CHAPTER XIV.
There were odours of Russian cigarettes in Mr. Horace Bellingham's room,and two smokers were industriously adding to the fragrant cloud. One wasthe owner of the dwelling himself, and the other was Claudius. He satupon the sofa that stood between the two windows of the room, which wason the ground floor, and looked out on the street. The walls werecovered with pictures wherever they were not covered with books, andthere was not an available nook or corner unfilled with scraps ofbric-a-brac, photographs, odds and ends of reminiscence, and all mannerof things characteristic to the denizen of the apartment. The furniturewas evidently calculated more for comfort than display, and if there wasan air of luxury pervading the bachelor's quiet _rez-de-chaussee_, itwas due to the rare volumes on the shelves and the good pictures on thewalls, rather than to the silk or satin of the high-art upholsterer, orthe gilding and tile work of the modern decorator, who ravages uponbeauty as a fungus upon a fruit tree. Whatever there was in Mr.Bellingham's rooms was good; much of it was unique, and the whole washarmonious. Rare editions were bound by famous binders, and if thetwopenny-halfpenny productions of some little would-be modern poet,resplendent with vellum and aesthetic greenliness of paper, occasionallyfound their way to the table, they never travelled as far as theshelves. Mr. Bellingham had fools enough about him to absorb his sparetrash.
On this particular occasion the old gentleman was seated in an arm-chairat his table, and Claudius, as aforesaid, had established himself uponthe sofa. He looked very grave and smoked thoughtfully.
"I wish I knew what to do," he said. "Mr. Bellingham, do you think Icould be of any use?"
"If I had not thought so, I would not have told you--I could have letyou find it out for yourself from the papers. You can be of a great dealof use."
"Do you advise me to go to St. Petersburg and see about it then?"
"Of course I do. Start at once. You can get the necessary steps taken inno time, if you go now."
"I am ready. But how in the world can I get the thing done?"
"Letters. Your English friend over there will give you letters to theEnglish Ambassador; he is Lord Fitzdoggin--cousin of the Duke's. And Iwill give you some papers that will be of use. I know lots of people inPetersburg. Why, it's as plain as a pikestaff. Besides, you know theproverb, _mitte sapientem et nihil dicas._ That means then when you senda wise man you must not dictate to him."
"You flatter me. But I would rather have your advice, if that is whatyou call 'dictating.' I am not exactly a fool, but then, I am not verywise either."
"No one is very wise, and we are all fools compared to some people,"said Mr. Bellingham. "If anybody wanted a figurehead for a new Ship ofFools, I sometimes think a portrait of myself would be singularlyappropriate. There are times when I should fix upon a friend for thepurpose. Mermaid--half fish--figurehead, half man, half fool. That's avery good idea."
"Very good--for the friend. Meanwhile, you know, it is I who am going onthe errand. If you do not make it clear to me it will be a fool'serrand."
"It is perfectly clear, my dear sir," insisted Mr. Bellingham. "You goto St. Petersburg; you get an audience--you can do that by means of theletters; you lay the matter before the Czar, and request justice. Eitheryou get it or you do not. That is the beauty of an autocratic country."
"How about a free country?" asked Claudius.
"You don't get it," replied his host grimly. Claudius laughed a cloud ofsmoke into the air.
"Why is that?" he asked idly, hoping to launch Mr. Bellingham intofurther aphorisms and paradoxes.
"Men are everywhere born free, but they--"
"Oh," said Claudius, "I want to know your own opinion about it."
"I have no opinion; I only have experience," answered the other. "At anyrate in an autocratic country there is a visible, tangible repository ofpower to whom you can apply. If the repository is in the humour you willget whatever you want done, in the way of justice or injustice. Now in afree country justice is absorbed into the great cosmic forces, and it isapt to be an expensive incantation that wakes the lost elementaryspirit. In Russia justice shines by contrast with the surroundingcorruption, but there is no mistake about it when you get it. In Americait is taken for granted everywhere, and the consequence is that, likemost things that are taken for granted, it is a myth. Rousseau thoughtthat in a republic like ours there would be no more of the 'chains' hewas so fond of talking about. He did not anticipate a stagnation of thenational moral sense. An Englishman who has made a study of these thingssaid lately that the Americans had retained the forms of freedom, butthat the substance had suffered considerably."
"Who said that?" asked Claudius.
"Mr. Herbert Spencer. He said it to a newspaper reporter in New York,and so it was put into the papers. It is the truest thing he ever said,but no one took any more notice of it than if he had told the reporterit was a very fine day. They don't care. Tell the first man you meetdown town that he is a liar; he will tell you he knows it. He willprobably tell you you are another. We are all alike here. I'm a liarmyself in a small way--there's a club of us, two Americans and oneEnglishman."
"You are the frankest person I ever met, Mr. Bellingham," said Claudius,laughing.
"Some day I will write a book," said Mr. Bellingham, rising andbeginning to tramp round the room. "I will call it--by the way, we weretalking about Petersburg. You had better be off."
"I am going, but tell me the name of the book before I go."
"No, I won't; you would go and write it yourself, and steal my thunder."Uncle Horace's eyes twinkled, and a corruscation of laugh-wrinkles shotlike sheet-lightning over his face. He disappeared into a neighbouringroom, leaving a trail of white smoke in his wake, like a locomotive.Presently he returned with a _Bullinger Guide_ in his hand.
"You can sail on Wednesday at two o'clock by the Cunarder," he said."You can go to Newport to-day, and come back by the boat on Tuesdaynight, and be ready to start in the morning." Mr. Bellingham pridedhimself greatly on his faculty for making combinations of times andplaces.
"How about those letters, Mr. Bellingham?" inquired Claudius, who had noidea of going upon his expedition without proper preparations.
"I will write them," said Uncle Horace, "I will write them at once," andhe dived into an address-book and set to work. His pen was that of thetraditional ready-writer, for he wrote endless letters, and hiscorrespondence was typical of himself--the scholar, the wanderer, andthe Priest of Buddha by turns, and sometimes all at once. For Mr.Bellingham was a professed Buddhist and a profound student of Easternmoralities, and he was a thorough scholar in certain branches of theclassics. The combination of these qualities, with the tact andversatile fluency of a man of the world, was a rare one, and was asource of unceasing surprise to his intimates. At the present moment hewas a diplomatist, since he could not be a diplomat, and to hisenergetic suggestion and furtherance of the plan he had devised theresults which this tale will set forth are mainly due.
Claudius sat upon the sofa watching the old gentleman, and wondering howit was that a stranger should so soon have assumed the position of anadviser, and with an energy and good sense, too, which not only disarmedresistance, but assubjugated the consent of the advised. Life is full ofsuch things. Man lives quietly like a fattening carp in some old pondfor years, until some idle disturber comes and pokes up the mud with astick, and the poor fish is in the dark. Presently comes anotherdestroyer of peace, less idle and more enterprising, and drains awaythe water, carp and all, and makes a potato-garden of his old haunts. Sothe carp makes a new study of life under altered circumstances in otherwaters; and to pass the time he wonders about it all. It happens even tomen of masterful character, accustomed to directing events. An illnesstakes such a man out of his sphere for a few months. He comes back andfinds his pond turned into a vegetable-garden and his ploughed fieldinto a swamp; and then for a time he is fain to ask advice and take it,like any other mortal. So Claudius, who felt himself in an atmospherenew to him, and had tumbled into
a very burning bush of complications,had fallen in with Mr. Horace Bellingham, a kind of professionalbone-setter, whose province was the reduction of society fractures,speaking medically. And Mr. Bellingham, scenting a patient, and moreoverbeing strongly attracted to him on his own merits, had immediatelybroached the subject of the Nihilist Nicholas, drawing the conclusionthat the man of the emergency was Claudius, and Claudius only. And thebold Doctor weighed the old gentleman's words, and by the light of whathe felt he knew that Uncle Horace was right. That if he loved Margarethis first duty was to her, and that first duty was her welfare. Nomessenger could or would be so active in her interests as himself; andin his anxiety to serve her he had not thought it strange that Mr.Bellingham should take it for granted he was ready to embark on theexpedition. He thought of that later, and wondered at the boldness ofthe stranger's assumption, no less than at the keenness of his wit. PoorClaudius! anybody might see he was in love.
"There; I think that will draw sparks," said Mr. Bellingham, as hefolded the last of his letters and put them all in a great squareenvelope. "Put those in your pocket and keep your powder dry."
"I am really very grateful to you," said Claudius. Uncle Horace began totramp round the room again, emitting smoky ejaculations of satisfaction.Presently he stopped in front of his guest and turned his eyes up toClaudius's face without raising his head. It gave him a peculiarexpression.
"It is a very strange thing," he said, "but I knew at once that you hada destiny, the first time I saw you. I am very superstitious; I believein destiny."
"So would I if I thought one could know anything about it. I mean in ageneral way," answered Claudius, smiling.
"Is generalisation everything?" asked Mr. Bellingham sharply, stilllooking at the young man. "Is experience to be dismissed as empiricism,with a sneer, because the wider rule is lacking?"
"No. But so long as only a few occupy themselves in reducing empiricknowledge to a scientific shape they will not succeed, at least in thisdepartment. To begin with, they have not enough experience among them tomake rules from."
"But they contribute. One man will come who will find the rule. WasTycho Brahe a nonentity because he was not Kepler? Was Van Helmontnothing because he was not Lavoisier? Yet Tycho Brahe was an empiric--hewas the last of the observers of the concrete, if you will allow me thephrase. He was scientifically the father of Kepler."
"That is very well put," said Claudius. "But we were talking of destiny.You are an observer."
"I have very fine senses," replied Mr. Bellingham. "I always know whenanybody I meet is going to do something out of the common run. You are."
"I hope so," said Claudius, laughing. "Indeed I think I am beginningalready."
"Well, good luck to you," said Mr. Bellingham, remembering that he hadmissed one engagement, and was on the point of missing another. Hesuddenly felt that he must send Claudius away, and he held out his hand.There was nothing rough in his abruptness. He would have liked to talkwith Claudius for an hour longer had his time permitted. Claudiusunderstood perfectly. He put the letters in his pocket, and with aparting shake of the hand he bade Mr. Horace Bellingham good-morning,and good-bye; he would not trouble him again, he said, before sailing.But Mr. Bellingham went to the door with him.
"Come and see me before you go--Wednesday morning; I am up at six, youknow. I shall be very glad to see you. I am like the Mexican donkey thatdied of _congojas ajenas_--died of other people's troubles. Peoplealways come to me when they are in difficulties." The old gentlemanstood looking after Claudius as he strode away. Then he screwed up hiseyes at the sun, sneezed with evident satisfaction, and disappearedwithin, closing the street door behind him.
"Some day I will write my memoirs," he said to himself, as he sat down.
Claudius was in a frame of mind which he would have found it hard todescribe. The long conversation with Mr. Bellingham had been the firstintimation he had received of Margaret's disaster, and the sameinterview had decided him to act at once in her behalf--in other words,to return to Europe immediately, after a week's stay in New York,leaving behind all that was most dear to him. This resolution hadformed itself instantaneously in his mind, and it never occurred to him,either then or later, that he could have done anything else in theworld. It certainly did not occur to him that he was doing anythingespecially praiseworthy in sacrificing his love to its object, inleaving Margaret for a couple of months, and enduring all that such aseparation meant, in order to serve her interests more effectually. Heknew well enough what he was undertaking--the sleepless nights, theendless days, the soul-compelling heaviness of solitude, and the deadlysinking at the heart, all which he should endure daily for sixtydays--he could not be back before that. He knew it all, for he hadsuffered it all, during those four and twenty hours on the yacht thatfollowed his first wild speech of love. But Claudius's was a knightlysoul, and when he served he served wholly, without reservation. Had thedark-browed Countess guessed half the nobleness of purpose her talllover carried in his breast, who knows but she might have been soonermoved herself. But how could she know? She suspected, indeed, that hewas above his fellows, and she never attributed bad motives to hisactions, as she would unhesitatingly have done with most men; for shehad learned lessons of caution in her life. Who steals hearts stealssouls, wherefore it behoves woman to look that the lock be strong andthe key hung high. Claudius thought so too, and he showed it in everyaction, though unconsciously enough, for it was a knowledge natural andnot acquired, an instinctive determination to honour where honour wasdue. Call it Quixotism if need be. There is nothing ridiculous in theword, for there breathes no truer knight or gentler soul thanCervantes's hero in all the pages of history or romance. Why cannot allmen see it? Why must an infamous world be ever sneering at the sight,and smacking its filthy lips over some fresh gorge of martyrs? Societyhas non-suited hell to-day, lest peradventure it should not sleep o'nights.
Thomas Carlyle, late of Chelsea, knew that. How he hit and hammered andchurned in his wrath, with his great cast-iron words. How the worldshrieked when he wound his tenacious fingers in the glory of her goldenhair and twisted and wrenched and twisted till she yelled for mercy,promising to be good, like a whipped child. There is a story told of himwhich might be true.
It was at a dinner-party, and Carlyle sat silent, listening to the talkof lesser men, the snow on his hair and the fire in his amber eyes. Ayoung Liberal was talking theory to a beefy old Conservative, whodespised youth and reason in an equal degree.
"The British people, sir," said he of the beef, "can afford to laugh attheories."
"Sir," said Carlyle, speaking for the first time during dinner, "theFrench nobility of a hundred years ago said they could afford to laughat theories. Then came a man and wrote a book called the _SocialContract_. The man was called Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and his book was atheory, and nothing but a theory. The nobles could laugh at his theory;_but their skins went to bind the second edition of his book_[1]."
[Footnote 1: There was a tannery of human skins at Meudon during theRevolution.]
Look to your skin, world, lest it be dressed to morocco and cunninglytooled with gold. There is much binding yet to be done.
Claudius thought neither of the world nor of Mr. Carlyle as he walkedback to the hotel; for he was thinking of the Countess Margaret, to theexclusion of every other earthly or unearthly consideration. But histhoughts were sad, for he knew that he was to leave her, and he knewalso that he must tell her so. It was no easy matter, and his walkslackened, till, at the corner of the great thoroughfare, he stoodstill, looking at a poor woman who ground a tuneless hand-organ. Theinstrument of tympanum torture was on wheels, and to the back of it wasattached a cradle. In the cradle was a dirty little baby, licking itsfist and listening with conscientious attention to the perpetualtrangle-tringle-jangle of the maternal music. In truth the little thingcould not well listen to anything else, considering the position inwhich it was placed. Claudius stood staring at the little caravan,halted at the corner of the most a
ristocratic street in New York, andhis attention was gradually roused to comprehend what he saw. Hereflected that next to being bound on the back of a wild horse, likeMazeppa, the most horrible fate conceivable must be that of this dirtybaby, put to bed in perpetuity on the back of a crazy grind-organ. Hesmiled at the idea, and the woman held out a battered tin dish with onehand, while the other in its revolution ground out the final palpitatingsqueaks of "_Ah, che la morte ognora_." Claudius put his hand into hispocket and gave the poor creature a coin.
"You are encouraging a public nuisance," said a thin gentlemanly voiceat his elbow. Claudius looked down and saw Mr. Barker.
"Yes," said the Doctor, "I remember a remark you once made to me aboutthe deserving poor in New York--it was the day before yesterday, Ithink. You said they went to the West."
"Talking of the West, I suppose you will be going there yourself one ofthese days to take a look at our 'park'--eh?"
"No, I am going East."
"To Boston, I suppose?" inquired the inquisitive Barker. "You will bevery much amused with Boston. It is the largest village in the UnitedStates."
"I am not going to Boston," said Claudius calmly.
"Oh! I thought when you said you were going East you meant--"
"I am going to sail for Europe on Wednesday," said the Doctor, who hadhad time to reflect that he might as well inform Barker of hisintention. Mr. Barker smiled grimly under his moustache.
"You don't mean that?" he said, trying to feign astonishment anddisguise his satisfaction. It seemed too good to be true. "Going sosoon? Why, I thought you meant to spend some time."
"Yes, I am going immediately," and Claudius looked Barker straight inthe face. "I find it is necessary that I should procure certain papersconnected with my inheritance."
"Well," said Barker turning his eyes another way, for he did not likethe Doctor's look, "I am very sorry, any way. I suppose you mean to comeback soon?"
"Very soon," answered Claudius. "Good-morning, Barker."
"Good morning. I will call and see you before you sail. You have quitetaken my breath away with this news." Mr. Barker walked quickly away inthe direction of Elevated Road. He was evidently going down town.
"Strange," thought Claudius, "that Barker should take the news soquietly. I think it ought to have astonished him more." Leaving theorgan-grinder, the dirty baby, and the horse-cars to their fate,Claudius entered the hotel. He found the Duke over a late breakfast,eating cantelopes voraciously. Cantelopes are American melons, small andof sickly appearance, but of good vitality and unearthly freshnesswithin, a joy to the hot-stomached foreigner. Behold also, his Graceeateth the cantelope and hath a cheerful countenance. Claudius sat downat the table, looking rather gloomy.
"I want you to give me an introduction to the English Ambassador inPetersburg. Lord Fitzdoggin, I believe he is."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed the peer; "what for?"
"I am going there," answered Claudius with his habitual calm, "and Iwant to know somebody in power."
"Oh! are _you_ going?" asked the Duke, suddenly grasping the situation.He afterwards took some credit to himself for having been so quick tocatch Claudius's meaning.
"Yes. I sail on Wednesday."
"Tell me all about it," said the Duke, who recovered his equanimity, andplunged a knife into a fresh cantelope at the same moment.
"Very well. I saw your friend, Mr. Horace Bellingham, this morning, andhe told me all about the Countess's troubles. In fact, they are in thenewspapers by this time, but I had not read about them. He suggestedthat some personal friend of the Countess had better proceed toheadquarters at once, and see about it; so I said I would go; and hegave me some introductions. They are probably good ones; but he advisedme to come to you and get one for your ambassador."
"Anything Uncle Horace advises is right, you know," said his Grace,speaking with his mouth full. "He knows no end of people everywhere," headded pensively, when he had swallowed.
"Very well, I will go; but I am glad you approve."
"But what the deuce are you going to do about that fortune of yours?"asked the other suddenly. "Don't you think we had better go down andswear to you at once? I may not be here when you get back, you know."
"No; that would not suit my arrangements," answered Claudius. "I wouldrather not let it be known for what purpose I had gone. Do youunderstand? I am going ostensibly to Heidelberg to get my papers fromthe University, and so, with all thanks, I need not trouble you." TheDuke looked at him for a moment.
"What a queer fellow you are, Claudius," he said at last. "I shouldthink you would like her to know."
"Why? Suppose that I failed, what a figure I should cut, to be sure."Claudius preferred to attribute to his vanity an action which was thenatural outcome of his love.
"Well, that is true," said the Duke; "but I think you are pretty safefor all that. Have some breakfast--I forgot all about it."
"No, thanks. Are you going to Newport to-day? I would like to seesomething outside of New York before I go back."
"By all means. Better go at once--all of us in a body. I know theCountess is ready, and I am sure I am."
"Very good. I will get my things together. One word--please do not tellthem I am going; I will do it myself.
"All right," answered the Duke; and Claudius vanished. "He says 'them,'"soliloquised the Englishman, "but he means 'her.'"
Claudius found on his table a note from Mr. Screw. This missive wascouched in formal terms, and emitted a kind of phosphorescent wrath. Mr.Screw's dignity was seriously offended by the summary ejectment he hadsuffered at the Doctor's hands on the previous day. He gave the Doctorformal notice that his drafts would not be honoured until the executorswere satisfied concerning his identity; and he solemnly and legally"regretted the position Dr. Claudius had assumed towards those whosesacred duty it was to protect the interests of Dr. Claudius." Thecunning repetition of name conveyed the idea of two personages, theclaimant and the real heir, in a manner that did not escape the Doctor.Since yesterday he had half regretted having lost his temper; and had heknown that Screw had been completely duped by Mr. Barker, Claudius wouldprobably have apologised to the lawyer. Indeed, he had a vaguesuspicion, as the shadow of a distant event, that Barker was notaltogether clear of the business; and the fact that the latter had shownso little surprise on hearing of his friend's sudden return to Europehad aroused the Doctor's imagination, so that he found himself piecingtogether everything he could remember to show that Barker had aninterest of some kind in removing him from the scene. Nevertheless, theburden of responsibility for the annoyance he was now suffering seemedto rest with Screw, and Screw should be taught a great lesson; and tothat end Claudius would write a letter. It was clear he was still angry.
The Doctor sat down to write; and his strong, white fingers held the penwith unrelenting determination to be disagreeable. His face was set likea mask, and ever and anon his blue eyes gleamed scornfully. And this iswhat he said--
"SIR--Having enjoyed the advantage of your society, somewhat longer than I could have wished, during yesterday afternoon, I had certainly not hoped for so early a mark of your favour and interest as a letter from you of to-day's date. As for your formal notice to me that my drafts will not be honoured in future, I regard it as a deliberate repetition of the insulting insinuation conveyed to me by your remarks during your visit. You are well aware that I have not drawn upon the estate in spite of your written authorisation to do so. I consider your conduct in this matter unworthy of a person professing the law, and your impertinence is in my opinion only second to the phenomenal clumsiness you have displayed throughout. As I fear that your ignorance of your profession may lead you into some act of folly disastrous to yourself, I will go so far as to inform you that on my return from Europe, two months hence, your proceedings as executor for the estate of the late Gustavus Lindstrand will be subjected to the severest scrutiny. In the meantime, I desire no further comm
unications from you.
CLAUDIUS."
This remarkable epistle was immediately despatched by messenger to PineStreet; and if Mr. Screw had felt himself injured before, he was on theverge of desperation when he read Claudius's polemic. He repeated tohimself the several sentences, which seemed to breathe war and carnagein their trenchant brevity; and he thought that even if he had beenguilty of any breach of trust, he could hardly have felt worse. He ranhis fingers through his thick yellow-gray hair, and hooked his legs inand out of each other as he sat, and bullied his clerks within an inchof their lives. Then, to get consolation, he said to himself thatClaudius was certainly an impostor, or he would not be so angry, or goto Europe, or refuse any more communications. In the midst of his rage,Mr. Barker the younger opportunely appeared in the office of Messrs.Screw and Scratch, prepared to throw any amount of oil upon the flames.
"Well?" said Mr. Barker interrogatively, as he settled the flower in hisgray coat, and let the paper ribband of the "ticker" run through hisother hand, with its tale of the tide of stocks. Yellow Mr. Screw shot alurid glance from his brassy little eyes.
"You're right, sir--the man's a humbug."
"Who?" asked Barker, in well-feigned innocence.
"Claudius. It's my belief he's a liar and a thief and a damned impostor,sir. That's my belief, sir." He waxed warm as he vented his anger.
"Well, I only suggested taking precautions. I never said any of thesethings," answered Barker, who had no idea of playing a prominent part inhis own plot. "Don't give me any credit, Mr. Screw."
"Now, see here, Mr. Barker; I'm talking to you. You're as clever a youngman as there is in New York. Now, listen to me; I'm talking to you,"said Mr. Screw excitedly. "That man turned me out of his house--turnedme out of doors, sir, yesterday afternoon; and now he writes me thisletter; look here, look at it; read it for yourself, can't you? And sohe makes tracks for Europe, and leaves no address behind. An honest manisn't going to act like that, sir--is he, now?"
"Not much," said Barker, as he took the letter. He read it throughtwice, and gave it back. "Not much," he repeated. "Is it true that hehas drawn no money?"
"Well, yes, I suppose it is," answered Screw reluctantly, for this wasthe weak point in his argument. "However, it would be just like such aleg to make everything sure in playing a big game. You see he has lefthimself the rear platform, so he can jump off when his car is boarded."
"However," said Barker sententiously, "I must say it is in his favour.What we want are facts, you know, Mr. Screw. Besides, if he had takenanything, I should have been responsible, because I accepted him abroadas the right man."
"Well, as you say, there is nothing gone--not a red. So if he likes toget away, he can; I'm well rid of him."
"Now that's the way to look at it. Don't be so down in the mouth, sir;it will all come straight enough." Barker smiled benignly, knowing itwas all crooked enough at present.
"Well, I'm damned anyhow," said Mr. Screw, which was not fair tohimself, for he was an honest man, acting very properly according to hislights. It was not his fault if Barker deceived him, and if thathot-livered Swede was angry.
"Never mind," answered Barker, rather irrelevantly; "I will see himbefore he sails, and tell you what I think about it. He is dead sure togive himself away, somehow, before he gets off."
"Well, sail in, young man," said Screw, biting off the end of a cigar."_I_ don't want to see him again, you can take your oath."
"All right; that settles it. I came about something else, though. I knowyou can tell me all about this suit against the Western Union, can'tyou?"
So the two men sat in their arm-chairs and talked steadily, as onlyAmericans can talk, without showing any more signs of fatigue than ifthey were snoring; and it cost them nothing. If the Greeks of the timeof Pericles could be brought to life in America, they would be very likemodern Americans in respect of their love of talking and of theirpolitics. Terrible chatterers in the market-place, and great wranglersin the council--the greatest talkers living, but also on occasion thegreatest orators, with a redundant vivacity of public life in theirpolitical veins, that magnifies and inflames the diseases of the parts,even while it gives an unparalleled harmony to the whole. The Greeks hadmore, for their activity, hampered by the narrow limits of theirpolitical sphere, broke out in every variety of intellectual effort,carried into every branch of science and art. In spite of the wholemodern school of impressionists, aesthetes, and aphrodisiac poets, themost prominent features of Greek art are its intellectuality, itswell-reasoned science, and its accurate conception of the ideal. Theresemblance between Americans of to-day and Greeks of the age ofPericles does not extend to matters of art as yet, though America bidsfair to surpass all earlier and contemporary nations in the progressivedepartments of science. But as talkers they are pre-eminent, these rapidbusiness men with their quick tongues and their sharp eyes and theirmillions.
When Barker left Screw he had learned a great deal about the suit ofwhich he inquired, but Screw had learned nothing whatever aboutClaudius.
As for the Doctor, as soon as he had despatched his letter he sent tosecure a passage in Wednesday's steamer, and set himself to prepare hiseffects for the voyage, as he only intended returning from Newport intime to go on board. He was provided with money enough, for beforeleaving Germany he had realised the whole of his own little fortune, notwishing to draw upon his larger inheritance until he should feel somenecessity for doing so. He now felt no small satisfaction in the thoughtthat he was independent of Mr. Screw and of every one else. It wouldhave been an easy matter, he knew, to clear up the whole difficulty intwenty-four hours, by simply asking the Duke to vouch for him; andbefore hearing of Margaret's trouble he had had every intention ofpursuing that course. But now that he was determined to go to Russia inher behalf, his own difficulty, if he did not take steps for removingit, furnished him with an excellent excuse for the journey, withouttelling the Countess that he was going for the sole purpose ofrecovering her fortune, as he otherwise must have told her. Had he knownthe full extent of Barker's intentions he might have acted differently,but as yet his instinct against that ingenious young gentleman wasundefined and vague.