The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II)

  CHAPTER II. MR. MERL

  The French have invented a slang word for a quality that deserves amore recognized epithet, and by the expression _chic_ have designateda certain property by which objects assert their undoubted superiorityover all their counterfeits. Thus, your coat from Nugee's, your carriagefrom Leader's, your bracelet from Storr's, and your bonnet from MadamePalmyre, have all their own peculiar _chic_, or, in other words, possessa certain invisible, indescribable essence that stamps them as the bestof their kind, with an excellence unattainable by imitation, and a charmall their own!

  Of all the products in which this magical property insinuates itself,there is not one to which it contributes so much as the man of fashion.He is the very type of _chic_. To describe him you are driven toa catalogue of negatives, and you only arrive at anything like aresemblance by an enumeration of the different things he is not.

  The gentleman who presented himself to Martin at the close of ourlast chapter was in many respects a good specimen of his order. He hadentered the room, believing Martin to be there alone; but no sooner hadhe perceived another, and that other one not known to him, than allthe buoyant gayety of his manner was suddenly toned down into aquiet seriousness; while, taking his friend's arm, he said in a lowvoice,--"If you 're busy, my dear Martin, don't hesitate for a momentabout sending me off; I had not the slightest suspicion there was anyone with you."

  "Nor is there," said Martin, with a supercilious glance at Merl, whowas endeavoring in a dozen unsuccessful ways to seem unaware of the newarrival's presence.

  "I want to introduce him to you," said Martin.

  "No, no, my dear friend, on no account."

  "I must; there's no help for it," said Martin, impatiently, while hewhispered something eagerly in the other's ear.

  "Well, then, some other day; another time--"

  "Here and now, Claude," said Martin, peremptorily; while, withoutwaiting for reply, he said aloud, "Merl, I wish to present you to LordClaude Willoughby,--Lord Claude, Mr. Herman Merl."

  Merl bowed and smirked and writhed as his Lordship, with a bland smileand a very slight bow, acknowledged the presentation.

  "Had the pleasure of meeting your Lordship at Baden two summers ago,"said the Jew, with an air meant to be the ideal of fashionable ease.

  "I was at Baden at the time you mention," said he, coldly.

  "I used to watch your Lordship's game with great attention; you wonheavily, I think?"

  "I don't remember, just now," said he, carelessly; not, indeed, thatsuch was the fact, or that he desired it should be thought so; he onlywished to mark his sense of what he deemed an impertinence.

  "The man who can win at rouge-et-noir can do anything, in my opinion,"said Merl.

  "What odds are you taking on Rufus?" said Martin to Willoughby, andwithout paying the slightest attention to Merl's remark.

  "Eleven to one; but I'll not take it again. Hecuba is rising hourly, andsome say she 'll be the favorite yet."

  "Is Rufus your Lordship's horse?" said the Jew, insinuatingly.

  Willoughby bowed, and continued to write in his note-book.

  "And you said the betting was eleven to one on the field, my Lord?"

  "It ought to be fourteen to one, at least."

  "I 'll give you fourteen to one, my Lord, just for the sake of a littleinterest in the race."

  Willoughby ceased writing, and looked at him steadfastly for a second ortwo. "I have not said that the odds were fourteen to one."

  "I understand you perfectly, my Lord; you merely thought that they wouldbe, or, at least, ought to be."

  "Merl wants a bet with you, in fact," said Martin, as he applied alightto his meerschaum; "and if you won't have him, I will."

  "What shall it be, sir," said Lord Claude, pencil in hand; "inponies--fifties?"

  "Oh, ponies, my Lord. I only meant it, just as I said, to give mesomething to care for in the race."

  "Will you put him up at the 'Cercle' after that?" whispered Martin, witha look of sly malice.

  "I'll tell you when the match is over," said Willoughby, laughing;"but if I won't, here 's one that will. That's a neat phaeton ofCavendish's." And at the same instant Martin opened the window, and madea signal with his handkerchief.

  "That's the thing for _you_, Merl," said Martin, pointing down to asplendid pair of dark chestnuts harnessed to a handsome phaeton. "It'sworth five hundred pounds to any fellow starting an equipage to chanceupon one of Cavendish's. He has not only such consummate taste incarriage and harness, but he makes his nags perfection."

  "He drives very neatly," said Willoughby.

  "What was it he gave for that near-side horse?--a thousand pounds, Ithink."

  "Twelve hundred and fifty, and refused a hundred for my bargain," saida very diminutive, shrewd-looking man of about five-and-thirty, whoentered the room with great affectation of juvenility. "I bought him fora cab, never expecting to 'see his like again,' as Shakspeare says."

  "And you offered the whole concern yesterday to Damre-mont for fiftythousand francs?"

  "No, Harry, that's a mistake. I said I 'd play him a match at piquet,whether he gave seventy thousand for the equipage or nothing. It was hethat proposed fifty thousand. Mine was a handsome offer, I think."

  "I call it a most munificent one," said Martin. "By the way, you don'tknow my friend here, Mr. Merl, Sir Spencer Cavendish." And the baronetstuck his glass in his eye, and scanned the stranger as unscrupulouslyas though he were a hack at Tattersairs.

  "Where did he dig him up, Claude?" whispered he, after a second.

  "In India, I fancy; or at the Cape."

  "That fellow has something to do with the hell in St. James's Street; I'll swear I know his face."

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  "I 've been telling Merl that he 's in rare luck to find such a turn-outas that in the market; that is, if you still are disposed to sell."

  "Oh, yes, I'll sell it; give him the tiger, boots, cockade, andall,--everything except that Skye terrier. You shall have the whole,sir, for two thousand pounds; or, if you prefer it--"

  A certain warning look from Lord Claude suddenly arrested his words, andhe added, after a moment,--"But I 'd rather sell it off, and think nomore of it."

  "Try the nags; Sir Spencer, I'm sure, will have no objection," saidMartin. But the baronet's face looked anything but concurrence with theproposal.

  "Take them a turn round the Bois de Boulogne, Merl," said Martin,laughing at his friend's distress.

  "And he may have the turn-out at his own price after the trial,"muttered Lord Claude, with a quiet smile.

  "Egad! I should think so," whispered Cavendish; "for, assuredly, Ishould never think of being seen in it again."

  "If Sir Spencer Cavendish has no objection,--if he would permit hisgroom to drive me just down the Boulevards and the Rue Rivoli--"

  The cool stare of the baronet did not permit him to finish. It wasreally a look far more intelligible than common observers might haveimagined, for it conveyed something like recognition,--a faint approachto an intimation that said, "I 'm persuaded that we have met before."

  "Yes, that is the best plan. Let the groom have the ribbons," saidMartin, laughing with an almost schoolboy enjoyment of a trick. "Anddon't lose time, Merl, for Sir Spencer would n't miss his drive in theChamps Elysees for any consideration."

  "Gentlemen, I am your very humble and much obliged servant!" saidCavendish, as soon as Merl had quitted the room. "If that distinguishedfriend of yours should not buy my carriage--"

  "But he will," broke in Martin; "he must buy it."

  "He ought, I think," said Lord Claude. "If I were in his place, there'sonly one condition I 'd stipulate for."

  "And that is--"

  "That you should drive with him one day--one would be enough--from theBarriere de l'Etoile to the Louvre."

  "This is all very amusing, gentlemen, most entertaining," saidCavendish, tartly; "but who is he?--I don't mean that,--but what is he?"

  "Martin's banker, I fa
ncy," said Lord Claude.

  "Does he lend any sum from five hundred to twenty thousand on equitableterms on approved personal security?" said Cavendish, imitating theterms of the advertisements.

  "He 'll allow all he wins from you to remain in your hands at sixty percent interest, if he doesn't want cash!" said Martin, angrily.

  "Oh, then, I 'm right. It is my little Moses of St. James's Street. Hewas n't always as flourishing as we see him now. Oh dear, if any man,three years back, had told me that this fellow would have proposedseating himself in my phaeton for a drive round Paris, I don'tbelieve--nay, I 'm sure--my head couldn't have stood it."

  "You know him, then?" said Willoughby.

  "I should think every man about town a dozen years ago must know him.There was a kind of brood of these fellows; we used to call them Josephand his brethren. One sold cigars, another vended maraschino; thisdiscounted your bills, that took your plate or your horses--ay, or yourwardrobe--on a bill of sale, and handed you over two hundred pounds tolose at his brother's hell in the evening. Most useful scoundrels theywere,--equally expert on 'Change and in the Coulisses of the Opera!"

  "I will say this for him," said Martin, "he 's not a hard fellow to dealwith; he does not drive a bargain ungenerously."

  "Your hangman is the tenderest fellow in the world," said Cavendish,"till the final moment. It's only in adjusting the last turn under theear that he shows himself 'ungenerous.'"

  "Are you deep with him, Harry?" said Willoughby, who saw a suddenpaleness come over Martin's face.

  "Too deep!" said he, with a bitter effort at a laugh,--"a great deal toodeep."

  "We 're all too deep with those fellows," said Cavendish, as, stretchingout his legs, he contemplated the shape and lustre of his admirablyfitting boots. "One begins by some trumpery loan or so; thence you goon to a play transaction or a betting-book with them, and you end--egad,you end by having the fellow at dinner!"

  "Martin wants his friend to be put up for the Club," said Willoughby.

  "Eh, what? At the 'Cercle,' do you mean?"

  "Why not? Is it so very select?"

  "No, not exactly that; there are the due proportions of odd reputations,half reputations, and no reputations; but remember, Martin, that howeverblack they be now, they all began white. When they started, at least,they were gentlemen."

  "I suspect that does not make the case much better."

  "No; but it makes _ours_ better, in associating with them. Come, come,you know as well as any one that this is impossible, and that if youshould do it to-day, I should follow the lead to-morrow, and ourClub become only an asylum for unpayable tailors and unappeasablebootmakers!"

  "You go too fast, sir," exclaimed Martin, in a tone of anger. "I neverintended to pay my debts by a white ball in the ballot-box, nor do Ithink that Mr. Merl would relinquish his claim on some thousandpounds, even for the honor of being the club colleague of Sir SpencerCavendish."

  "Then I know him better," said the other, tapping his-boot with hiscane; "he would, and he 'd think it a right good bargain besides. Fromseeing these fellows at racecourses and betting-rooms, always cold,calm, and impassive, never depressed by ill-luck, as little elatedby good, we fall into the mistake of esteeming them as a kind ofphilosophers in life, without any of those detracting influences thatmake you and Willoughby, and even myself, sometimes rash and headstrong.It is a mistake, though; they have a weakness,--and a terribleweakness,--which is, their passion to be thought in fashionable society.Yes, they can't resist that! All their shrewd calculations, all theirartful schemes, dissolve into thin air, at the bare prospect of beingrecognized 'in society.' I have studied this flaw in them for many ayear back. I 'll not say I haven't derived advantage from it."

  "And yet you 'd refuse him admission into a club," cried Martin.

  "Certainly. A club is a Democracy, where each man, once elected, isthe equal of his neighbor. Society is, on the other hand, an absolutemonarchy, where your rank flows from the fountain of honor,--the host.Take him along with you to her Grace's 'tea,' or my Lady's receptionthis evening, and see if the manner of the mistress of the house doesnot assign him his place, as certainly as if he were marshalled to it bya lackey. All his mock tranquillity and assumed ease of manner will notbe proof against the icy dignity of a grande dame; but in the Club he'sas good as the best, or he'll think so, which comes to the same thing."

  "Cavendish is right,--that is, as much so as he can be in anything,"said Willoughby, laughing. "Don't put him up, Martin."

  "Then what am I to do? I have given a sort of a pledge. He is not easilyput off; he does not lightly relinquish an object."

  "Take him off the scent. Introduce him at the Embassy. Take him to theCourcelles."

  "This is intolerable," broke in Martin, angrily. "I ask for advice, andyou reply by a sneer and a mockery."

  "Not at all. I never was more serious. But here he comes! Look only howthe fellow lolls back in the phaeton. Just see how contemptuously helooks down on the foot-travellers. I'd lay on another hundred for thatstare; for, assuredly, he has already made the purchase in his ownmind."

  "Well, Merl, what do you say to Sir Spencer's taste in horseflesh?" saidMartin, as he entered.

  "They 're nice hacks; very smart."

  "Nice hacks!" broke in Cavendish, "why, sir, they're both thoroughbred;the near horse is by Tiger out of a Crescent mare, and the off one wonthe Acton steeple-chase. When you said hacks, therefore, you made acruel blunder."

  "Well, it's what a friend of mine called them just now," said Merl;"and remarked, moreover, that the large horse had been slightly fired onthe--the--I forget the name he gave it."

  "You probably remember your friend's name better," said Cavendish,sneeringly. "Who was he, pray?"

  "Massingbred,--we call him Jack Massingbred; he's the Member forsomewhere in Ireland."

  "Poor Jack!" muttered Cavendish, "how hard up he must be!"

  "But you like the equipage, Merl?" said Martin, who had a secretsuspicion that it was now Cavendish's turn for a little humiliation.

  "Well, it's neat. The buggy--"

  "The buggy! By Jove, sir, you have a precious choice of epithets! Pleaseto let me inform you that full-blooded horses are not called hacks, norone of Leader's park-phaetons is not styled a buggy."

  Martin threw himself into a chair, and after a moment's struggle, burstout into a fit of laughter.

  "I think we may make a deal after all, Sir Spencer," said Merl, whoaccepted the baronet's correction with admirable self-control.

  "No, sir; perfectly impossible; take my word for it, any transactionwould be difficult between us. Good-bye, Martin; adieu, Claude." Andwith this brief leave-taking the peppery Sir Spencer left the room, moreflushed and fussy than he had entered it.

  "If you knew Sir Spencer Cavendish as long as we have known him, Mr.Merl," said Lord Claude, in his blandest of voices, "you'd not besurprised at this little display of warmth. It is the only weakness in avery excellent fellow."

  "I 'm hot, too, my Lord," said Merl, with the very slightestaccentuation of the "initial H," "and he was right in saying thatdealings would be difficult between us."

  "You mentioned Massingbred awhile ago, Merl. Why not ask him to secondyou at the Club?" said Martin, rousing himself suddenly from a train ofthought.

  "Well, somehow, I thought that he and you did n't exactly pull together;that there was an election contest,--a kind of a squabble."

  "I 'm sure that _he_ never gave you any reason to suspect a coldnessbetween us; I know that _I_ never did," said Martin, calmly. "We are butslightly acquainted, it is true, but I should be surprised to learn thatthere was any ill-feeling between us."

  "One's opponent at the hustings is pretty much the same thing as one'sadversary at a game,--he is against you to-day, and may be your partnerto-morrow; so that, putting even better motives aside, it were badpolicy to treat him as an implacable enemy," said Lord Claude, with hisaccustomed suavity. "Besides, Mr. Merl, you know the crafty maxim of theFrench
moralist, 'Always treat your enemies as though one day they wereto become your friends.'" And with this commonplace, uttered in a toneand with a manner that gave it all the semblance of a piece of specialadvice, his Lordship took his hat, and, squeezing Martin's hand, movedtowards the door.

  "Come in here for a moment," said Martin, pushing open the door into anadjoining dressing-room, and closing it carefully after them. "So muchfor wanting to do a good-natured thing," cried he, peevishly. "I thoughtto help Cavendish to get rid of those 'screws,' and the return he makesme is to outrage this man."

  "What are your dealings with him?" asked Willoughby" anxiously.

  "Play matters, play debts, loans, securities, post-obits, and everyother blessed contrivance you can think of to swamp a man's presentfortune and future prospects. I don't think he is a bad fellow; I mean,I don't suspect he 'd press heavily upon me, with any fair treatment onmy part. My impression, in short, is that he'd forgive my not meetinghis bill, but he 'd never get over my not inviting him to a dinner!"

  "Well," said Willoughby, encouragingly, "we live in admirable times forsuch practices. There used to be a vulgar prejudice in favor of menthat one knew, and names that the world was familiar with. It is goneby entirely; and if you only present your friend--don't wince at thetitle--your friend, I say--as the rich Mr. Merl, the man who owns sharesin mines, canals, and collieries, whose speculations count by tens ofthousands, and whose credit rises to millions, you'll never be called onto apologize for his parts of speech, or make excuse for his solecismsin good breeding."

  "Will you put up his name, then, at the Club?" asked Martin, eagerly."It would not do for _me_ to do so."

  "To be sure I will, and Massingbred shall be his seconder." And withthis cheering pledge Lord Claude bade him good-bye, and left him freeto return to Mr. Merl in the drawing-room. That gentleman had, however,already departed, to the no small astonishment of Martin, who now threwhimself lazily down on a sofa, to ponder over his difficulties and weaveall manner of impracticable schemes to meet them.

  They were, indeed, very considerable embarrassments. He had raisedheavy sums at most exorbitant rates, and obtained money--for theplay-table--by pledging valuable reversions of various kinds, for Merlsomehow was the easiest of all people to deal with; one might havefancied that he lent his money only to afford himself an occasion ofsympathy with the borrower, just as he professed that he merelybetted "to have a little interest in the race." Whatever Martin, then,suggested in the way of security never came amiss; whether it were afarm, a mill, a quarry, or a lead mine, he accepted it at once, and, asMartin deemed, without the slightest knowledge or investigation, littlesuspecting that there was not a detail of his estate, nor a resourceof his property, with which the wily Jew was not more familiar thanhimself. In fact, Mr. Merl was an astonishing instance of knowledge onevery subject by which money was to be made, and he no more advancedloans upon an encumbered estate than he backed the wrong horse orbid for a copied picture. There is a species of practical informationexcessively difficult to describe, which is not connoisseurship, butwhich supplies the place of that quality, enabling him who possessesit to estimate the value of an object, without any admixture of thoseweakening prejudices which beset your mere man of taste. Now, Mr. Merlhad no caprices about the color of the horse he backed, no more thanfor the winning seat at cards; he could not be warped from his trueinterests by any passing whim, and whether he cheapened a Correggio ordiscounted a bill, he was the same calm, dispassionate calculator of theprofit to come of the transaction.

  Latterly, however, he had thrown out a hint to Martin that he wascurious to see some of that property on which he had made such largeadvances; and this wish--which, according to the frame of mind hehappened to be in at the moment, struck Martin as a mere caprice or adirect menace--was now the object of his gloomy reveries. We havenot tracked his steps through the tortuous windings of his moneyeddifficulties; it is a chapter in life wherein there is wonderfullylittle new to record; the Jew-lender and his associates, the renewedbill and the sixty per cent, the non-restored acceptances flitting aboutthe world, sold and resold as damaged articles, but always in the endfalling into the hands of a "most respectable party," and proceededon as a true debt; then, the compromises for time, for silence, forsecrecy,--since these transactions are rarely, if ever, devoid of someunhappy incident that would not bear publicity; and there are invariablylittle notes beginning "Dear Moses," which would argue most ill-chosenintimacies. These are all old stories, and the "Times" and the"Chronicle" are full of them. There is a terrible sameness about them,too. The dupe and the villain are stock characters that never change,and the incidents are precisely alike in every case. Humble folk, whoare too low for fashionable follies, wonder how the self-same artificeshave always the same success, and cannot conceal their astonishment atthe innocence of our young men about town; and yet the mystery iseasily solved. The dupe is, in these cases, just as unprincipled ashis betrayer, and their negotiation is simply a game of skill, in whichIsrael is not always the winner.

  If we have not followed Martin's steps through these dreary labyrinths,it is because the path is a worn one; for the same reason, too, wedecline to keep him company in his ponderings over them. All that histroubles had taught him was an humble imitation of the tricky natures ofthose he dealt with; so that he plotted and schemed and contrived, tillhis very head grew weary with the labor. And so we leave him.