The Complete Works of Stephen Crane (53 page)

But of all this I said nothing. It passed through my mind like light and left me still smiling gayly at Colonel Royale’s observations upon the situation.

“Wounds in the body from Forister,” quoth he academically, “are almost certain to be fatal, for his wrist has a magnificent twist which reminds one of a top. I do not know where he learned this wrist movement, but almost invariably it leads him to kill his man. Last year I saw him — I digress. I must look to it that O’Ruddy has quiet, rest, and peace of mind until the morning.”

Yes; I would have great peace of mind until the morning! I saw that clearly.

“Well,” said I, “at any rate we will know more to-morrow. A good day to you, Lord Strepp, and I hope your principal has no more harm come to him than I care to have come to me, which is precious little, and in which case the two of us will be little hurted.”

“Good-bye, O’Ruddy,” said the young man.

In the corridor the Colonel slapped my shoulder in a sudden exuberant outburst.

“O’Ruddy,” he cried, “the chance of your life! Probably the best-known swordsman in all England! ‘Pon my word, if you should even graze him, it would almost make you a peer. If you truly pinked him, you could marry a duchess. My eye, what an opportunity for a young and ambitious man.”

“And what right has he to be such a fine swordsman?” I demanded fretfully. “Damn him! ’Tis no right of a little tadpole like him to be a great cut-throat. One could never have told from the look of him, and yet it simply teaches one to be always cautious with men.”

The Colonel was bubbling over with good nature, his mind full of the prospective event.

“I saw Ponsonby kill Stewart in their great fight several years agone,” he cried, rubbing his hands, “but Ponsonby was no such swordsman as Forister, and I misdoubt me that Stewart was much better than you yourself.”

Here was a cheerful butcher. I eyed him coldly.

“And out of this,” said I slowly, “comes a vast deal of entertainment for you, and a hole between two ribs for me. I think I need a drink.”

“By all means, my boy,” he answered, heartily. “Come to my chamber. A quart of port under your waistcoat will cure a certain bilious desire in you to see the worst of things, which I have detected lately in your manner. With grand sport before us, how could you be otherwise than jolly? Ha, Ha!”

So saying, he affectionately took my arm and led me along the corridor.

When I reached my own chamber I sank heavily into a chair. My brain was in a tumult. I had fallen in love and arranged to be killed in one short day’s work. I stared at my image in a mirror. Could I be The O’Ruddy? Perhaps my name was Paddy or Jem Bottles? Could I pick myself out in a crowd? Could I establish my identification? I little knew.

At first I thought of my calm friend who apparently drank blood for his breakfast. Colonel Royale to me was somewhat of a stranger, but his charming willingness to grind the bones of his friends in his teeth was now quite clear. I fight the best swordsman in England as an amusement, a show? I began to see reasons for returning to Ireland. It was doubtful if old Mickey Clancy would be able to take full care of my estate even with the assistance and prevention of Father Donovan. All properties looked better while the real owner had his eye on them. It would be a shame to waste the place at Glandore all for a bit of pride of staying in England. Never a man neglected his patrimony but that it didn’t melt down to a kick in the breeches and much trouble in the courts. I perceived, in short, that my Irish lands were in danger. What could endanger them was not quite clear to my eye, but at any rate they must be saved. Moreover it was necessary to take quick measures. I started up from my chair, hastily recounting Jem Bottles’s five guineas.

But I bethought me of Lady Mary. She could hardly be my good fairy. She was rather too plump to be a fairy. She was not extremely plump, but when she walked something moved within her skirts. For my part I think little of fairies, who remind me of roasted fowl’s wing. Give me the less brittle beauty which is not likely to break in a man’s arms.

After all, I reflected, Mickey Clancy could take care quite well of that estate at Glandore; and, if he didn’t, Father Donovan would soon bring him to trouble; and, if Father Donovan couldn’t, why, the place was worth very little any how. Besides, ’tis a very weak man who cannot throw an estate into the air for a pair of bright eyes.

Aye, and Lady Mary’s bright eyes! That was one matter. And there was Forister’s bright sword. That was another matter. But to my descendants I declare that my hesitation did not endure an instant. Forister might have an arm so supple and a sword so long that he might be able to touch the nape of his neck with his own point, but I was firm on English soil. I would meet him even if he were a
chevaux de frise
. Little it mattered to me. He might swing the ten arms of an Indian god; he might yell like a gale at sea; he might be more terrible in appearance than a volcano in its passions; still I would meet him.

There was a knock, and at my bidding a servant approached and said: “A gentleman, Mr. Forister, wishes to see you, sir.”

For a moment I was privately in a panic. Should I say that I was ill, and then send for a doctor to prove that I was not ill? Should I run straightway and hide under the bed? No!

“Bid the gentleman enter,” said I to the servant.

Forister came in smiling, cool and deadly. “Good day to you, Mr. O’Ruddy,” he said, showing me his little teeth. “I am glad to see that you are not for the moment consorting with highwaymen and other abandoned characters who might succeed in corrupting your morals, Mr. O’Ruddy. I have decided to kill you, Mr. O’Ruddy. You may have heard that I am the finest swordsman in England, Mr. O’Ruddy?”

I replied calmly: “I have heard that you are the finest swordsman in England, Mr. Forister, whenever better swordsmen have been traveling in foreign parts, Mr. Forister, and when no visitors of fencing distinction have taken occasion to journey here, Mr. Forister.”

This talk did not give him pleasure, evidently. He had entered with brave composure, but now he bit his lip and shot me a glance of hatred. “I only wished to announce,” he said savagely, “that I would prefer to kill you in the morning as early as possible.”

“And how may I render my small assistance to you, Mr. Forister? Have you come to request me to arise at an untimely hour?”

I was very placid; but it was not for him to be coming to my chamber with talk of killing me. Still, I thought that, inasmuch as he was there, I might do some good to myself by irritating him slightly. I continued:

“I to-day informed my friends—”

“Your friends!” said he.

“My friends,” said I. “Colonel Royale in this matter.”

“Colonel Royale!” said he.

“Colonel Royale,” said I. “And if you are bound to talk more you had best thrust your head from the window and talk to those chimneys there, which will take far more interest in your speech than I can work up. I was telling you that to-day I informed my friends — then you interrupted me. Well, I informed them — but what the devil I informed them of you will not know very soon. I can promise you, however, it was not a thing you would care to hear with your hands tied behind you.”

“Here’s a cold man with a belly full of ice,” said he musingly. “I have wronged him. He has a tongue on him, he has that. And here I have been judging from his appearance that he was a mere common dolt. And, what, Mr. O’Ruddy,” he added, “were you pleased to say to the gentlemen which I would not care to hear with my hands tied behind me?”

“I told them why you took that sudden trip to Bristol,” I answered softly.

He fairly leaped in a sudden wild rage. “You — told them?” he stuttered. “You poltroon! ’Twas a coward’s work!”

“Be easy,” said I, to soothe him. “’Tis no more cowardly than it is for the best swordsman in England to be fighting the worst swordsman in Ireland over a matter in which he is entirely in the wrong, although ’tis not me that cares one way or another way. Indeed, I prefer you to be in the wrong, you little black pig.”

“Stop,” said he, with a face as white as milk. “You told them — you told them about — about the girl at Bristol?”

“What girl at Bristol?” said I innocently. “’Tis not me to be knowing your wenches in Bristol or otherwheres.”

A red flush came into the side of his neck and swelled slowly across his cheeks. “If you’ve told them about Nell!”

“Nell?” said I. “Nell? Yes, that’s the name. Nell. Yes, Nell. And if I told them about Nell?”

“Then,” he rejoined solemnly, “I shall kill you ten times if I lose my soul in everlasting hell for it.”

“But after I have killed you eleven times I shall go to Bristol and have some sweet interviews with fair Nell,” said I. This sting I expected to call forth a terrific outburst, but he remained scowling in dark thought. Then I saw where I had been wrong. This Nell was now more a shame than a sweetheart, and he was afraid that word had been passed by me to the brother of — Here was a chance to disturb him. “When I was making my little joke of you and your flame at Bristol,” said I thoughtfully, “I believe there were no ladies present. I don’t remember quite. Any how we will let that pass. ’Tis of no consequence.”

And here I got him in full cry. “God rot you!” he shrieked. His sword sprang and whistled in the air.

“Hold,” said I, as a man of peace. “’Twould be murder. My weapon is on the bed, and I am too lazy to go and fetch it. And in the mean time let me assure you that no word has crossed my lips in regard to Nell, your Bristol sweetheart, for the very excellent reason that I never knew of her existence until you yourself told me some moments ago.”

Never before had he met a man like me. I thought his under-jaw would drop on the floor.

“Up to a short time ago,” said I candidly, “your indecent amours were safe from my knowledge. I can be in the way of putting myself as silent as a turtle when it comes to protecting a man from his folly with a woman. In fact, I am a gentleman. But,” I added sternly, “what of the child?”

“The child?” he cried jumping. “May hell swallow you! And what may you know of the child?”

I waved my hand in gentle deprecation of his excitement as I said:

“Peace, Forister; I know nothing of any child. It was only an observation by a man of natural wit who desired to entertain himself. And, pray, how old is the infant?”

He breathed heavily. “You are a fiend,” he answered. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he deliberated upon his choice of conduct. Presently he sheathed his sword and turned with some of his old jauntiness toward the door. “Very good,” said he. “To-morrow we shall know more of our own affairs.”

“True,” I replied.

“We shall learn if slyness and treachery are to be defeated by fair-going and honour.”

“True,” said I.

“We shall learn if a snake in the grass can with freedom bite the foot of a lion.”

“True,” said I.

There was a loud jovial clamour at the door, and at my cry it flew open. Colonel Royale entered precipitately, beaming with good humour.

“O’Ruddy, you rascal,” he shouted, “I commanded you to take much rest, and here I find—” He halted abruptly as he perceived my other visitor. “And here I find,” he repeated coldly, “here I find Mr. Forister.”

Forister saluted with finished politeness. “My friend and I,” he said, “were discussing the probabilities of my killing him in the morning. He seems to think that he has some small chance for his life, but I have assured him that any real betting man would not wager a grain of sand that he would see the sun go down to-morrow.”

“Even so,” rejoined the Colonel imperturbably.

“And I also suggested to my friend,” pursued Forister, “that to-morrow I would sacrifice my ruffles for him, although I always abominate having a man’s life-blood about my wrists.”

“Even so,” quoth the undisturbed Colonel.

“And further I suggested to my friend that if he came to the ground with a coffin on his back, it might promote expedition after the affair was over.”

Colonel Royale turned away with a gesture of disgust.

I thought it was high time to play an ace at Forister and stop his babble, so I said:

“And when Mr. Forister had finished his graceful remarks we had some talk regarding Mr. Forister’s affairs in Bristol, and I confess I was much interested in hearing about the little—”

Here I stopped abruptly, as if I had been interrupted by Forister; but he had given me no sign but a sickly grin.

“Eh, Forister?” said I. “What’s that?”

“I was remarking that I had nothing further to say for the present,” he replied, with superb insolence. “For the time I am quite willing to be silent. I bid you a good day, sirs.”