Peregrine's Progress Read online

  CHAPTER V

  FURTHER CONCERNING THE AFORESAID GENTLEMAN, ONE ANTHONY

  So we walked on together, side by side, through leafy byways andwinding paths, past smiling cornfield and darkling wood; we talked ofthe Government, of country and town, of the Fashionable World and itsmost famous denizens, concerning which last my companion's knowledgeseemed profound; we spoke but little of books, of which he seemedamazingly ignorant--in fine, we exchanged thoughts and reflections onany and everything except ourselves. And thus, as evening drew nigh,we came to the top of a hill. Here he stopped all at once and takingoff his dilapidated hat, pointed with it up at the thing that roseabove us, looming against the sunset-glory, beam, cross-bar and chain.

  "Look at that!" quoth he, staring up at something hideously warped andweather-beaten and clasped round with iron bands,--an awful shape thatdangled from rusting chain. "But for my light heels--I might have cometo that--and yet why not--his troubles are over. So in a year--sixmonths--who knows,--there hang I--"

  "God forbid, Anthony?" cried I.

  Now at this he whirled round and, clapping his two hands upon myshoulders, burst forth into vehement oaths to my deep amazement untilI saw the tears in his haggard eyes.

  "....Curse and confound it!" he ended. "Why must you call me Anthony!"

  "Because it is the only name I know you by, for one thing."

  "Well!" said he, blinking and scowling savagely.

  "And because I like the name of Anthony."

  "Oh! egad do you? Well, I like the name Peregrine."

  "Good!" said I, and we walked on down the hill together. "My othername is Vereker," I volunteered, seeing he was silent.

  "Vereker?" he repeated and stopped to stare at me. "No relation to SirJervas Vereker?"

  "His nephew!"

  "The devil you are!" And here he stood looking down at me from hissuperior height, rasping his fingers up and down his thin, unshavencheek like one quite dumbfounded.

  "Do you happen to know my uncle?"

  "I do--or rather I did, humbly and at a distance, for Sir Jervas is,and always will be, magnificently aloof from all and sundry--but youknow this, of course?"

  "On the contrary, though I have seen him frequently, I know him not inthe least."

  "My dear Vereker--who does?"

  "My name is Peregrine!" said I, whereupon came that impulsive hand torest lightly upon my shoulder again for a moment.

  "My dear Peregrine, your uncle is unique; there never was any onequite like him unless it were Sir Maurice Vibart, the famous Buck,though your uncle, perhaps, is not quite so coldly devilish; still,he's sufficiently remarkable."

  "How so?"

  "Well, he has fought three duels to my knowledge, won a point-to-pointsteeplechase not so long ago and a fortune with it--came down at thefirst jump and rode with a broken arm though nobody knew until hefainted. Youthful despite years, quick of eye, hand and tongue,correct in himself and all that pertains to him, one who must besought--even by Royalty, it seems--who might have married among thefairest and lives solitary except for his man John. Sir Jervas Verekeris--Sir Jervas."

  "You seem to know my uncle rather well."

  "I did--for my name besides Anthony is Vere-Manville!" Here he pausedas expecting some comment but finding me silent, continued: "My fatherwas killed with Sir John Moore, at Corunna, and I was brought up by acurmudgeonly uncle, the most preposterous unavuncular uncle that everbullied a defenceless nephew to the dogs. Well, I grew up and was amoderately happy man despite my uncle, until I took to my bosom afriend who deceived me and a mistress who broke my heart."

  "Oh," said I, not a little touched by this gloomy and romantic tale,"then this explains your--your--"

  "My present misery, Peregrine? Not altogether. Had I been aphilosopher and bent to the storm, I might perchance have gone mysolitary way a broken and embittered man, but philosophy and bendingto storms is not in me, unhappily, for chancing to encounter myfaithless friend, I twisted his nose to such a tune that he demandedsatisfaction which resulted in my wounding him; after which Iconsigned my perjured mistress to perdition; after which again, purelybecause she happened to be a wealthy heiress, my curmudgeonly unclecast me adrift, cut me off and consigned me to the devil."

  "Here is a very moving story!" said I.

  "It is, Peregrine, it is, egad--and consequently I have been movingever since and going to the devil as fast as I can, though sadlyhampered by lack of funds."

  "What do you mean by 'going to the devil?'"

  "Why, there are many ways, Peregrine, as of course you know, but minewould be ale, beer, wine, brandy--had I the necessary money."

  "Are you determined on it?"

  "Absolutely!" said he, taking off his battered hat to scowl at it andclap it on again. "Absolutely, Peregrine--I am firmly determined todrink myself to the final exodus."

  "How much money should you require, Anthony?"

  At this he turned to stare with an expression of whimsical dubiety andthereafter fell to rubbing his unshaven chin as rather at a loss.

  "Let us say fifty guineas--no, we'll make it a hundred while we'reabout it--a hundred guineas would do the thing admirably--though to besure much might be done with less."

  "I have only eighteen pounds," said I, thrusting hand into pocket;"which will leave nine for you--"

  "Hey!" he exclaimed, stopping in his sudden fashion. "What'sthis--what the devil--I say, curse and confound everything, man, whatd'ye mean?"

  "Being both solitary wanderers, we will share equally so far as wemay--"

  "No--not to be thought of--preposterous--"

  "So I ask you to honour me by accepting these nine pounds--"

  "I'll be shot if I do!"

  "They may help you to--"

  "To my drunken dissolution? Ridiculous! Nine pounds' worth would neverdo it, I'm so infernally healthy and strong! Nine accursed, miserablepounds--what use to a drinker such as I?"

  "Many, Anthony, and I think I can guess one of the first--"

  "And that?"

  "To procure yourself a shave!"

  "Egad!" cried he with a sudden, merry look, "I believe you're in theright of it! A stubbly chin makes a man feel such a pernicious,scoundrelly, hangdog walking misery."

  "Precisely!" said I, holding out the nine pounds. "So take your money,Anthony."

  "Positively no!" said he, scowling down at the coins. "I thieveoccasionally, but I don't beg--yet, and be damned t' you!" Andthrusting hands into pockets, he went on again. So I put up the moneyand we walked on, but in silence now, while the shadows deepened aboutus. And thus we went for a great while until with every stride thissilence became painfully irksome--at least, to me. All at once his armwas about my shoulders, a long, nervous arm drawing me to him, then hehad freed me and we stood facing each other in the gathering dusk.

  "Perry!" said he, in strange, shaken voice. "Dear fellow, will youforgive a graceless dog? You meant kindly, but I couldn't--I shoulddespise myself more than I do--so--Oh, curse and confound it--whatabout it?"

  For answer I reached out and took his hand; so we stood for a longmoment speaking never a word. And presently we went on down thedarkling road together.