The Amateur Gentleman

"Ah, Beverley, my boy!" he cried heartily, "pray forgive this

horribly unseasonable visit, but--under the circumstances--I felt it

my duty to--ah--to drop in on you, my dear fellow."

"What circumstances?" demanded Barnabas, a little stiffly, perhaps.

"Circumstances affecting our friend Barrymaine, sir."

"Ah?" said Barnabas, his tone changing, "what of him? though you

forget, Mr. Barrymaine and I are still strangers."

"By heaven, you are right, sir, though, egad! I'm only a little

previous,--eh, my dear fellow?" and, smiling engagingly, Mr. Smivvle

followed Barnabas into a side room, and shutting the door with

elaborate care, immediately shook his whiskers and heaved a profound

sigh. "My friend Barrymaine is low, sir,--devilish low," he

proceeded to explain, "indeed I'm quite distressed for the poor

fellow, 'pon my soul and honor I am,--for he is--in a manner of

speaking--in eclipse as it were, sir!"

"I fear I don't understand," said Barnabas.

"Why, then--in plain words, my dear Beverley,--he's suffering from

an acute attack of the Jews, dammem!--a positive seizure, sir!"

"Do you mean he has been taken--for debt?"

"Precisely, my dear fellow. An old affair--ages ago--a stab in the

dark! Nothing very much, in fact a mere bagatelle, only, as luck

will have it, I am damnably short myself just now."

"How much is it?"

"Altogether exactly twenty-five pound ten. An absurd sum, but all my

odd cash is on the race. So I ventured here on my young friend's

behalf to ask for a trifling loan,--a pound--or say thirty shillings

would be something."

Barnabas crossed to a cabinet, unlocked a drawer, and taking thence

a smallish bag that jingled, began to count out a certain sum upon

the table.

"You said twenty-five pounds ten, I think?" said Barnabas, and

pushed that amount across the table. Mr. Smivvle stared from the

money to Barnabas and back again, and felt for his whisker with

fumbling fingers.

"Sir," he said, "you can't--you don't mean to--to--"

"Yes," said Barnabas, turning to re-lock the drawer. Mr. Smivvle's

hand dropped from his whiskers, indeed, for the moment he almost

seemed to have forgotten their existence.

"Sir," he stammered, "I cannot allow--no indeed, sir! Mr. Beverley,

you overwhelm me--"

"Debts are necessary evils," said Barnabas, "and must be paid."

Mr. Smivvle stared at Barnabas, his brow furrowed by perplexity,

--stared like one who is suddenly at a loss; and indeed his usual

knowing air was quite gone. Then, dropping his gaze to the money on

the table, he swept it into his pocket, almost furtively, and took

up his hat and cane, and, it is worthy of note, that he did it all

without a flourish.

"Mr. Beverley," said he, "in the name of my friend Barrymaine, I

thank you, and--I--I thank you!" So he turned and went out of the

room, and, as he went, he even forgot to swagger.