A KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY by Edward Payson Roe (world of reading .txt) 📖

mr. Arnot, Sternly.

 

 

 

"Me And Misther Haldane," Answered a Voice Without In broadest Brogue.

 

 

 

"Mr. Haldane!" Exclaimed mr. Arnot Excitedly; "What Can This Mean? Who

Is _Me?_" He Next Asked loudly.

 

 

 

"Me Is Pat M'Cabe, Sure; The Same As Tidies Up The Office And Does Yer

Irrinds. Mr. Haldane'S Had A Bad Turn, And I'Ve Brought Him Home."

 

 

 

As Mr. Arnot Swung Open The Door, A Man, Who Seemingly Had Been Leaning

Against It, Fell Prone Within The Hall. Laura Gave A Slight Scream, And

Mrs. Arnot Was Much Alarmed, Thinking That Haldane Was Suffering From

Some Sudden And Alarming attack. Thoughts Of At Once Telegraphing To His

Mother Were Entering Her Mind, When The Object Of Her Solicitude Tried

To Rise, And Mumbled in the Thick Utterance Of Intoxication:

 

 

 

"This Isn'T Home. Take Me To Mother'S."

 

 

 

Mrs. Arnot'S Eyes Turned questioningly To Her Husband, And She Saw That

His Face Was Dark With Anger And Disgust.

 

 

 

"He Is Drunk," He Said, Turning To Pat, Who Stood In the Door, Cap In

Hand.

 

 

 

"Faix, Sur, It Looks Moighty Loike It. But It'S Not For A Dacent Sober

Man Loike Meself To Spake Sartainly O' Sich Matters."

 

 

 

"Few Words And To The Point, Sir," Said Mr. Arnot Harshly; "Your Breath

Tells Where You Have Been. But Where Did You Find This--And How Came You

To Find Him?"

 

 

 

Either Mr. Arnot Was At A Loss For A Term Which Would Express His

Estimation Of The Young Man, Who Had Slowly And Unsteadily Risen, And

Was Supporting Himself By Holding Fast The Hatrack, Or He Was Restrained

In His Utterance By The Presence Of His Wife.

 

 

 

"Well, Sur," Said Pat, With As Ingenuous And Candid An Air As If He Were

Telling The Truth, "The Wife O' A Neighbor O' Mine Was Taken On A

Suddint, And I Went For The Docther, And As I Was A Comin' Home, Who

Shud I See Sittin' On A Doorsthep But Misther Haldane, And I Thought It

Me Duty To Bring Him Home To Yees."

 

 

 

"You Have Done Right. Was It On The Doorstep Of A Drinking-Place You

Found Him?"

 

 

 

"I'M Athinkin' It Was, Sur; It Had That Sort O' Look."

 

 

 

Mr. Arnot Turned to His Wife And Said Coldly, "You Now See How It Works.

But This Is Not A Fit Object For You And Laura To Look Upon; So Please

Retire. I Will See That He Gets Safely To His Room. I Suppose He Must Go

There, Though The Station-House Is The More Proper Place For Him."

 

 

 

"He Certainly Must Go To His Own Room," Said Mrs. Arnot, Firmly But

Quietly.

 

 

 

"Well, Then, Steady Him Along Up The Stairs, Pat. I Will Show You Where

To Put The--" And Mr. Arnot Again Seemed to Hesitate For A Term, But The

Blank Was More Expressive Of His Contempt Than Any Epithet Could Be,

Since His Tone And Manner Suggested the Worst.

 

 

 

Returning To The Parlor, Mrs. Arnot Found Laura'S Face Expressive Of The

Deepest Alarm And Distress.

 

 

 

"O Auntie, What Does All This Mean? Am I In any Way To Blame? He Said He

Would Go To Ruin If I Didn'T--But How Could I?"

 

 

 

"No, My Dear, You Are Not In the Slightest Degree To Blame. Mr. Haldane

Seems Both Bad And Foolish. I Feel To-Night That He Is Not Worthy To

Speak To You; Much Less Is He Fit To Be Intrusted with That Which You

Will Eventually Give, I Hope, Only To One Who Is Pre-Eminently Noble And

Good. Come With Me To Your Room, My Child. I Am Very Sorry I Permitted

You To Stay Up To-Night."

 

 

 

But Laura Was Sleepless And Deeply Troubled; She Had Never Seen A

Laborer--Much Less One Of Her Own Acquaintances--In Haldane'S Condition

Before; And To Her Young, Innocent Mind The Event Had Almost The

Character Of A Tragedy. Although Conscious Of Entire Blamelessness, She

Supposed that She Was More Directly The Cause Of Haldane'S Behavior Than

Was True, And That He Was Carrying Out His Threat To Destroy Himself By

Reckless Dissipation. She Did Not Know That He Had Been Beguiled into

His Miserable Condition Through Bad Habits Of Long Standing, And That He

Had Fallen Into The Clutches Of Those Who Always Infest Public Haunts,

And Live By Preying Upon The Fast, Foolish, And Unwary. Haldane, From

His Character And Associations, Was Liable To Such An Experience

Whenever Circumstances Combined to Make It Possible. Young Men With No

More Principle Than He Possessed are Never Safe From Disaster, And They

Who Trust Them Trust Rather To The Chances Of Their Not Meeting The

Peculiar Temptations And Tests To Which They Would Prove Unequal. Laura

Could Not Then Know How Little She Had To Do With The Tremendous

Downfall Of Her Premature Lover. The Same Conditions Given, He Would

Probably Have Met With The Same Experience Upon Any Occasion. After His

First Glass Of Punch The Small Degree Of Discretion That He Had Learned

Thus Far In life Began To Desert Him; And Every Man As He Becomes

Intoxicated is First A Fool, And Then The Victim Of Every One Who

Chooses To Take Advantage Of His Voluntary Helplessness And Degradation.

 

 

 

But Innocent Laura Saw A Romantic And Tragic Element In the Painful

Event, And She Fell Asleep With Some Vague Womanly Thoughts About Saving

A Fellow-Creature By The Sacrifice Of Herself. However, The Morning

Light, The Truth Concerning Haldane, And Her Own Good Sense, Would

Banish Such Morbid Fancies. Indeed the Worst Possible Way In which A

Young Woman Can Set About Reforming a Bad Man Is To Marry Him. The Usual

Result Is Greatly Increased guilt On The Part Of The Husband, And

Lifelong, Hopeless Wretchedness For The Wife.

Chapter IX (Pat And The Press)

Pat Having Steadied and Half Carried haldane To His Room, Mr. Arnot

Demanded of His Clerk What Had Become Of The Money Intrusted to His

Care; But His Only Answer Was A Stupid, Uncomprehending Stare.

 

 

 

"Hold His Hands," Said Mr. Arnot Impatiently.

 

 

 

M'Cabe Having Obeyed, The Man Of Business, Whose Solicitude In the

Affair Had No Concern With The Young Man'S Immeasurable Loss, But

Related only To His Own Money, Immediately Felt In haldane'S Pockets For

The Envelopes Which Had Contained the Thousand Dollars In currency. The

Envelopes Were Safe Enough--One Evidently Opened with The Utmost Care,

And The Other Torn Recklessly--But The Money Was Gone.

 

 

 

When Haldane Saw The Envelopes, There Was A Momentary Expression Of

Trouble And Perplexity Upon His Face, And He Tried to Speak; But His

Thick Utterance Was Unintelligible. This Gleam Of Intelligence Passed

Quickly, However, And The Stupor Of Intoxication Reasserted itself. His

Heavy Eyelids Drooped, And Pat With Difficulty Could Keep Him On His

Feet.

 

 

 

"Toss Him There On The Lounge; Take Off His Muddy Boots. Nothing Further

Can Be Done While He Is In this Beastly Condition," Said Mr. Arnot, In a

Voice That Was As Harsh As The Expression Of His Face.

 

 

 

The Empty Envelopes And Mr. Arnot'S Dark Looks Suggested a Great Deal To

Pat, And He Saw That One Of His "Sprees" Was An Innocent Matter Compared

With This Affair.

 

 

 

"Now, Go Down To My Study And Wait There For Me."

 

 

 

Pat Obeyed in a Very Steady And Decorous Manner, For The Matter Was

Assuming Such Gravity As To Sober Him Completely.

 

 

 

Mr. Arnot Satisfied himself That There Was No Chance Of Escape From The

Windows, And Then, After Another Look Of Disgust And Anger At Haldane,

Who Was Now Sleeping Heavily, He Took The Key From The Door, And Locked

It On The Outside.

 

 

 

Descending To His Study, The Irate Gentleman Next Wrote A Note, And Gave

It To His Porter, Saying:

 

 

 

"Take That To The Police-Headquarters, And Ask That It Be Sent To The

Superintendent At Once. No Mistake, Now, As You Value Your Place; And

Mind, Not A Word Of All This To Any One."

 

 

 

"Faix, Sir, I'Ll Be As Dumb As An Oyster, And Do Yer Biddin' In a

Jiffy," Said Pat, Backing Out Of The Room, And Glad To Escape From One

Whose Threatening aspect Seemed to Forebode Evil To Any One Within His

Reach.

 

 

 

"He Looks Black Enough To Murther The Poor Young Spalpeen," Muttered the

Irishman, As He Hastened to Do His Errand, Remembering Now With

Trepidation That, Though He Had Escaped from His Master, The Big,

Red-Faced, Stout-Armed wife Of His Bosom Was Still To Be Propitiated

After His Late Prowlings.

 

 

 

When He Entered the Main Street, A Light That Glimmered from The Top Of

A Tall Building Suggested how He Might Obtain That Kind Of Oil Which,

Cast Upon The Domestic Billows That So Often Raged in his Fourth-Floor

Back Room, Was Most Effective In producing a Little Temporary

Smoothness.

 

 

 

Since The Weather Was Always Fouler Within His Domestic Haven Than

Without, And On This Occasion Threatened to Be At Its Worst, Pat At One

Time Half Decided not To Run Into Port At All; But The Glimmer Of The

Light Already Mentioned suggested another Course.

 

 

 

Although The Night Was Far Spent, Pat Still Longed for A "Wink O' Slape"

Before Going To His Work, And, In order To Enjoy It, Knew That He Must

Obtain The Means Of Allaying The Storm, Which Was Not Merely Brewing,

But Which, From The Lateness Of The Hour, Had Long Been Brewed. In his

Own Opinion, The Greenness Of His Native Isle Had Long Ago Faded from

His Mental And Moral Complexion, And He Did Not Propose That Any Stray

Dollars, Which By Any Shrewdness Or Artifice Could Be Diverted into His

Pocket, Should Get By Him.

 

 

 

Since His Wife Had Developed into A Huge, Female Divinity, At Whose

Shrine It Seemed probable That He Would Eventually Become A Human

Sacrifice, And Whose Wrath, In the Meantime, It Was His Daily Task To

Appease, Pat Had Gradually Formed the Habit Of Making a Sort Of

Companion Of Himself. In accordance With His Custom, Therefore, He

Stopped under The High Window From Whence Gleamed the Light, For The

Sake Of A Little Personal Counsel.

 

 

 

"Now, Pat," He Muttered, "If Yees Had Gone Home At Nine O'Clock, Yees

Wudn'T Be Afeared to Go Home Now; And If Yees Go Home Now Widout A

Dollar More Or Less, The Ould 'Ooman Will Make Yer Wish Yees Had Set On

The Curbstone The Rest O' The Night. They Sez Some Men Has No Bowels O'

Marcies; And After What I'Ve Seen The Night, And Afore The Night, Too, I

Kin Belave That Boss Arnot'S In'Ards Were Cast At The Same Foundry Where

He Gets His Mash-Shines. He Told Me That I Must Spake Nary A Word About

What I'Ve Seen And Heard, And If I Should Thry To Turn An Honest Penny

By Givin' A Knowin' Wink Or Two Where They Wud Pay For The Same, That

'Ud Be The Ind Of Pat M'Cabe At The Big Office. And Yet They Sez That

Them As Buys News Is Loike Them That Takes Stolen Goods--Moighty Willin'

To Kape Dark About Where They Got It, So That They Kin Get More Next

Time. That'S The Iditor Of The 'Currier' In yon High Room, And P'Raps

He'Ll Pay Me As Much For A Wink And A Hint The Night As I'Ll Get For Me

Day'S Work Termorrow. Bust Me If I Don'T Thry Him, If He'Ll Fust Promise

Me To Say It Any One Axes Him That He Niver Saw Pat M'Cabe In his

Loife," And The Suddenly Improvised reporter Climbed the Long Stairways

To Where The Night Editor Sat At His Desk.

 

 

 

Pat Gave A Hearty Rap For Manners, But As The Night Was Waning He Walked

In Without Waiting For An Answer, And Addressed the Startled newspaper

Man With A Business-Like Directness, Which Might Often Be Advantageously

Imitated:

 

 

 

"Is This The Shop Where Yer Pays A Dacent Price For News?"

 

 

 

"It Depends On The Importance Of The News, And Its Truthfulness,"

Answered the Editor, After Eying The Intruder Suspiciously For A Moment.

 

 

 

"Thin I'Ve Got Ye On Both Counts, Though I Didn'T Think Ye'D Bear Down

So Heavy On Its Being Thrue," Said Pat, Advancing Confidently.

 

 

 

As The Door Of The Press-Room, In which Men Were At Work, Stood Open,

The Editor Felt No Alarm From The Sudden Appearance Of The Burly