The Sack of Monte Carlo 8

The Sack of Monte Carlo 8

“Has he spoken to you about his yacht?”

 

“He introdooced himself right here in the parlor, and offered it me for

three thousand pounds.”

 

“What did you say?”

 

“I presented him to Mrs. Brentin right away, as I invariably do when I

want an inconvenient request refused. She explained that ay steam-yacht

was very little use to her in the journeys she is at present taking

about this city in search of the localities of Charles Dickens.

Whereupon Judge Hipkins, who impressed me as being brainy, immediately

replied, ‘What about Yarmouth and little Em’ly’”

 

“What did Mrs. Brentin say to that?”

 

“Why, sir, Mrs. Brentin thought three thousand pounds too much to pay

for the privilege of approaching Yarmouth by sea; more especially as she

is a bad sailor, and commences to be sick at her stomach before leaving

the kay-side. Now, however, Mr. Blacker,” he said, rising, “we will, if

you please, go and find Sir Anthony Hipkins, and we will buy his

steam-yacht.”

 

The rapidity of the American mind somewhat alarmed me; still, I felt

there was nothing for it but to follow Mr. Brentin. He went straight to

the bureau, and, on inquiring for Sir Anthony, learned he was up-stairs

ill in bed, and that his wife was with him.

 

As we went up in the lift, Mr. Brentin winked at me. “It is in our

favor, sir, that the judge is sick; we will be sympathetic, but we will

not offer more than two thousand five hundred pounds.”

 

We found No. 246, and Mr. Brentin knocked. A deep groaning voice called

to us to come in.

 

“The judge must be real bad if he has sent for his wife,” observed Mr.

Brentin. “On reflection, we will try him with two thousand. Come right

alawng in, sir, and I will present you.”

 

I followed him into the bedroom, and there we found Sir Anthony lying,

propped up in bed. He was a long, gaunt man, with a grizzling beard, a

hook-nose, like a tulwar, and a quantity of rough, brown hair turning

gray. By his side was sitting a small, dry, prim old lady, reading from

a book, with gold pince-nez, and notwithstanding our entrance she went

steadily on.

 

“Stop that now, Nanny,” Sir Anthony called, fretfully, stretching his

hand out of the bed over the page, “and let us hear what these men

want.”

 

“Sir Anthony and Lady Hipkins,” said Mr. Brentin, politely, with a bow

to each, his hat in his hand, “permit me to present to you my young

friend, Mr. Vincent Blacker. He is in want of a yacht, and though he has

his eye on several, would be glad to learn particulars of yours before

concluding.”

 

Sir Anthony rolled his bony head on the pillow and groaned. Directly he

withdrew his hand from the page the dry old lady went on with her

reading in a curious, dull, flat voice. Mr. Brentin came to the foot of

the bed, and, leaning his arms on the brass rail, surveyed him

sympathetically.

 

“Are you too sick, judge,” he asked, “to discuss business matters with

us?”

 

“_And in the eleventh year of Joram, the son of Ahab_—” droned her

ladyship.

 

“Go away, Nanny,” shouted Sir Anthony, pointing to the opposite door;

“go into the next room, or go out and take a walk.”

 

Mr. Brentin opened the door, and, after putting the Bible on the bed

under Sir Anthony’s big nose, Lady Hipkins left the room quietly, as she

was directed.

 

“You’re Mr. Brentin, ain’t you?” asked the judge. “Beg your pardon for

not recognizing you. What did you say your friend’s name was?”

 

Mr. Brentin explained that I was Mr. Vincent Blacker, a gentleman of

position and the highest integrity, an officer in Queen Victoria’s

militia.

 

“Oh, ah!” said the judge, sitting up in bed and scratching his legs

ruefully. “And he wants to buy a yacht?”

 

“He has almost concluded for the purchase of one,” Mr. Brentin replied,

“but I have suggested he should wait—”

 

The judge began most unexpectedly to laugh, bending his head between his

knees and stifling his merriment with the counterpane.

 

“The judge is better,” observed Mr. Brentin, with a wave of his hand.

“The presence of gentlemen who sympathize with his complaint, and the

likelihood of completing—”

 

“It’s too damn ridiculous,” laughed the judge, “to be caught shamming

Abraham like this, by George! Serves me right. You see, Mr. Blacker,

after three years of the Gold Coast I was naturally anxious to see

whether London had greatly altered in my absence, and, consequently,

neglected to go and reside at Norwood with her ladyship. Whereupon her

ladyship wrote, demanding the reason of my lengthy stay in the

metropolis. What was I to do but say I was too ill to move, but that the

minute I was well enough—” Sir Anthony went off laughing again, and I

laughed too.

 

“But that midnight groaning-act of yours, judge,” asked the shocked

Brentin, “which so much disturbed and alarmed Mrs. Brentin and myself?”

 

“Oh, that was genuine enough,” chuckled Sir Anthony; “but it was more

the thought of having to go to Norwood and attend the concerts at the

Crystal Palace than any actual physical pain.”

 

Mr. Brentin’s visage clouded over, and he grew sombre and grave. With

true American chivalry, he could not bear the idea of any one imposing

on a woman, especially an old and plain one.

 

“However,” said the judge, “I’m rightly punished by her ladyship’s

descending on me and forcing me to go to bed—not to mention the Book of

Kings, and all my smoke cut off.”

 

“This will be ay lesson to you, judge, I trust,” observed Mr. Brentin,

sternly.

 

“First and second lesson, by George! And now let’s talk about the yacht.

Your friend wants to buy a yacht?”

 

I must say I was a good deal alarmed at Brentin’s coolness and

precipitancy in so readily bringing me forward as purchaser of the

_Amaranth_, and, as I listened to their conversation, quite made up my

mind not to bind myself irrevocably to anything. Three, or even two,

thousand pounds! My idea was doubtless a remarkable one, but I had no

notion of backing it to that amount—at all events, with my own money.

So, with an air of sham gravity, I listened, assuming as solid an air of

wealth as I could on so short a notice, determined at the last moment to

make the necessary fatal objections, which would finally effectually

prevent my being saddled with the thing.

 

The judge explained that the yacht had only just been left him by an

uncle who had died very suddenly in the “Albany”; that it was in

complete order, ready victualled and manned; that it had usually been

sent round to the Riviera, and joined there overland by his uncle, who

spent the winter months on board till the advent of spring enabled him

to return to London; that there it was lying at Ryde, awaiting his

orders, and that he had accidentally heard that Captain Evans, in

default of instructions, was actually employing it for excursions on his

own behalf, and taking the Ryde people for trips in the Solent and runs

over to Bournemouth at so much a head when the weather was favorable;

which would all have to be accounted for, added the judge, of course. It

was a large yacht, of about four hundred tons, and, rather than be

bothered with it, the judge would let it go for three thousand pounds.

 

“Why don’t you go down and see it,” he asked, “before you decide? And,

if I were you, I wouldn’t let Evans know you are coming; if it’s a fine

day, you are sure to catch him at some of his little games, and that’ll

give you a hold over him.”

 

“Three thousand pounds is ay large sum of money, judge,” objected Mr.

Brentin.

 

“Not bad; but then it’s a large yacht. Now look here, don’t you haggle

with me,” he went on, irritably, “because I don’t like it. You can

either take it or leave it. I won’t let it go for a penny less. Rather

than that, I’ll go and live on board and spend my time crossing between

Portsmouth and the island. I should be safe from her ladyship, at any

rate, for even coming up in the lift upsets her.”

 

We shook his hand and left him composing himself to receive Lady Hipkins

again. She was walking up and down the corridor as we came out, and Mr.

Brentin went up to her and bowed.

 

“The judge is real bad, ma’am,” he said, with great gravity, “and should

not be left. He has been explaining to us what a comfort you and your

reading are to him, and how much he looks forward to being taken down to

Norwood and nursed back to his former robust health at your hands. If I

may venture to advise, you should procure a hotel conveyance as soon as

possible and drive him way down home by easy stages. The air in this

city, ma’am, is not good for ay man of the judge’s temperament and

physique.”

 

“You have a kind face,” her ladyship answered, in her strange, flat

voice, “and mean kindly, I am sure. But I am extremely deaf, and have

not heard one word you have said. Perhaps you would kindly write it down

for me?” she added, handing him a little book.

 

“It’s of no consequence,” bawled Mr. Brentin through his hands.

“Good-afternoon!”

 

“Why doesn’t the old shakes carry a trumpet” he said, angrily, as we

went down-stairs. “What’s the matter with a trumpet?”

 

In the hall, before leaving him, I hastened to explain I had no thought

of expending three thousand pounds in the purchase of Sir Anthony’s or

any yacht whatsoever; that my contribution to the expedition would be

the idea, and so many of the resolute men as I could lay hands on among

my friends.

 

“That will be all right, Mr. Blacker,” Brentin loftily replied; “I will

see after the yacht portion of the affair. It can be made good to me, if

I run short, out of the boodle, and, if it all fails, I have no doubt I

shall have my money value in excitement. In the meantime, sir, let us

waltz in and secure the yacht, to begin with. If you will be free in the

morning, we will descend upon Ryde and Captain Evans. If we find him

going to sea, so much the better; we shall have the opportunity of

testing the sailing capacities of the _Amaranth_. Good-day to you, sir.

I have to thank you for infusing my exhossted veins with a breath of the

true spirit of the forty-niners, who made the State of California what

she is. The holding up of ay Sacramento bank will be nothing to this, sir, if we don’t spile—that is, spoil—it.”