped to his sweetheart's side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When will you become my wife, dearest?" he -asked, love sounding in his voice and gleaming in his -eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will marry you to-morrow," she whispered softly, -her arms around his neck.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>TOM MOORE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41656"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41656</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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