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The Fall Of Lord Barrymore
by
“Oh, you won’t go?” asked Sir Charles, grimly.
“No, sir; I will stay.”
“Ambrose, step down and call a couple of chairmen.”
“I should not advise it, sir. They will be hurt.”
“I will put you out with my own hands.”
“That, sir, you can always do. As my uncle, I could scarce resist you. But, short of throwing me down the stair, I do not see how you can avoid giving me half an hour of your attention.”
Sir Charles smiled. He could not help it. There was so much that was reminiscent of his own arrogant and eventful youth in the bearing of this youngster. He was mollified, too, by the defiance of menials and quick submission to himself. He turned to the glass and signed to Ambrose to continue his duties.
“I must ask you to await the conclusion of my toilet,” said he. “Then we shall see how far you can justify such an intrusion.”
When the valet had at last left the room Sir Charles turned his attention once more to his scapegrace nephew, who had viewed the details of the famous buck’s toilet with the face of an acolyte assisting at a mystery.
“Now, sir,” said the older man, “speak, and speak to the point, for I can assure you that I have many more important matters which claim my attention. The Prince is waiting for me at the present instant at Carlton House. Be as brief as you can. What is it that you want?”
“A thousand pounds.”
“Really! Nothing more?” Sir Charles had turned acid again.
“Yes, sir; an introduction to Mr. Brinsley Sheridan, whom I know to be your friend.”
“And why to him?”
“Because I am told that he controls Drury Lane Theatre, and I have a fancy to be an actor. My friends assure me that I have a pretty talent that way.”
“I can see you clearly, sir, in Charles Surface, or any other part where a foppish insolence is the essential. The less you acted, the better you would be. But it is absurd to suppose that I could help you to such a career. I could not justify it to your father. Return to Oxford at once, and continue your studies.”
“Impossible!”
“And pray, sir, what is the impediment?”
“I think I may have mentioned to you that I had an interview yesterday with the Principal. He ended it by remarking that the authorities of the University could tolerate me no more.”
“Sent down?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And this is the fruit, no doubt, of a long series of rascalities.”
“Something of the sort, sir, I admit.”
In spite of himself, Sir Charles began once more to relax in his severity towards this handsome young scapegrace. His absolute frankness disarmed criticism. It was in a more gracious voice that the older man continued the conversation.
“Why do you want this large sum of money?” he asked.
“To pay my college debts before I go, sir.”
“Your father is not a rich man.”
“No, sir. I could not apply to him for that reason.”
“So you come to me, who am a stranger!”
“No, sir, no! You are my uncle, and, if I may say so, my ideal and my model.”
“You flatter me, my good Vereker. But if you think you can flatter me out of a thousand pounds, you mistake your man. I will give you no money.”
“Of course, sir, if you can’t–“
“I did not say I can’t. I say I won’t.”
“If you can, sir, I think you will.”
Sir Charles smiled, and flicked his sleeve with his lace handkerchief.
“I find you vastly entertaining,” said he. “Pray continue your conversation. Why do you think that I will give you so large a sum of money?”
“The reason that I think so,” continued the younger man, “is that I can do you a service which will seem to you worth a thousand pounds.”